Waving a head at the man beside me, I mutter, “Guys, as you all know, this is Henry.”
“Her boyfriend,” Henry clarifies.
I glare at him and continue, “My boyfriend. Henry, this is everyone else. Whom you already know.”
“Hey,” he greets them. “Anyone want a drink?”
Blakley nods. “Yes, please!” Ash adds, “Sure. I’d love one.”
“Got any more Pappy’s?” Theo jests. “Or do you only save it for special occasions when you’re not trying to impress your girlfriend’s friends?”
Henry chuckles as he heads to his liquor cabinet. And just like that, he’s in. I can see it in my friends’ expressions. Their smiles. Their laughs. The way they kick their feet up and fill him in on my quirks, most of which he’s already familiar with.
But it’s nice.
Really nice.
I kind of love it, actually.
52
MIA
As I take my makeup off in Henry’s bathroom, he lets Nala out one more time and puts her in her kennel. Humming a Broken Vows song under my breath, I reach for one of the fluffy gray towels on the rack and wipe the water from my eyes when I catch Henry leaning against the bathroom doorjamb. His white button-up is pushed to his elbows, showcasing his muscular forearms dappled in dark hair as he stares at me.
The guy’s so gorgeous it’s almost scary. Yet here he is. Checking me out. Me. The girl who couldn’t be more of his opposite if I tried.
Suddenly shy, I murmur, “Hi.”
“Hey.”
I peek at my reflection, confirming I don’t have raccoon eyes or anything. Giving him my attention again, I practically squirm under his gaze. “What?”
“What, what?” he returns.
“Why are you looking at me like this?”
“Like what?”
“I dunno? Like…this.” I motion to his soft expression.
“Appreciating the view.”
I snort and go back to wiping my face while ignoring the pitter-patter of butterfly wings in my stomach and chest cavity.
“You’re gorgeous, you know,” he muses.
I set the towel down and motion to the oversized T-shirt I stole from his closet. “I’m in a massive T-shirt that swallows me whole, and I have my hair pulled into a messy bun on top of my head, and I’m not wearing any makeup.” My hand flaps around my face as if to prove my point. “You call this gorgeous?”
He nods and pushes himself upright. “Yeah. I really do.” Prowling toward me, he slips his arms around my waist, swaying us back and forth. “You know what else is gorgeous?”
“What?”
“This.” His hand slides down to my thigh tattoo peeking beneath the hem of the T-shirt.
“Oh, you think so?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but I like your tattoos.”
“Good, because they’re not going anywhere,” I quip.
He smirks, trails kisses along my cheek, and sucks my earlobe into his mouth. When he lets me go, he whispers, “I like these too.”
“My piercings?”
He nibbles softly on the shell of my ear, and I push him away with a laugh. “Hey, that tickles.”
Cupping the side of my face, he doesn’t let me get too far. He presses his forehead to mine. “Do you want to know what else I like?”
“What?”
“You being here. In my space. My clothes.” He tugs at the hem of my shirt, lifting it a few inches until the cool air hits the back of my thighs. “My bed.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“Mm-hmm.” His hands slide up beneath the shirt, and he cups my ass. “I like it a lot.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing we’re on the same page, huh?”
“Mm-hmm,” he repeats, swaying us back and forth, though there isn’t any music. Only us and the sound of our breathing. “I’m proud of you.”
I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t let me pull away. “I’m serious. You killed it today.”
“Only because you made me,” I mutter.
“You really think I can make you––the infamous Mia Rutherford––do anything you don’t want to do?” he returns.
“Well, since you’ve convinced my own friends to turn against me and all…”
He laughs and tugs me even closer, bringing us chest to chest. “You think I passed?”
“The friend test?” I clarify while attempting to not rub myself against him like a cat in heat. “Yes, I definitely think you passed. They love you.”
“Good.”
“Probably a little too much,” I muse. “Especially after they saw your penthouse and you let them drink all your alcohol. They might insist we spend every weekend here.”
“I wouldn’t complain,” Henry returns. “You’ll have to invite the girls over next weekend.”
“Why?”
“I’m giving you Saturday off.”
I stop swaying, even more confused. “Why?” I repeat.
His nonchalance morphs into hesitation, and he lets me go, scratching his jaw as he avoids my eyes.
“Henry––”
“We’re playing Ohio at home,” he admits.
Blindsided, my shoulders hunch. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“So, Shorty will be in town,” I murmur, staring blankly in front of me.
“Yes.”
My eyes lock with his as I snap myself out of the familiar funk accompanying my ex’s name. “And you think I'd be smart to stay home instead of attending the game?”
“After the shit that went down last game?” He scoffs. “Yes.”
“I’m not staying home, Henry.”
“Mia––”
“You really think he deserves that kind of power?”
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he argues.
“I’ll be uncomfortable either way,” I point out. “But I’m not going to let him interfere with my life anymore, including letting him influence whether or not I go to work.”
Frustrated, Henry scrubs his hands through his hair and shakes his head. “He doesn’t deserve to be in the same room with you after all the shit he’s done.”
“Henry, I’m going.”
His jaw ticks as he shakes his head again. Like I’m being irrational. Stubborn. Stupid.
The last thought stings. I probably am being irrational. He has every right to be concerned about my well-being when it comes to Shorty. The guy’s an ass. But it’s still my decision. My choice. And if Henry can’t support me in it, we have an entirely different conversation ahead of us. One I really don’t want to have.
Folding my arms, I wait him out, curious––and terrified––to hear what he has to say and whether or not I have his support.
However, when he stays quiet, my impatience gets the best of me, and I repeat, “Henry, I’m serious. I’m going.”
With a sigh, his head drops back, and he looks toward the ceiling. I swear the bastard’s counting to ten. “Promise you won’t hate me after,” he demands.