Penalty Kill

Harper

I have no clue what fucking time it is. All I know is that my body is drenched in sweat, and at some point I acquired a hot pink, rhinestone-covered cowboy hat that's perched perfectly on my head as Alice and I continue to tear up the dance floor like we own the place.

Keeping track of all the eyebrow raises, blatant staring and utter perplexion we've caused tonight would be impossible. I don't know what's come over me. It's like I'm exercising demons I didn't even know I had. Maybe Alice is an empath. Maybe she knew a night out without Jake in tow would let me cut loose in a way I hadn't experienced since before mom died.

It might also be that Alice is such a refreshing breath of fresh air. Felicia is absolutely wonderful—there's no doubting that. But she's been my best friend for years. I haven't found or kept any meaningful female relationships in my life besides her, and having Alice dropped in my lap in all of her painfully blunt, wonderfully honest glory is giving me life.

Think dancing on tables, whipping my hair around wildly, gyrating my hips in ways that feel so naturally carnal type of life.

I knew from the second we ordered our first drink that this night was going to be just the right amount of release. When I'd attempted to get a beer, I was met with a very loud and distinct sound of disapproval followed by a throughly disgusted "Yuck."

A make-up darkened eyebrow raised over my glittered eyeshadow, her flagrant distaste for my alcohol of choice baffling me. "Something wrong with my order?"

"Beer? Really? Ugh, you've been hanging around my brother way too much. Shots. We're doing shots, Harper."

"I'll have you know I liked drinking beer way before I met your brother, and I don't know if shots are such a—"

"Harper." Her hands gripped my biceps in almost the same exact way her mom had just a few hours ago. Her bright blue eyes bored into mine, brimming with excitement and seriousness. "We're here to have fun. It's Christmas Eve, and we're in a shitty bar in a small ass town where literally nothing fucking matters."

All I could do was blink back at her, dazed by the sudden intensity of her conviction. I shouldn't have been all that shocked, considering she got me out of the house in a mini skirt and heeled boots in December. Not to mention she touched up my makeup to be more worthy of "going out", complete with adding waves to my rarely ever done hair.

When we'd stood next to each other in the reflection of a standing mirror in her childhood room, we looked damn good. She'd opted for a very tight-fitting pair of faux-leather pants with a near see-through long-sleeve shirt that left little to nothing to the imagination—including the very obvious outline of her lacy black bra.

Alice was a good foot shorter than me, making her a much more formidable counterpart with the confidence she oozed and determination she channeled fiercely. Me on the other hand? I was happy to go along with her plan and overall scheming. That's why when we descended the stairs a half hour after disappearing to her bedroom, I rubbed my freshly painted lips together and batted my thickened eyelashes with their newly added coats of mascara.

A smile that was equal parts mischief and bashfulness spread across my face as we hit the hardwood floor of the living room. Jake was pacing by the front door, arms folded across his chest, the sleeves of his cream cable-knit sweater rolled up to his elbows. My eyes couldn't help but roam over the lines of his exposed tattoos, devouring the delicious contrast of the whorls of ink with the clean aesthetic of his ensemble.

Our eyes finally met as Alice towed me towards the door, and the electricity that shot through me as I watched his jaw fall open and his eyes rove over every inch of me was almost powerful enough to get me to stay. So I could run my fingers across the delicious ridges of his forearms, to have his hands rove over my curves, around to my ass where he would slide—