Finding Me (6 page)

I smiled to myself and shook my head. Mom knew me so well. It was just the two of us until I was five, and ever since then we could read each other without speaking a single word.

“Yes, everything is fine. I’m just a little . . . I don’t know . . . jumpy, I guess. The guy I’ve been helping in accounting class . . . Owen . . . I think we’re going on a date tonight.”

“You
think
? Why aren’t you sure?” Mom giggled in my ear.

I let out a long sigh. “He told me he wanted to treat me to dinner for helping him get a B on the midterm. I didn’t really do anything. He never seemed to be having that much trouble.”

“I see . . .” There was a sarcastic lilt in my mother’s voice.

“See what, Mom?”

“Well, I used to know someone in college who lied about having trouble in accounting class just to get close to the tutor.”

I chuckled at the phone. “Who?”

Mom took a deep breath. “Me. And the tutor was your dad. I wasn’t really having trouble either. But I told a little fib, just so I could have his undivided attention for an hour or so a couple times a week. But I never had the guts to ask him out to thank him. Good for Owen.”

“But Dad was . . . Dad. Owen is two years older than me, and you should see what happens to girls in his presence. They fall all over him. What purpose would he have to pretend to need my help in class?”

“Bella, you are a beautiful girl. Maybe I’m a bit biased, but you always sold yourself short. Maybe he wanted you to give him a chance to get to know him. If he didn’t ask you for help, you would have written him off as a cocky jock if he tried to talk to you. I heard it in your voice when you first brought him up. I like him already. So, my darling daughter, what is the problem? Do you not like him that way? Please tell me what happened with Christian isn’t making you hesitate.”

I did like him that way—
a lot.
That was the problem.

“Owen is . . . pretty great. He’s not cocky at all. He’s sweet, funny, smart. I’m scared I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder after . . . what happened. And that would be with anyone. He just seems so . . . out of my league, Mom. You know what I mean?”

“More than you know. I was in love with Lucas for years, but never thought I could compete with the harem of women following him around. I don’t regret anything, even Marc, believe it or not, but I always wondered what would have happened if I put myself out there and told him how I felt. Go, have a good time, and let whatever happens happen.”

“Okay, I will. It’s funny thinking about you and Dad in college. I can’t picture the two of you not attached at the hip.” I chuckled thinking of how in love they were; always kissing and holding hands. It was sweet, other than the nights I wished the walls were thicker. Some mornings it was hard to look them both in the eye.

“Women followed him everywhere. Some still do. But I never doubt where his heart is. That’s what I wish for you, Bella—to be able to let someone love you, and not question it. Can you call me and tell me how it went? I’ll be cryptic if Lucas is around. I pity the poor boy you bring home next.”

I laughed but cringed. That was no exaggeration. Dad would work overtime to make him as uncomfortable as possible. “Me too. I have fifteen minutes to get dressed. I’ll call you in the morning. Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Have fun! Not too much, but—”

“I know, I know.” We both laughed before we hung up.

I forced myself to get ready for my sort-of date with the hot guy I didn’t want to admit I liked. There were worse things in life, and I hoped the flutters in my belly meant that whatever this was with Owen could be something great.

Bella

I SPRINTED DOWN THE STAIRS
of my dorm building only a minute before Owen was due to pick me up. He hadn’t mentioned where we were going, which added to my outfit anxiety. I figured a sleeveless black jersey dress with my short denim jacket was a safe bet. It was late September, but balmy considering the horror stories I heard about going to college so far upstate. Buffalo wasn’t too far away, and they got snow in August. I paired the dress with my favorite black knee-high boots and left my long dark hair in waves down my back.

Owen’s SUV pulled up just as I stepped outside. I waited for him to unlock the doors but was surprised when he shut the engine off and stepped out. He wore a black button down shirt that was fitted across his broad chest with charcoal dress pants. I never saw Owen out of jeans or sweats. Even the wild head of hair I was used to seeing was slicked back with a little product. I panicked that my denim jacket was too casual for what he had in mind.

I grimaced at Owen as I clutched the material of the collar. “Should I go change? I think I have another jack—”

“No,” Owen answered as he made his way toward me. His fiery gaze made my mouth go dry. “You look . . . perfect. Beautiful.”

I allowed a smile to spread across my lips as my cheeks heated. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well too, OT.”

Owen chuckled as he opened my door. “Ready?”

Yes? No?
I had no clue. Nervous, excited, scared? Sure. But ready? No clue.

The little town near campus was small and quaint. There was one bar everyone went to if they wanted to change it up from the never ending frat parties, but I had never heard of any restaurants. I couldn’t remember my last sit down meal outside of the cafeteria.

Owen took us to a hole in the wall Italian restaurant. It was as if I just walked into the
Lady and the Tramp
movie I loved as a kid, right down to the red checkerboard tablecloths and single half melted candles.

The air got thin at the realization this was not just a thank you dinner. This was a bona fide date. Owen and I were ourselves on the car ride up here, teasing each other back and forth, but he seemed a little nervous as we sat down at a corner table and opened our menus.

I took a deep breath and made an attempt at cracking the sudden heavy silence.

“This was nice of you. You know, to buy me dinner as a thank you. It’s really not necessary, though. You’re a lot better at numbers than you may think.”

Owen closed his menu and leaned forward on the table. “You really think we’re here just because I wanted to thank you for studying with me?”

“No. I mean . . . I didn’t want to assume but,” I stammered and darted my eyes away from his. One question had rattled in my head for weeks. “Why?”

Owen laughed and shook his head. “
Why?
Because I’m some ice-jock manwhore who dates thousands of girls at a time? Right?”

“I never said that.” I leaned back as I folded my arms.

“No.” Owen gave me a steady glance. “But that’s what you thought. Come on. You can say it.” Owen smirked at me. “But contrary to what you may
think
you know, I’m interested in only one girl.”

My gaze dropped back down to my menu as Owen reached across the tiny table and put his hand over mine. My heart pounded and melted all at once from one simple, but intimate gesture. “So let’s clear this up right now. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be tonight than sitting here with you.” His thumb ran back and forth over the top of my hand. His touch combined with the heat in his eyes pinned me to my chair.

“Did you ever really need my help?”

“Would you have talked to me otherwise?” Owen raised his eyebrow, as though the answer was obvious. “It was the first time playing hockey put me at a disadvantage with a girl. And really, accounting usually isn’t my thing. You gave me an excuse to work harder. So I actually
can
thank you for acing the midterm. However you want to think of tonight, I’m glad you’re here with me. Can we leave it at that?”

I nodded and grinned at Owen. “We can. How did you find this place? I went to Doyle’s a few times but never noticed a restaurant on the corner.”

“A couple of the guys have been here before. They said the food was good and it had a little privacy. It would be easier to have a nice dinner without hearing people scream OT all over the place.” Owen rolled his eyes and I giggled.

“I’m sorry if I made you think I looked down on you because you played hockey. I hear you’re really amazing.” I didn’t want to ruin our wonderful night by telling him about the ice jock from my past who made me so bitter toward men on skates.

Owen gave me a warm smile. “I’m all right. You should come to one of the games. Next home game is Thursday night.”

I gazed up at his adorably hopeful eyes. “Would you like me to go?”

A slow smile spread on Owen’s lips as he nodded. “Would I like a beautiful girl in the stands only there to see me? Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I smiled and went back to perusing the menu.

Owen laughed and shook his head.

“What’s so funny?” I dropped my menu and scowled across the table.

Owen leaned across the tiny table and whispered, “In the rare moment you let a compliment sink in, you blush.” Owen dragged his finger down my cheek. “It’s pretty sexy.”

My skin tingled along the trail of Owen’s touch. Once I let my silly insecurities go, the bad memories started to fade, and the real Owen Thompson was pretty sexy himself.

After dinner, Owen took me by the hand and led us outside where the night air had a little chill to it. We strode to the corner where his car was parked.

“So tell me something about yourself that no one else knows.”

My brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t we wait until the second date before we share our deep dark secrets?”

Owen’s lips twitched. “Nice to know I have a second date already lined up. I must’ve made a good impression. Doesn’t have to be deep, we can talk about skeletons in the closets around the fourth date or so.”

“Fourth? Someone’s ambitious, aren’t they?” I smirked at Owen.

“Hopeful. Ambitious. Whatever you’d like to call it.” He shrugged as we strolled on the deserted street. Upstate New York at ten o’clock at night was a world of difference from New York City. The sleepy town went to bed much earlier than I was used to.

“I keep journals,” I blurted. Owen’s brows drew together. He stopped walking and faced me.

“Like a diary? That’s your secret?” He chuckled.

“No, not a diary. I write in a journal when I get upset. It’s always been easier to write on paper what I can’t say out loud. I’ve done it since I was six years old and had to go back and forth between my mother’s house and my father’s on the weekends. My mother gave me my first journal and told me to write until I felt better, but no one knows I still do it. Happy?”