Just a Number (14 page)

My afternoon mirrors my morning, and I’m more than a little relieved when my last class lets out. All I want to do is pull on a pair of sweat pants and crawl into my bed, pulling my blanket over my head and disappearing for a little while. Like every other day, Liz waits by the main entrance for me, and we walk out to her car together. We make it to the end of the sidewalk when Liz nudges me.

“Hey, isn’t that your dad’s friend?” she says, pointing toward the parking lot.

I admit, my eyes hadn’t been particularly focused on anything but my feet since we left the school, but the minute she says this, my head snaps up and my heartbeat quickens. She’s right. Owen’s there—dressed in a dark suit, his tie still done up but pulled loose around his neck, the top button of his shirt undone—and leaning up against his car with his arms crossed in front of him as he stares at the ground. Then, it’s as though he can sense me, and he looks up, standing up straighter and offering me a small, tentative smile. From where I stand, he appears apologetic, and I take an eager step forward, my body humming with the need to be near him, before I remember Liz is still beside me and grind to a halt.

“Uh, yeah,” I reply, just now realizing I still haven’t answered her question.

“God, he’s hot.” Liz sighs.

Warmth spreads through my cheeks, and I shrug. “Sure, if you’re into that obvious good-looking type.” Our eyes are still locked across the lot, and my body is screaming at me to run to him. My brain, on the other hand, reminds me that if I do that, I’ll only raise more questions than either of us is ready to answer. “I’m, uh, going to go see what he wants.” I turn to Liz and raise my eyebrows. “Wait for me?”

“Sure. I’ll be in the car.” She smiles at me and heads for her vehicle while I take my first few steps toward Owen.

Not wanting to appear too eager, I try to maintain a steady pace as I cross the lot toward Owen, but every so often, I’ll speed up before pulling myself back. My heart hammers harder with every step until the sound of my pulse in my ears pushes every other sound away, and my body trembles with excitement.

Of course, I still don’t know
why
he’s here, so this scares me a little.

“Hey,” I greet lamely, standing about a foot away from him, even though I want to be closer. So much closer.

“Hi.” His reply is equally as lame, which makes me feel a little better.

We stand there for what feels like way longer than a few seconds, and then I just can’t stand it anymore. “What are you doing here?” I blurt out at the same time he says, “Can we talk?”

I look up at him, wide-eyed and speechless. “Talk?”

He chuckles, pushing his fingers through his hair, which I notice is a little more unruly than usual. “Yeah, you know, talk…that thing I was too stubborn to do Friday night.”

Smiling, I shrug. “Well, as long as you’re man enough to admit you were in the wrong—”

“
So
wrong, Amelia,” he interrupts, his expression suddenly transforming from mildly humored to somber. Contentment washes over me when I register what he’s called me. The intensity of his blue eyes burns into mine, and I feel like my entire body has been engulfed by the heat of his stare. “I know I fucked up, but I’m hoping that—”

“Give me a ride home?” I request, interrupting him. My voice is low and shaky as I resist the urge to wrap my arms around him in the middle of the parking lot, where people are already beginning to stare. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

Looking relieved, and quite possibly a little bit stunned, Owen quickly nods. “Y-yeah. Of course.”

Glancing over my shoulder as Owen opens my door for me, I catch Liz’s eyes and silently indicate with the tip of my head in Owen’s direction that I’m getting a ride with him. Her eyebrows pull together, and I watch her mouth, “Is everything okay?” Smiling, I nod and hold my thumb and forefinger to my ear, mouthing the words, “I’ll call you later,” and then I slip into the passenger seat.

The combined smell of Owen and the leather of his interior surrounds me—comforts me—and I inhale deeply, thinking this may be all I get. Sure, he’s apologized, but that doesn’t mean that anything has changed. All he’s said is that he wants to talk; that could mean so many things.

“How was your day?” Owen asks, slipping in behind the wheel and closing his door. His eyes move over me, over my questionable choice of wardrobe, before settling on my face, and his expression turns remorseful. He can see, just as clearly as Liz had earlier, how my day was—how my entire weekend was.

Of course, now that I’m in such close proximity, I take in his features. I can see the slightly deepened worry lines in his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes, and I realize that, without a doubt, his weekend was just as bad as mine was. I want to throw myself over the console and into his lap—to kiss away all of his worry and tell him we can make this work—but I know this is neither the time nor the place. Instead, I smile and place my hand over his on the gearshift for a brief moment, out of sight from anyone who might see what’s really going on between us. “Take me home, Owen.”

We’re barely out of the parking lot before he apologizes again. “I shouldn’t have taken you home like that. We should have talked about it. Figured everything out.”

“I know,” I tell him honestly, “but you were freaking out. I understood.” Pausing, I look down at my lap and take a deep breath. “I only wish you’d have called. I thought…” Biting my lower lip, I stop myself, because, while he’s here now, that doesn’t mean he wants to continue whatever it is we had going on.

“You thought what?” Owen inquires softly.

“Well, you left.” There. It’s out there now. Band-aid off; wound exposed. “It felt pretty final. Like you were ending things.” My nerves kick into overdrive, and soon I’m rambling. “I mean, we both knew the risks involved when we started this, and even though it was never supposed to go beyond Thanksgiving, we’d agreed to let things develop naturally. Yes, my dad showing up like that was a shock, and I get that it freaked you out—
I
was freaked out, too—but I didn’t think you’d give up that easily.”

“Give up?” Owen says, but I’m still too caught up in what I’m trying to say to really hear him as I continue to bulldoze through my thoughts.

“I know we never labeled what we have—
had—
but I thought things were going well, and then you just le—.” That’s when what he said registers—and more importantly,
how
he said it. He sounded confused. My throat seizes up as I snap my gaze in his direction. The inflection of his voice repeats in my mind, and I know without a doubt I wasn’t hearing things. Had I totally misinterpreted everything that happened on Friday?

He glances at me briefly before he averts his eyes back to the road. “Amelia, I didn’t give up,” he admits, his voice soft. “I just thought I needed time alone to sort through everything that’s happened.”

“That’s stupid,” I blurt out.

He chuckles, and I find the laugh lines in the outer corners of his eyes oddly comforting. “Yes, well I realize this now. I’m not exactly known for making sound decisions when it comes to my relationships.”

When we pull to a stop, I realize we’ve arrived at my building. Before I can ask him if he wants to come up and talk some more—because I feel we still have a lot to talk about—he unclips his seatbelt and turns to me. “I never meant to hurt you, and if it’s any consolation, I was miserable without you.”

I smile, unclipping my own seatbelt and mirroring his position. “Well, it’s a start,” I tell him, only half-kidding. “Do you…well…want to come up? You know, to talk.”

His smile widens as he nods and turns the car off. “I would love that.”

We walk up the four flights of stairs to my floor, and then wander down the hall. I reach into the pocket of my jeans for my keys, but before I can pull them out, Owen has slid his into the deadbolt and disengaged it, opening the door for me. I don’t know why, exactly, but seeing him slip the keys back into his pocket instead of giving it to me fills me with a small amount of hope. That maybe we’ll be able to figure all of this out.

Once we’re inside, I walk to where my bed is and drop my bookbag to the floor next to my bedside table, and before I turn around, I feel Owen’s arms wrap around my waist. I melt into the warmth of his embrace, my body softening as I relax against him and fold my arms over his.

“I’m sorry.” Not only do I hear the sincerity in his words, but I feel it, moving beneath my skin, tingling. “I thought a lot about what you said—about how as long as we’re happy, he’ll come around—and while I’m not entirely convinced it’s that black and white, I know that I’m willing to try to make him see.”

Turning in his arms, I look up at him, my heart racing. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms.

My lips curl up into a wide smile and I wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him and sighing contentedly when his lips brush the skin of my neck. He holds me back, lifting me off the ground, and the warmth of his feather-light kisses travel along my neck and over my jaw until his lips find mine enthusiastically.

Three days’ worth of pent-up frustration is unleashed, and I press myself closer to Owen, taking his lower lip between my teeth and twisting my fingers into his hair. Hearing that what happened this weekend was just a small bump in the road—one that, to be quite honest, only foreshadows a much larger one that could send our lives into a tailspin—is such a relief. However, I don’t just need to
hear
it; I need Owen to show me.

“Mmmf, Amy,” he mumbles against my voracious lips, and when he pulls away, I focus on his stubble-ridden jawline, kissing and nipping a trail toward his ear. “We should talk about this.”

I know he’s right and I should use every ounce of self-control I have to end the kiss. It’s not like I don’t realize that jumping back into bed will only prolong this conversation further—something we’ve already proven can be detrimental—but I can’t find it in myself to pull away from him. I don’t want to talk. Not yet. I want to get lost in him. I want to forget that Friday ever happened—just for a little while—and get back to the way things were. We can talk after. I promise I’ll be a grown up just as soon as we’re done.

He loosens his grip around my waist, lowering me to the floor as he tries to back away, but I refuse to relent. I slide my hands down his chest and tug on his tie until I’ve removed and tossed it aside. “I tried to talk to you on Friday,” I tell him softly, an edge of anger still audible in my tone as I unfasten the buttons on his shirt and push it open. “You brushed me off.”

“Because—”

“I know,” I interrupt, looking up at him as I pull the hem of his shirt from the waist of his pants and push it down his arms. “But I don’t want to talk. Not right this second. After, I promise.” My attention falls to his belt, and I begin tugging at it impatiently, my fingers trembling with anticipation. “What I want right now, is
you
.”

Everything happens so quickly after that.

Groaning, Owen slides his hand over my jaw until his fingers curl around my neck, tugging on the hairs that are currently pulled up in my messy bun. I don’t care, though; the prickling sensation of pain only reminds me that this isn’t a dream. His lips crush mine, our teeth hitting occasionally until we’ve found our rhythm, and his other hand slides up under my sweater and toward my tits. My skin prickles with goosebumps under the warmth of his touch, and desperation burns through my veins. Unable to wait any longer, I quickly pull away, yanking my sweater and bra from my body in one fell swoop before frantically undoing my jeans while kicking my shoes off. As I work to remove my clothes, Owen is doing the same, both of us driven by nothing more than pure, carnal lust and need and loving every second of it.

There will be no sweet and sensual undressing of each other this time.

Once our clothes have been tossed aside, I reach forward and wrap my hand around Owen’s neck, pulling him forward until his body crashes into mine, forcing us to topple over onto the bed. I use this momentum to roll us over until I’m straddling him, and I can feel his erection resting between my legs, tempting me…teasing me. I rock my hips over him, and he groans into my mouth, his fingers curling into the flesh of my hips and pulling me forward roughly until I cry out with pleasure.

There will be no sweet and sensual love-making this time, either. And I’m more than okay with that.

I break our kiss and look deep into his eyes as I lean over him and reach for the bedside drawer to grab a condom, but Owen stops me. Every cell in my brain momentarily shuts down as he guides me over his cock, aligning us and pulling me down onto him. The feel of his skin against mine is so sensual, the passion between us so intense, that I find it hard to think rationally, and for the first time ever, I find myself wondering if this is how guys feel during sex. It’s fucking amazing, and my body moves as if completely detached from all sense of reason.

Eventually, I am able to wade through the fog of lust and desire long enough to try and be responsible. “Wait,” I pant, unable to stop my hips from moving. Every cell in my body is charged and crackling, and I just don’t want it to end.

As I go back and forth on what I
should
do and what I
want
to do, Owen lifts his head from the bed and kisses me softly. “It’s fine,” he assures me, and one more look into his eyes tells me everything I need to know, and I don’t question it again. I only thank God I’m on the pill.

Our bodies continue to move together in a desperate attempt to put this weekend behind us. Our kisses are firm, making our lips swell and redden, and our teeth nip hungrily at sensitive patches of flesh. This is make-up sex at its finest, and I can feel our mutual frustration and misery of the last few days fading away as things between us continue to heat up and escalate. The beginning of my orgasm closes in around me when, out of nowhere, Owen rolls us over, withdraws from between my legs, and flips me over with a low growl.

The act catches me completely off guard, and my heart pounds with excitement at having unleashed this side of him as he props me up and pushes back into me. I cry out at the strength behind his movements, and his hands move up my body, one ensnaring my hip while the other grips the top of my shoulder for leverage. His fingers press into the side of my neck as he continues to move behind me, our collective moans and groans and cries of ecstasy mounting until they drown out everything else in the world.