We’ve performed for six home games, and every time, the thrill of being out here, of being a part of something like this, gets to me. I think I fell in love with this school the moment I stepped through the tunnel with Will and Jess—and Owen remembered. His season started a few weeks ago. I volunteered to play in the rally band for basketball games too, just so I could watch him. Last week, the crowd started chanting Harper. Owen says he didn’t hear it, but I know he did. I know because I saw it in his smile—the cocky smirk I fell in love with a year ago.

Much like in high school, our football team is only average, and Owen texts me that Willow and Jess are bored by the third quarter. They only wanted to stay for the band’s half-time performance anyhow. Willow’s never really been in it for the sports. I text Owen back and tell him to leave with them and head to the pub. I’ll meet up with them after. I want to change and clean up anyhow.

The game lasts another hour, and Owen sends me a few texts of pictures of Willow and Jess dancing. Owen snuck them in, like he usually does with me, and I can tell he’s also helped them get beer, Willow’s craziness amplifying a little more in every picture he sends. By the time I finally get to the bar, my friends are cuddling in a booth looking at stunt videos on YouTube that they for some reason find hilariously funny.

“I left you in charge of them for like, what? An hour?” I say, sliding up behind Owen, my hands moving around his sides over his stomach and up his chest.

“That better be Kensi feelin’ me up, otherwise my girlfriend’s going to kick your ass,” he jokes, pulling me around to face him, his trademark dark jeans and long-sleeved black shirt calling for me to touch him. I move in close, resting my cheek on his chest, his heart beating underneath. I put on his favorite outfit, too—a red shirtdress with black leggings and a pair of brown leather boots. Even now, a year later, I still want to be the only girl he notices.

“Come on,” he says, his hand sliding down my arm until his fingers find mine, his eyes drawing a line down my body. He walks toward the dance floor, a small wood-planked square crowded with pretty girls and guys on the prowl, and pulls me into the very middle, holding me against his body. He cups my face, stretching me up to my toes, and dusts his lips over mine, speaking against my mouth. “I want to dance with you,” he says, his hands reaching into my hair as he kisses me harder, with enough heat to draw a few whistles from the couples standing next to us. He can feel me blush and start to pull away to hide, so his hands only get firmer, his mouth curving into a smile against mine.

“Don’t you go run and hide. They’re just whistling at a guy kissing the prettiest girl in the room, wear that crown proudly, princess,” he says, his hands growing more bold, sliding over my hips, his thumbs flirting with the waist of my leggings, reminding my body of how quickly he can own me completely.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” I say, my face tilted up to look at him, his eyes peering down on me, both of us hiding under the shadow of his hat.

“Mmmmm,” he hums, pulling me close to him, his chin resting on my head. “This isn’t really dancing. It’s more like foreplay.”

Oh.

“Hey, have you heard from your mom? Did your grandpa get moved in yet?” I ask, and Owen’s body slumps in reaction.

“I say foreplay, and you ask about my grandpa,” Owen chuckles.

“Well, you always knew he’d steal me away from you. It’s kind of your fault when you think about it—you put us together,” I laugh. Owen shakes his head, then kisses the top of mine as he holds me against his chest.

“Grampa’s good. I still can’t believe your mom got him into that program near her hospital. Really, that was amazing of her,” he says, everything about his body so different from the stress and worry that always lived inside of him before. My mom started working on Gus’s case the day his mom sold their house. The Harpers moved into an apartment down the road until school let out, and by the time Owen graduated and the money had run out to pay for his grandfather’s current home, my mom had worked him into the program for veteran’s through her hospital downtown. Emma agreed to let Gus stay for a fraction of the cost until my mom could finalize his move.

“My mom has good connections, and I think she’s finally getting used to the fact that she can make demands for things, and people will listen. Besides, I think she’s a little smitten for Gus, too,” I say.

Owen squints at me, his lips pursed.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with all this obsession with my hot grandpa,” he says, unable to contain his smile, a laugh breaking through and ruining his character. I nestle back into his embrace.