Just a Number (15 page)

The first wave of pleasure slams into me, making my arms and legs tremble beneath me, but Owen holds me up, chasing his own release. The minute his hips pulse unevenly against my ass and then still, I know he’s succeeded, and I allow my arms to give out as the numbness spreads through my body. I sigh as Owen presses several gentle kisses along my spine, slowly lowering us both to the bed and rolling me to face him as we catch our breath.

We lay in silence for a few minutes, basking in the pure bliss of being with each other again, but there’s no ignoring the giant purple elephant in the room any longer. “We’re good, right?” I confirm, and Owen nods. “We’re going to figure out a way to make this work?” He nods again, and I release a deep, calming breath, knowing that when it comes to my dad, we’ll have to say exactly the right thing, at exactly the right time.

When my stomach rumbles—a reminder that I hadn’t eaten much of anything all weekend—we head to the kitchen, naked, and find something quick, simple, and crumb-free that we can enjoy in bed. Once our bodies have been fed, we lie down, pull the blanket up to our hips, and stare at each other, occasionally reaching over and lacing our fingers together, or pushing the other’s hair out of their face. It’s sweet, and exactly what we need right now.

As the hours tick by, we talk about the mistakes we both made on Friday. It wasn’t just Owen who fucked up by taking me home, but me as well for not fighting harder. Neither of us faults the other, of course, but at least we’ve acknowledged it and plan to keep it from happening again by always trying to be open and honest. Naturally, our conversation segues back into the event that brought us to this point, and after
a lot
of sidestepping, we decide to figure out a way to break the news to my dad.

“Okay,” I speak up, “I’d like to request we wait until after the holidays to tell him.” Owen’s brows pull together, puzzled, and I continue. “It’s not that I want to keep sneaking around, because, after what happened on Friday, I know how scary the thought of being found out is. And while I know that he’ll come around once he sees how happy we make each other, I’m not naive enough to think he’ll accept us right away. I just don’t think that we should run the risk of upsetting him around Christmas… You know?”

Owen’s head bobs up and down slowly, his eyes dropping to his hand as it makes its way across the bed and takes one of mine. His thumb moves softly over my skin, and he silently assents.

“It’s only a little over a month,” I whisper, watching his thumb continue to glide over the back of my hand. “We can make it, right?”

The gentle pressure of Owen’s hand around mine is all the assurance I need, but he verbalizes it anyway. “Of course we can.”

As the sky continues to darken outside my bedroom window, not much else is said between the sweet, tender kisses we share, or the soft caresses of his fingers on my cheek, neck, or arm. Nonetheless, I feel content and happy with him across from me.

“It’s getting late,” Owen declares softly, his eyes dancing between mine as if searching for something.

I’m not sure if he’s hinting at heading home, but before he says anything else, I speak up. “Stay with me.” I reach across the bed and place my hand on his jaw, feeling the coarse stubble against my palm and zeroing my gaze in on his lips. “Please.”

He covers my hand with his and closes his eyes. “I would love to.” Turning his face slightly, he presses a kiss into my palm before lifting my hand and lacing our fingers together.

My eyelids are heavy, but there’s this irrational part of my brain that fears this really is just a dream. That, if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up alone again, so I try to make myself stay awake as long as possible. Soon, I yawn, and Owen follows suit, scooting closer to me on the bed and draping an arm over my waist. Our legs tangle together as he kisses my nose, and I sigh, my eyes fluttering closed as another yawn escapes.

“Get some sleep, Amelia,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning across my skin, and when I open my eyes a tiny bit, I see his own eyes are closing.

“Can’t.” Another yawn falls past my lips. “I don’t want to wake up and find out this was all a dream.”

Owen chuckles softly, his lips brushing my forehead. “Well, I could always pinch you or pull your hair to prove I’m really here,” he teases, yawning as well.

Giggling, I cuddle against his chest, my fingers curling against his skin in a desperate need to cling onto him as I continue to fall victim to my exhaustion. I inhale deeply, letting his natural scent and cologne invade my senses, and say, “That’s oddly sweet.”

And then I don’t fight it anymore; sleep takes over.

Over the next few days, Owen and I try to spend a little more time apart after coming to the realization that it might be borderline unhealthy to
need
to spend every waking moment together. Not to mention, the more time we spent together, the higher the risk of being caught together. Not just by my dad, either, but by Gretchen.

While Owen’s divorce is supposed to be as complication-free as they get, he’s not sure what will happen if our relationship is brought to light. Yes, we didn’t technically get involved until after he was separated, but Gretchen would probably find a way to use that to her advantage anyway.

After going home with Owen on Monday night, I’d forgotten to call Liz. Naturally, when she showed up at my apartment on Tuesday morning, she automatically assumed something was wrong with my dad—because, why else would his best friend show up on campus, looking a little worse-for-wear?

Why else, indeed.

I assured her that my dad was fine, but this only raised her curiosity. I’m certain I didn’t do a very good job at trying to steer her in the other direction, because she had this look in her eyes by the time we got to school that said, “You’re keeping something from me.”

Even though she doesn’t pressure me, I won’t be surprised if she starts putting two and two together soon enough. Keeping this from her bothers me more and more every day, and I feel like I need to tell someone before I slip up at the wrong time, but I know I can’t do this without talking to Owen first. This news has the potential to spread like wildfire, and neither of us can afford that before we’re entirely ready.

We make plans to see each other on Friday night—plans that include me going over to Owen’s house. One week ago, this plan seemed like the most exciting thing in the world, but after everything that happened, it makes me a little nervous. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll have a repeat visit from my father—or, hey, maybe the ice-bitch will show up. That could be interesting.

I realize that the chances of this happening are slim to none—or maybe slightly higher—but it’s a legitimate concern given our track record.

When I tell Owen this during our mid-week dinner date at my apartment on Wednesday night, he reaches for my hand and tells me everything will be fine. I’m about to list the reasons that my concerns are valid when he pulls his hand away from mine, revealing two silver keys attached to a key ring in my palm.

“What’s this?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“The keys to my condo,” he replies with a smirk. “I’ll be working a little late on Friday night. This way, you can let yourself in if you want.”

This feels like a big step—even though I gave Owen a key to my apartment and didn’t expect it back—and I smile. “You’re giving me a key to your place?”

“Well, yeah. I have one to yours, and I’d like someone besides me to have a set in case something happens.”

“So this is purely a formality,” I tease, narrowing my eyes playfully.

Owen laughs. “If that’s how you want to look at it. But I want you to feel as comfortable in my place as I do in yours.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, leaning forward and kissing him.

And just like that, Friday night seems a little less daunting.

When I arrive at Owen’s apartment, it’s after six, so the doorman has already gone home for the night and I have to let myself in. With my very own set of keys, remember. When I step through the entryway to his unit and turn on the light, I see a large bouquet of roses on the side table and smile when I spot my name on the card.

I drop my bag to the floor and pick up the card.

Amelia—

Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll pick

up pizza on my way home from the office.

     —Owen

I place the card next to the vase and smell my roses, remembering how he’d bought me flowers last week, too. I’d never gotten the chance to really thank him since the night didn’t exactly go as planned. I’ll be sure to rectify that tonight, though.

After taking my shoes off, I grab my bag and walk through the kitchen, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and making my way for the living room so I can do a little bit of my homework. I put my books on the sleek glass coffee table and sit on the floor with my back against the black leather couch, flipping on the TV.

I see that Owen has HBO, and I’ve been meaning to catch up on
Game of Thrones
, so I go to his On Demand menu and locate the show. Naturally, this means I won’t be getting any homework done, but I have all weekend, right?

An hour later, and fifteen minutes into my second episode, my books remain untouched, and my apple is finished. It isn’t that I haven’t
tried
to do a little homework, but every time I look down at my books, something huge happens on the show. There’s no way I can multi-task this time.

I’m so caught up in my show that when my phone buzzes on the table in front of me, I pick it up without looking at the caller ID, figuring it’s probably just Owen calling to ask what kind of pizza he should pick up. “Hey,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the TV during one of the many bloody crusades. “I’m here already.”

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad replies, shocking me.

“D-dad,” I stammer, sitting up quickly, my back going rigid. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. How’re you doing? How’s school?” he asks as I’m still trying to find my bearings.

“School’s good.” I haven’t spoken to my dad since everything happened last week. I knew that if I tried to talk to him then, he’d figure out something was wrong, so I just let him think I was busy all weekend. Sure, it was a pretty asshole thing to do, but I was still pretty visibly shaken after Friday night.

“What are you up to? Homework?”

I try not to laugh too loud as I shake my head and pause the TV. “No, actually. I’m just catching up on
Game of Thrones
while I wait for my pizza to get here.” Yes, I could have lied to him, but I’m so bad at it that it’s always just been easier to omit a few key facts instead. As long as he doesn’t ask if I plan to hang out with anyone, I should be okay.

Dad pauses. “Never heard of it. Is it any good?”

I try to think of a way to explain it to my dad without letting him know that his “little girl” watches a show as sexually fueled as this one. “I enjoy it. It, uh, has a tendency to be a little risqué, but it’s a good story with interesting characters.” There, that should cover up the fact that I enjoy the sexy parts just as much as the rest of it. Wouldn’t want my dad thinking I’m less than angelic, after all.

He clears his throat, clearly not wanting to discuss just how explicit the show might be. “Well, I know you probably have plans tonight…” There’s a certain inflection in his voice, and I wonder if he’s going to ask about the guy he knows—but doesn’t
really
know—I’m seeing. When he doesn’t mention it, I breathe a sigh of relief; he probably figures that Owen will talk to me about it…which I suppose he kind of did. So to speak, anyway.

“Anyway, I’m just calling about Christmas this year,” he continues, breaking me from my confusing merry-go-round of thoughts. “You’re still coming home, right? You don’t have…
other
plans?”