Just a Number (13 page)

Okay, so he doesn’t know, but this could turn out to be so much worse.

“Alan, please—”

“Well, where is she?” he asks, looking around me, but I continue to get in his way. “Is she hot?” He laughs. “What am I saying? Of course she is!”

“Alan, seriously…I don’t think now is a good time.”

“You mean you’re not going to tell me anything?” I shake my head, because I’m really not about to get into the details of my “hot piece of ass,” mainly because I value my life, and I can’t be sure he isn’t going to kill me.

Thankfully, he relents, holding his hands up in surrender. “All right, fine. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” He backs toward the door, opening it. Before he slips back out into the hall, he smirks. “By the way, congrats.” His comment confuses me, and I arch an eyebrow quizzically as he points past me and continues. “Based on her choice of lingerie, she’s got to be a wildcat in the sack.”

I’m horrified as my eyes land on Amelia’s lacy bra in the middle of my kitchen floor, but I try not to let it show on my face. “Goodnight, Alan. If you decide to stay in the city, let me know. Maybe we could do lunch tomorrow.”

Alan’s head bobs. “That’s actually a great idea. Maybe I’ll grab a hotel room…I’d ask to stay on your couch, but…” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I fight the impulse to bury my face in my hands.

“Right,” I agree, hoping my voice is even. “Well, let me know about tomorrow, then.”

“Will do,” he says, and I’m just about to close the door when he stops me. “Oh, and can you do me a favor?” I nod in response. “Check in on Amy every once in a while. I’m not sure I like the idea of her dating someone twice her age. You two have always been close, and I think she’ll listen to you. If I tell her to steer clear of this guy, it’ll just drive her further into his arms.”

I laugh, and I know it comes across as nervous as it feels. “I will, Alan. I’ll, uh, talk to her.”

And with that, he’s gone, and I click the deadbolt back into place before turning and pressing my back to the door. The bedroom door opens and soft footfalls pad down the hall. Soon she’s standing in front of me.

“Well, that was more than I ever needed to hear my father say,” she jokes softly.

I want to laugh—to pretend that nothing has changed, but the truth is, everything has changed. While Alan doesn’t realize that
I’m
the older man involved with his daughter, he’s already voiced his disapproval of the situation. We won’t be able to win him over, and I can’t tear her relationship with him apart.

“Owen?” Her voice is soft, afraid, and her head starts to shake from side to side, like she knows what’s coming.

“I think I should take you home, Amy.”

13. Keep Holding On

I
still can’t believe what’s happening. Okay, it’s not that I don’t
believe
it; I guess I’m just stuck in a state of denial over the entire thing.

Home. He wants to take me home.

I had seen his decision before he even voiced it, but that doesn’t make his words sting any less. It shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does, given we had just come so incredibly close to being caught by my dad, but it does. I guess I’ve just been so caught up in how amazing it is to be with Owen that the reality of our situation just sort of evaporated slowly throughout the week.

I can see how much my father’s comments have upset Owen, though, and I can’t just pretend like everything is okay. Because it isn’t. They can be, sure, but in this moment, it’s obvious that we have to figure things out sooner rather than later.

“Owen, we should talk about this,” I whisper.

He shakes his head, pushing himself away from the door. “We will, but…I need to process everything first.”

“Okay,” I reply, dragging the word out and following him through his apartment as he searches for…something. “Well, don’t you think we should try and process this together? Maybe try to figure out what to tell him?”

Owen stops searching, fisting his car keys from the end table in his living room, and my stomach drops. He’s taking me home, whether I want to go or not.

“How could we possibly spin this into something he’d even remotely approve of, Amy?” he asks, his voice growing a little louder. The use of my nickname isn’t missed, either. One little word, and I no longer feel like his equal.

He’s upset, and while I know his anger isn’t directed at me, I can’t help but keep my distance and wrap my arms around myself.

“I get that he’s going to have a hard time accepting this.” My eyes catch his, and I swear I see his urge to blurt out “yeah, right,” but I keep talking, not giving him the chance. “I do. But don’t you think that once he understands how happy we are together, he’ll come around?”

Owen is silent, contemplative for a moment, before he rakes his fingers through his hair roughly and shakes his head again. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes when he brought up the fact that you were seeing a man twice your age.”

“Okay,” I quickly agree, interjecting as he lets his sentence hang there, unfinished. “Well, that’s because, right now, he thinks I’m just dating some random fifty-year-old.” The second I see his guard drop, I let my arms fall from around my body and take a step forward, placing my hands on his hips and smiling up at him. “And let’s be realistic, here,” I add on slyly, “I would never date a fifty-year-old…I have standards. Forty-three is kind of my limit.”

While I’d hoped to gain a bigger smile and a laugh, I’m forced to settle for a weaker version of his crooked grin. “Come on,” he says, nodding his head for the door. “I’ll take you home.”

There’s no arguing with him, so, defeated, I force a smile to my face, grab my things, and follow him out of his place and to his car. The entire drive back to my apartment is quiet, save for the soft jazz music pouring from the Lexus’ speakers. It confuses me at first when Owen slows down and starts scoping out the cars along the street outside my apartment, but then I realize he’s probably looking for Dad’s vehicle. When he doesn’t find it, he pulls up in front of my building and puts the car in park.

We sit there for a few minutes in near-silence, and I’m looking at my fidgeting hands, not wanting to get out of the car and trying to find a way to tell him this. Before I can say anything, he gets out and comes around to open my door. I sigh, dejected, and take his offered hand. We stand by the car, looking anywhere but at each other, and I’m trying so hard to ignore the burning in my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Owen breathes softly, his thumb moving softly over the back of my hand; I hadn’t realized he was still holding it.

“I know,” I reply, my voice breaking. This is starting to feel an awful lot like a breakup…which is ridiculous since we haven’t even defined whatever our relationship is. “It’s fine,” I tell him, even though nothing about this feels fine. Pretending to scratch an itch on my cheek, I discreetly wipe the tear that escapes and look up at him. He looks devastated and tells me he’ll call me when he figures things out.

My heart clenches and my stomach flops as I step forward and gently place my hand on his chest, kissing his cheek softly and feeling his heart pound under my touch. There’s so much I want to say, but I know I won’t be able to say any of it without breaking down, so I simply turn around and head for my apartment building.

Little do I know, I won’t hear from him all weekend.

“Hello…Earth to Amy.” Liz’s voice pulls me from the painful memory of Friday night, and I turn to her.

It’s Monday morning, and we’ve just arrived on campus. I’m exhausted, having not slept well almost all weekend, and it shows in my eyes. Every time I’d lie down in bed, Owen’s scent on my pillows would remind me of what happened Friday night. Every time I’d open the fridge and see all the food in there, I’d remember again. At one point on Saturday night, I remembered that Owen still had my spare keys. Several times, I’d find myself hoping—even praying—that he’d come to his senses and show up, kissing all of this away and assuring me that, as long as we were together, we could handle anything the world had to throw at us. This never happened, so when I crawled out of bed on Sunday, smelling his smell and seeing all that food in my fridge once more, I gave up hope that he would come to me. Everything in my small apartment screamed of the past week that Owen and I had shared together; there was no escaping it.

Hence my lack of sleep.

“I’m sorry,” I say, smiling weakly. “What?”

Liz shakes her head disapprovingly. “What’s up with you today? I hate to say it, but you look like hell, and you’re acting like something from another planet.”

I’m too exhausted to feel insulted, and one look in the passenger-side mirror is all the proof I need to know Liz is totally right. I run my fingers through my hair, not that I expect this to do anything, and I pull it into a messy bun-thing on top of my head, hoping it looks intentionally disheveled and not as horrifying as the rest of me. Along with the dark circles of exhaustion under my eyes and the pile of slightly tangled hair on top of my head, my clothes also indicate my mood. Unable to find it in myself to really give a shit, I paired my favorite jeans—the faded ones that have holes in both knees from wearing them so damn much—with my high school sweatshirt. This isn’t normal for me, as I typically take a little more pride in my appearance.

This should bother me, because I’ve never let a guy get to me like this before, but it doesn’t. Why? Because Owen isn’t like any guy I’ve ever been involved with, and I find myself feeling lost without him. Even though we’d only just been together a short time, what we had felt so real.

Having always been able to tell when something’s bothered me, Liz watches me sympathetically. “What happened? On Friday, you were in such a good mood, and now? It’s like you’ve done a 180 or something.”

I feel the tears starting to well up behind my eyes, so I turn away from her and try to hold them back. “Nothing,” I lie. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep this weekend.”

Liz lays her hand over mine, and I glance down at them. “Normally, I’d say ‘way to go,’ but the look on your face would indicate that your lack of sleep isn’t due to that guy you’ve been seeing.” She pauses, then adds, “Actually, I bet it is, but not in a feel-good way.”

I laugh wryly. “Something like that.” I want to tell her—I really do—but there’s nothing really to tell anymore. He didn’t even call…of course, neither did I.

“I’m here if you need someone to talk to,” Liz whispers softly. “You know that, right?”

I nod. “I do. Thank you.”

“And you know it’s the best friend’s job to castrate any man that hurts the other, right?” I laugh genuinely, for the first time since Friday, at her joke—at least, I hope it’s a joke. Kind of. “You just tell me who, when, and where.”

Liz and I step out of the car and head to our first classes. The day goes by as I’d expected—painfully slow—and nothing can hold my focus long enough to keep me from thinking about Owen. I imagine I look like a zombie to most people I pass in the halls, and I don’t know when I became
this
girl—the girl who’s sick to death over a guy—but I have. I find I can’t help it, though; I miss him terribly, and I want to call him, even if it’s only to hear his voice and then hang up.

During lunch, Liz talks about her first few classes and tries to get me to join in on the conversation. She never pressures me, instead always trying to keep it going by asking questions or changing the topic to one she thinks I might enjoy. She really is the best, but all I’m interested in is pushing my salad around my plate with my fork. I don’t think I even eat any of it by the time lunch ends and we have to part ways for class, but I can’t really tell because my appetite just hasn’t been what it used to be.