The Owner's Box

Chapter 8

Harlow POV

I watched as Isabella—or rather, Saint, as she preferred to be called—danced with her girlfriend. They moved together in sync, their bodies pressed close, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as I observed their intimate connection. Their hands moved and touched on each other's bodies, igniting a mix of emotions within me.

My jaw clenches as I watch Saint's girlfriend twerk on her, and Saint reciprocates by placing her hands on her girlfriend's ass as they dance.

The woman places her hands around Saint's neck and pulls her close, drawing her into an intimate embrace. Caught in the act of watching them, I feel a flush of embarrassment wash over me.

I watched as she whispered something into Saint's ear, her words hidden from my ears. Then, unexpectedly, the woman winked at me.

Saint's gaze flickers in my direction, and our eyes lock in a brief moment. The smile on her face turns into a smirk as she looks me up and down before she walks hand in hand with the woman to the bar.

I reminded myself that I needed to respect the boundaries of their relationship, despite the surge of jealousy I felt. But that didn't mean I couldn't look, right?

I couldn't deny the attraction I felt toward Saint, even if she was with someone else. As I watched them walk away, a part of me couldn't help but wonder what could have been if circumstances were different.

And just to make sure I kept my distance; I had a little distraction of my own for this outing; I brought Chelsea along.

 Chelsea and I met a few years ago when she was the realtor for a building I was purchasing. Since then, we've occasionally hooked up if we were both single and needed to let off some steam.

Adding Chelsea to the mix was a deliberate move, a way to keep myself occupied and perhaps even a little bit of a statement in response to seeing Saint and her girlfriend. It's petty, I know.

I make my way over to the bar.

"Thanks for meeting me Saint." I stand next to her, the name Saint sounding foreign on my lips. "Sure. Ugh this is Peyton, Peyton, Harlow." Saint makes the introductions.

"Hello," I give Peyton my best smile. "Hi," she nods at me and then goes to order another drink.

"Add whatever they're getting tonight to the house tab, Jesse," I say, looking at Jesse, one of the bartenders behind the counter. Jesse nods at me and then goes to make the drinks.

Saint and I stand next to each other awkwardly at the bar. I don't know why I feel like a flustered teenager around her. I'm unsure of how to act; there's a giddy feeling inside me that I must keep under control.

Leaning in near her ear, I try to compose myself.

"The music is quite loud here. Would you mind moving to my table over there?" I gesture towards where Chelsea is seated with a few of her friends.

Saint glanced up at me, a hint of concern in her eyes as she followed my gesture toward the table. Chelsea, noticing our gaze, smiled back at us before I returned my attention to Saint, who scrunches her nose up at me.

"What?" I ask. "So, you were just getting upset and feeling some type of way towards me when in reality you got a whole bitch" Saint whisper yelled at me. I just raised my eyebrow at her.

"One, be respectful and two you're here and damn near fucked your girl on the dance floor so what's the issue?" I ask her with a straight face. "Wow. Alright. 'mm gonna go. Goodnight Harlow." She shakes her head and grabs Peytons hand.