Chapter 51
~ Octavia ~
Friday night—the universal signal for the city to exhale. For most, it was the start of the weekend; for , it was another chance to let Clinton Harrington pull out of the wreckage of my own thoughts.
We were at a neon-lit bowling alley, the air filled with the crashing of pins and a soft, rhythmic bass from the speakers. It was loud, bright, and perfectly distracting.
"Thank God it’s Friday," Clinton said, sliding into the booth across from .
"Indeed. TGIF," I agreed, a genuine smile tugging at my lips.
We ordered a mountain of snacks—chicken wings, fries, and nachos with a side of guacamole—and two smoothies.
As I watched him, Franklin’s warning echoed in my head like a scratched record: "I just don’t want you near Clinton. He’s bad luck."
The way Franklin had recognized him instantly outside the office still unsettled .
They weren’t just acquaintances; there was a history there.
"You’re quiet," Clinton observed, pulling back to the present.
"Just thinking," I said, reaching for a wing.
"About the other day.
Franklin seed to know exactly who you were. He didn’t just recognize you; he seed...agitated."
Clinton didn’t blink. "Like I told you, we t briefly. Professional, mostly."
"Can you be more specific?" I pushed. "How briefly did you know him?"
"Let’s just say I helped him close a few Chapters of business that needed finishing," he said vaguely.
When I raised an eyebrow, he laughed.
"You really are a curious one, aren’t you?"
"If I wasn’t curious, how would I know how the world works?"
"Fine," he relented. "It was venture capital work. His company identifies promising startups, and I provided strategic guidance to help them scale. In return, I got equity. It was a standard business arrangent, Octavia. Nothing more, nothing less."
I nodded, feeling a slight weight lift. "Okay. I understand."
"Not curious anymore?" he teased.
"Now I’m just bored of talking about business," I replied with a grin.
"Say no more." He stood up, rolling his sleeves past his elbows. My eyes drifted to his forearms—veiny, masculine, and clearly the result of hours in the gym.
He held out a hand. "Let’s go bowling."
I took his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm.
"I should probably co clean. I’ve never actually bowled in my life."
"Then it’s a good thing you’re with a pro. Co on."
He led to the rack of colorful balls. I stared at them like they were foreign artifacts.
Clinton picked a heavy black one for himself, then handed a lighter, pearlescent blue one.
"Try this. It’s easier to toss."
I slid my fingers into the holes awkwardly.
"Okay... now what?"
"Now, you knock down those pins." He leaned back, clearly amused by my lack of experience.
"Very helpful, Clinton," I muttered. I took a deep breath, walked toward the lane, and swung my arm.
The ball didn’t roll; it limped. It traveled down the lane at a snail’s pace, eventually drifting to the side and dropping into the gutter with a pathetic clunk.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "I’m a disaster."
Clinton burst into laughter.
"Are you laughing at ?" I demanded, planting my hands on my hips.
"No, no," he managed, breathless. "I’m just... appreciating your unique style."
I playfully punched his arm. "Liar. Your turn."
"Watch and learn, gorgeous. I was the king of bowling in high school." He stepped up with effortless confidence and rolled the ball.
Crash. A perfect strike.
"Show off!" I exclaid as he turned back with a smug wink.
"It’s a gift. Want to try again? Maybe aim for the lane this ti?"
"No. I quit. I’m retiring from my bowling career tonight."
We went back to the booth, laughing as we polished off the nachos. I pointed a fry at him accusingly. "You’re gloating. Next ti, I’ll be the one winning."
"Oh? So the novice wants to take down the king?"
"Don’t push your luck, ’King of Bowling,’" I mocked. I looked down at my feet. "Actually... I bet it’s the heels. I can’t balance."
I kicked off my shoes and stood up. "One more try."
"That’s the spirit."
I picked up the ball, determined this ti. I was about to swing when I felt his presence right behind . His heat radiated through my blouse.
"Your stance is wrong," he whispered, his voice low and vibrating.
I turned slightly, my breath catching as his hands settled over mine, adjusting my grip on the ball. He leaned in, his chest brushing my shoulder, his lips inches from my ear.
"Keep your wrist straight," he murmured.
"And follow through."
"Are you actually trying to help beat you?" I asked softly.
"I’ll do anything to make you happy, Octavia."
He let go slowly. I focused, rolled the ball, and watched it roar down the lane. It smashed into the pins, leaving only two standing.
"Almost!" I gasped, clapping my hands.
"Not bad for a novice," he said, walking back to the booth.
"Maybe one day I’ll let you be the Queen of Bowling. My Queen."
The words sent a shiver down my spine—not entirely out of pleasure. As he leaned back, his scent—sothing clean and expensive—filled my senses. But in that mont, my traitorous mind flickered to Franklin. I imagined him standing behind . Him whispering in my ear.
I shook my head, trying to banish the ghost. I was on a date with a man who actually wanted . I needed to focus on that.
The drive ho was quiet. When we reached my door, I turned to him.
"Tonight was fun, Clinton. I needed that."
"I’m glad." His gaze grew intense, unblinking. "Octavia... there’s sothing I’ve been wanting to say. Sothing I’ve been holding back."
My heart skipped a beat. "What is it?"
"I want you to know how incredible I think you are. Most nights, I can’t even focus because I’m so busy thinking about you." He reached out, taking my hands in his. "I’m falling in love with you, Octavia. I didn’t plan for it, but it’s the truth. I want to be with you. Really be with you."
The air felt thin.
"Clinton... I’m still married. Legally, I’m still tied to Franklin."
"I know. But a piece of paper doesn’t change how I feel. I don’t care about him." He leaned in, his eyes dropping to my lips. I saw the kiss coming, and just like last ti, I turned my head at the last second.
The silence that followed was heavy.
"That’s the second ti," he said softly, his voice tinged with a sad kind of understanding.
"I know... I’m sorry. It’s just... you’re being so forward, and I’m still trying to process everything. It’s a lot, Clinton."
"I understand." He nodded, stepping back and giving space. "I apologize if I overstepped. I should have considered your situation more carefully."
"Thank you," I whispered.
"It won’t change things, though, will it? I an we can still do this? Hangout, Just...us?"
"Of course. We’re still good."
He gave my hand a final squeeze. "Get so sleep, gorgeous. Text when you’re inside, and give Nola a pat for ."
"I will. Goodnight, Clinton."
I watched him walk toward the elevator before slipping into my apartnt. I leaned against the door, my heart racing. Clinton loved . He was kind, protective, and ready to give the world.
So why was I still waiting for a man who had only ever given silence?
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