Just a Number (9 page)

“Oh, god, Owen,” I pant toward the ceiling. My toes curl and my arms tingle before going numb as he plunges his long fingers in and out of me.

Owen raises his face from the crook of my neck and pulls my earlobe into his mouth for a second. “Come for me, Amelia.” His gruff request makes my stomach quiver and tighten as he works me right to the brink of release before his fingers curl toward my lower abdomen and push me over.

“Yes…” I whimper, feeling every muscle in my body contract around Owen’s dexterous fingers. “Just like that… Yes…
yes
… Yes!”

As I come down from the high of my orgasm, Owen eases my leg from the edge of the tub and kisses me passionately. My brain is still muddled as I try to wade through the fog of ecstasy, but I sense the gratitude behind his kiss, and I return it tenfold.

When the water starts to run cold, shocking us both, I hop out of the shower and grab my towel while Owen still has to quickly rinse off. Poor bastard. I get his towel ready and hand it to him the second he pulls the shower curtain back, and he wraps it around his waist before following me back out into the apartment.

While I sift through my closet, Owen digs through the small duffle bag he’d packed when leaving Gretchen, grumbling as he goes through shirt after shirt.

“There’s a laundry room down the hall,” I suggest. “Or there’s a Laundromat around the corner. I prefer the Laundromat, though, because I don’t trust the creepy guy next door enough to leave my laundry alone.” I wish I could say I was kidding, but I’ve had several bra and panty sets go missing, and the dude likes to leer.

After quickly dressing, Owen heads to the kitchen while I stuff my books into my backpack, and just as I’m zipping it up, my phone vibrates on my nightstand. I pick it up to see it’s Liz, so I answer it, keeping my voice down in hopes that Owen won’t think I’m talking to him and try to respond. “Hey, Liz.”

“Hi!” she replies happily. “How are you feeling?”

I’m confused for a brief moment until I remember I told her I wasn’t feeling well to keep the true reason for my sullen behavior from her. “Oh, much better. Totally slept it off.”

“Oh, good! You want me to come pick you u—”

“Amelia?” Owen calls from the kitchen, making my body stiffen in fear of us being found out by my best friend. “You don’t have much for breakfast food—did you want some toast?”

I pray she hasn’t heard him—that he wasn’t as loud as I thought he was—but I’m just not that damn lucky, and I don’t get a chance to react before I hear Liz in my ear. “Who…
the fuck
…is that?” My heart begins to pound rapidly, and my eyes widen as I try to think fast. “Amelia Rose Michaels!” she squeals into my ear. “Do you have a man in your apartment?”

“Y-yes?”

“Oh my god! Tell me everything!”

There’s no way I can tell her everything, so I try to get rid of her instead. “Sorry, Liz. I gotta go. I’ll see you in about thirty?”

“Amy…I’m your best fr—”

“Okay,” I sing into the phone, pulling it from my ear slowly. “See you soon!” And I hang up before she gets the chance to ask again. I know I’m not going to escape her interrogation forever, but I’ve at least bought myself thirty minutes to figure out a way to stretch the truth and omit a few facts.

When I walk the twenty feet to my kitchen, I eye Owen. “Well, I’ve got to think of something to tell Liz now,” I announce, flopping into one of the stools at the island counter separating my kitchen from my living room. Owen looks confused, so I hold up my phone. “She called and heard you talking about breakfast.”

“Fuck,”
he mumbles, running his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were even on the phone.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I don’t know what I’ll tell her, but I don’t think she’ll recognize your voice or anything.” I lean on the counter and peer over at what he’s doing. “Whatcha got going on over there, handsome?” I ask.

Owen laughs, lifting a plate with two pieces of peanut butter covered toast. “Breakfast. I’d hoped to do a little more, but all you had was bread and a cupboard full of ramen noodles. You really should go grocery shopping.”

“Are you looking down on my choice of food?” I tease, and Owen challenges right back.

“Ramen noodles are not
food
, Amelia. They offer absolutely no nutritional value.”

I shrug. “And yet, I have this bangin’ bod.”

Owen laughs again. “Touché,” he replies, handing me a cup of coffee and then joining me to eat our breakfast. He parks his hand on my thigh and leaves it there for the duration of our meal. It invites a flurry of warmth and fluttery feelings in my belly that makes me smile.

By the time we finish eating, it’s time for me to head downstairs to meet Liz. I grab the spare set of keys for my apartment off my key ring and hand them to Owen. “This one will get you in the main door,” I say, holding the heavier brass-colored key. “And this one will lock up the apartment.”

“Got it,” he says, pocketing the keys and then pulling me into his arms. “Have a good day.”

Winding my arms around his neck, I hum. “How can I not when I know you’re going to be here when I get back?” I press my lips to his before peeling myself from his arms and slinging my bag over my shoulder as I rush down the hall and fly down the stairs to meet Liz outside.

She’s already parked right outside my apartment building, so I run across the sidewalk and slide into the passenger seat. I notice her looking out my window as I buckle up, and I poke her arm. “What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Your booty call! He isn’t going to walk out with you?” she demands, pushing her dark hair back over her shoulders. “Come on! I want to see what he looks like! He sounded hot!”

Rolling my eyes, I turn away from her. “You’re hopeless,” I tell her, but before I can say anything else, I hear her gasp, and it startles me. “Jesus, calm down! What is it now?”

Liz reaches across the car and pushes my hair off my shoulder. “You, Amelia Rose Michaels, have a hickey on your neck.”

My entire face screws up in disbelief and annoyance at having been middle-named by her twice within thirty minutes, and I pull the visor down to open the mirror. “Oh, I do not,” I mumble, but as I turn my neck, I see what she sees: a small bruise-like mark on the apex of my neck. Then I remember his attention on my neck in the shower, and shake my head. “Son of a bitch,” I whisper, trying to keep myself from smiling as I run my fingertips over it. Honestly, it’s no bigger than a dime, but it’s still darker than my pale skin. Thank god I chose to wear my hair down!

Liz giggles beside me, putting her car into drive. “Your booty call gave you a hickey. What is he, fifteen?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, because he is most definitely
not
fifteen. “He’s…
enthusiastic.
I guess we just got a little carried away,” I tell her, but all the while, I’m debating whether or not I should get him back… If I do, it’ll have to be in a place that no one will see, because I’d hate to give Gretchen or anyone else a reason to jump to conclusions.

While Liz drives, I grab my phone and take a picture of my neck so I can send it to Owen with a corresponding message:

What the hell is this?

Only a few seconds go by before my phone vibrates in my hand, and I look down at the screen.

I’d say sorry—because I am—but

honestly, you bring out a part of

me I didn’t know existed anymore

Stifling a giggle, I tap out another response.

Is this part of you a teenager?

I wouldn’t go that far, but you bring

out a younger, much more primal

version of myself…not that I’m

complaining.

To hear that I’ve had this affect on Owen makes me blush. I love that I’ve brought him out of his shell a little more, but I’m also a little pissed that Gretchen had snuffed out who he used to be in all the years they were married.

I type out another quick text, telling Owen I might have to pay him back, and his final response before I arrive at school is:

I look forward to seeing what

your devious little mind comes

up with.

“Okay,” Liz says, putting the car into park. “You need to tell me about this guy. You’ve been smiling like the Cheshire Cat over there the entire ride, and I’d be willing to bet it’s because you’ve been sexting your booty call.”

“You can stop calling him that,” I tell her with a laugh. “And I’m not ready to talk about him. Things are…complicated and new, and we’re not quite ready to go public until we’ve figured everything out.”

“Is it Nolan?” she asks. “He still totally wants you, you know.”

Shaking my head, I unbuckle my seatbelt, open my door, and shift to step out. “You’re delusional. Nolan is with Michelle and they’re beyond happy. Besides, things between us never would have worked out.”

“You said he was the best lay you’d ever had,” Liz reminds me, and she’s not wrong—or up until last week she wouldn’t have been wrong. Now, though? Now she’s dead wrong, because Owen has upped the ante in that department.

Liz must see evidence of my thoughts on my face, because her lips curl up into the goofiest smile I’ve ever seen in my life. “Could that devilish glint in your eyes mean that you’ve found, dare I say it,
better
?” She squeals, drawing the attention of a few students passing by. “Well, now you
have
to tell me everything!”

“We’re going to be late,” I tell her, getting out of her car and closing the door behind me.

She’s not far behind, locking the doors and speed-walking to catch up. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me who he is, just…how did you meet?”

“We’ve known each other for as long as I can remember,” I tell her honestly, and I hope she ends her line of questioning there. She doesn’t, because, quite frankly, I’m just not that fortunate.

“So, like, you used to play together as kids?”

“Um,” I hum, biting the inside of my cheek.
Technically
, she’s not wrong. I mean, Owen wasn’t a kid, but he used to indulge me in the occasional board game or play tag with me after nagging him relentlessly. “I suppose you could say that. Look, as much as I want to tell you about him, Liz—and believe me, I do, because I’ve never felt like this before—I need to figure things out with him first. Can you accept that?”

Liz smiles, wrapping an arm around me as we walk. “Of course, bestie. I’m just psyched for you. You seem happy.”

A warm blush fills my face, and I laugh lightly. “I am.”

Truthfully, I would love nothing more than to tell Liz about Owen. She won’t judge me—at least I don’t think she will—but I’m scared that if I speak aloud about what Owen and I have going on that it might somehow get back to my father. And there’s no way he’s going to react well. We need to be extra careful when telling him…should we decide that this is serious enough to do so.

The day seems to drag on forever, and I blame my damn anticipation of seeing Owen again. I try to drown myself in the subject material of each of my classes, but it’s not long before my mind starts to drift back to my apartment, where I imagine Owen is just getting back from doing his laundry.

I try to keep myself from zoning out in the car as Liz drives me back to my place. I do all right, for the most part. I mean, she only has to repeat herself three times in the forty-minute drive through rush hour traffic. I’d chalk that up as a win.

Before I get out of the car, Liz turns to me and smirks. “Is he coming over again? Because if he is, I won’t call you later…you know, give the two of you a little privacy.”

I laugh. “Yes, he’ll be over tonight. I actually don’t know if he left the apartment at all.” I open my door and turn my head in her direction. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Definitely.” She nods affirmatively. “Have fun,” she sings after me as I step out onto the sidewalk and wave.

Even though I’m not sure if Owen’s even in my apartment, I race up the four flights of stairs and walk briskly down the hall toward my door. I slip the key into the lock and disengage it, and the smell that greets me makes my mouth water. Owen’s cooking, and it smells like marinara sauce…possibly from scratch.

“Hey,” I say once I step through the door and spot him in the kitchen, standing at the stove and stirring something in a pot. I drop my bookbag by the front door and join him, wrapping my arms around his waist and peeking around him. I was right; he is making a marinara sauce, and in another pot, it looks like he’s cooking some pasta.

“Now I know I didn’t have any of the necessary ingredients to put this meal together…unless those are my ramen noodles in that pot there,” I quip, squeezing his sides in an attempt to tickle him.

He laughs, shaking his head. “They are most definitely
not
ramen noodles. And I had a bit of free time after doing my laundry, so I figured I’d make a trip to the grocery store and pick up a few things.”

Curious, I remove my body from his and turn to open the fridge. The sight I’m met with shocks the hell out of me: he’s completely stocked my fridge. I’ve got various meats in the freezer—all individually wrapped into portions—and my fridge is stocked with various condiments and produce.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, still a little stunned. “I mean,
thank you
, but it really wasn’t necessary.”

“Amy, I couldn’t, in good conscience, let you live off those damn noodles.” He turns off the stove and grabs the pot of noodles, taking them two feet to the sink and draining the water. “Do you mind grabbing plates?” he asks. “Dinner’s ready.”

Owen plates our meal—spaghetti with a homemade meat sauce—and we sit side by side at the counter while we talk about our day. As he goes on about his afternoon, I listen raptly, taking in every word and imagining being able to end every day like this. While I know I have feelings for him—feelings that seem to have grown over the last few days—I begin to wonder what kind of future we could have.