Chapter 51
~ Octavia ~
Friday night—the universal signal for the city to exhale. For most, it was the start of the weekend; for me, it was another chance to let Clinton Harrington pull me 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 me.
"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 me.
They weren't just acquaintances; there was a history there.
