Page 16 of All In

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he mumbles. “Not like I’d want to use you or anything. But it’s like—” He stops, quickly shaking his head, like he’s shaking thoughts away.

“I get it,” I say, even though I really don’t.

He turns his head to look at me. His hair is an absolute fucking mess today. Probably because I had my fingers in it for most of the night. I’ve gotten used to not being able to touch Harlow the way I want to. I won’t say it isn’t torture because it really fucking is, but it’s become normal. Especially with Josh in the picture. There were lines I wouldn’t let myself cross, things I wouldn’t let myself express or show.

Harlow’s tactile with me. Always has been. But for me, the line between touching his wild curls and sinking my fingers into them and dragging him into me for a kiss is razor thin.

It’s best not to risk it.

“I know it sounds bad,” Harlow finally says. “Our friendship was always the thing he couldn’t touch.” He shrugs. “Might be nice to let him see that I’m fine and that I still have you.”

“You’ll always have me,” I say automatically.

“I know.”

I’m saved from having to say anything as we pull into the driveway of Josh’s house. His obnoxious car is sitting in the driveway, and Harlow makes a small sound in the back of his throat that has my stomach tightening.

“You really can stay in the car,” I say, turning off the engine and shifting to face him.

He shakes his head. “Nope. I need to see him. More than that, I need him to see me.”

I study his face for a second before sighing. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

He steels himself, then climbs out of the car. I don’t want him to go in by himself, so I rush after him, trying to catch up when he nearly sprints to the front door.

I’m expecting him to knock on it, but he pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks it, then steps right in like he owns the place.

Josh is sitting on the couch, and when the door opens and we step inside, his head shoots up and he looks between the two of us.

If I’m being real, he looks like he’s more fucked up about leaving Harlow at the altar than Harlow is. I’d almost feel sorry for the guy if I didn’t hate him so damn much. His chestnut hair is lying across his forehead in a way it usually never is, and his eyes are red-rimmed, like he’s been crying. I’m not sure why. It’s not like Harlow left him.

“I’m here to get my suitcase,” Harlow says, straightening his shoulders and holding his head high as he looks at Josh.

I watch as Josh’s throat bobs, then he nods. “Alright.”

Without another word, Harlow walks off toward the hallway and disappears from view. I stand in the living room, watching Josh.

There’s something… off about him, but I don’t know what, exactly.

“Is he going to be okay?”

The question surprises me, and I forget to be diplomatic. “Why the fuck do you care?”

Something flashes across his face—there and gone quicker than I can figure it out. Before he can answer me, though, Harlow walks back into the living room, dragging his suitcase behind him.

“Alright. I’ve got it.”

Josh’s attention snaps to Harlow, and a sad smile passes over his face before he pushes to his feet. “You don’t have to move out right away. I know I made a mess of things, so take all the time you need and take the guest room if you want. Or—” He stops talking, and my eyebrows shoot up. “Or,” he continues, “if you don’t want to be around me at all, you can stay here, and I can—I can stay with Andy.”

I cock my head, staring at him.

Harlow raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m not, like, moving out or anything. Not until we get back.”

Josh glances between the two of us. “Get back?”

“From Vegas,” I say. “I’m taking Harlow on your honeymoon.”

Harlow laughs, and I realize how it sounds too, but if all Josh gets from me is a little bit of petty and no black eyes, he should count himself lucky.