Harley stumbles backward with a grunt of objection, and I look up at him through heavy lashes finding his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen, and his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he fights to take. His eyes penetrate mine, looking at me incredulously.

“Harley,” I manage through my own breathlessness. Placing a hand over my mouth, I close my eyes. I touch my lips, and beneath my fingertips I can still feel his lips on mine. I can still taste him. I still want him. But I shake my head, clearing those intoxicating thoughts from my painfully conflicted mind. “Harley, we can’t do this. It’s a lie. You said so yourself, last night.”

Shut the hell up, Murph, my subconscious hisses at me. My own words leave a terrible taste on my tongue, and I watch as Harley seems to battle with his words, opening his mouth only to close it again, over and over as if he’s having some kind of silent war within himself. He presses his lips together in a firm line, looking up to the sky a moment, his hands fisting his hair. I stare at him, watching as he exhales a heavy breath of frustration before finally meeting my eyes again. But this time, there’s no look of lust or want in them. They’re blank. Indifferent. And I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting.

“Harley, I—”

“Is this about him?” He cuts me off, and I snap my mouth shut, my eyes widening of their own accord.

“What?”

“Nash,” he hisses, and he rakes his fingers through his hair, tearing at the longer lengths as he meets my eyes. “Is this all still about him, because … you’re doing my fuckin’ head in. One minute you’re kissing me like I’m the only guy you want to be kissing, the next minute you’re choosing him over me. Again. And, I can’t—” He snaps his mouth shut, pressing his lips together and closing his eyes momentarily before turning to looking out over the ocean.

“Harley?” I take a step toward him, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder, but he quickly backs away from me, and I pull my hand away, flinching from his rejection.

Shaking his head, a small smile tugs at his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. Smoothing a hand over his wayward hair, he offers me a curt nod, grabbing his cup from the railing ledge before turning and staggering ever so slightly. “I’m gonna go to bed.” He casts a fleeting glance over his shoulder, this time not meeting my eyes. Finishing what’s left of his drink, he tosses the empty Solo cup to the ground, causing it to bounce upon the decking, and he disappears inside with a murmured, “Goodnight, Murph.”

And just like that, I’m left all alone with nothing more than the memory of his lips on mine, the lingering hint of his intoxicating scent, the painful sting of his words, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, reminding me of a moment ago when everything was almost perfect.