Page 106 of Make Her Mine

I’m definitely going to have to get over this need to retch.

Harlow won’t kiss me if I’ve been puking all day.

Speaking of… I reach an arm out to the side of my bed where she should be lying, even though I don’t feel her curled up against me.

But it’s empty.

I also don’t hear or feel any cats.

Which means Harlow is up and has fed our furry roommates.

She better still be here though. I want to see her before we go our separate ways for the next several hours.

I frown as I think about her.

Hazy memories of her coming to the police station to pick me up last night filter into my brain.

Oh shit. I’m eighty-five percent sure it’s a memory and not a dream that Scott called Harlow to come get me.

Then I sit up quickly—and immediately regret the motion.

Harlow punched Zach last night. In the jail cell.

After he told her the truth about my broken hand.

Those two things aren’t a dream.

Dammit.

I’ve kept the truth about my injury and missing the championship game because of a fight over Harlow from her and most of the town for years.

I’m not embarrassed by it. I’ve just always known that it would cause additional tension between Harlow and me.

Prior to this week and our fake relationship, the last thing Harlow and I needed was additional messiness between us.

The night I told Zach to stay the fuck away from Harlow and he’d asked why I cared so much was the first time I had admitted to any other human how I really felt about Harlow.

I’ve always hated that Zach Nelson was the first person to know that I was in love with her.

Honestly, until I had blurted it out to him, I hadn’t even admitted it to myself. It had come out of my mouth and I had been as shocked as he was. But the fact that it was true hit me a second later.

And I’d known that he was going to use her against me.

I told her I didn’t have any regrets about hitting him and missing the football game, and that’s true. But I do regret telling Zach how I felt about her. I have always felt guilty about poking at his jealousy and that it pulled Harlow into the stupid tensions between him and me.

I swing my legs over the side of the mattress. I need to get started on a hangover cure and get my ass in gear.

First, I need to find Harlow.

But as I stand and take my first step toward the bathroom, my gaze snags on a collection of items on my bedside table.

There’s water, Gatorade, ibuprofen, and a note.

I’m smiling before I even read it.

You’re so lucky you’re amazing in bed, because before I knew that I would’ve really enjoyed torturing you while you were hungover.

It’s followed by a little heart and a simple H.

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