Just a Number (18 page)

Owen laughs, and I can see that he wants to reach out for me. I want this too, but I know it can only lead to one conclusion, so I look away and run my fingers through my hair. “We should head down and help set up for the party.”

Owen stays in the doorway, and as I brush past him, he lightly grabs my arm, his thumb gliding over the crook of my elbow slowly. That same familiar charge of desire shoots through me, and I look up into his hypnotic blue eyes, breathing deeply. He’s far enough away that anyone who’d come upon our exchange might not suspect more than a regular conversation between us, but close enough that I can feel the heat of his body and the warmth of his breath on my skin.

“This isn’t how I wanted us to spend our first Christmas together,” he whispers, his eyes moving between mine, shining with remorse.

Smiling in an effort to mask the desire I feel in such a close proximity, I shrug. “It’s hardly our first.” Pausing, I decide that if he can break the rules and make me feel all warm and fuzzy—even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it—then so can I. Leaning in as close as I can without running the risk of throwing myself at him, I tilt my face up to his ear and whisper, “And it won’t be our last. We can celebrate the way you’d envisioned when we get back to the city.” I remove myself from the door and turn back to him as he stands there, stunned. “You coming?”

His eyes widen, and I laugh when I realize my dirty double entendre. “Not what I meant, but also a good question, I suppose.”

“You’re not going to make these next few days easy, are you?” he asks, his expression telling me that he might just be up to the challenge.

“I’m not trying to make this difficult, I swear,” I assure him honestly, holding back a laugh that could draw attention to us, even up here. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior from here on out, okay?”

Once we agree on reinstating the rules—not that we
really
broke them all that badly—we head back downstairs to help with the party preparations. Turns out, Carla had been busy all morning preparing the food, leaving a few things for me to do since they were, as my dad told her, my specialty. It was a tray of homemade, no-bake treats. I swear a monkey could make them if they followed the recipe cards. But Carla agreed to leave them for me while she got the rest of the food together.

While we work together in the kitchen, Dad and Owen head out to the liquor store for the beer, wine, and various hard liquors we’ll need tonight. It suddenly occurs to me that Owen and I should have probably set a drink max. The last time the two of us were wasted, we’d unknowingly messed around in our sleep and then, a bottle of wine and less than twenty-four hours later, we’d had sex. I’ll have to talk to him when he gets back. If we can find a moment alone together.

When they return, they grab the folding tables from the basement and set them up in the living room so we can lay out all the food and drinks. I begin to realize that maybe Owen and I don’t have to worry so much about this because we’ve both been so damn busy since arriving that we’ve barely even looked at each other, let alone talked.

Once my platter of goodies is ready, I take them into the living room to put them on one of the tables against the wall, stopping dead in my tracks when I see Dad and Carla canoodling on the couch. It’s not something I expected to walk in on, but it’s not completely surprising, either, considering the flirting they’ve done the last two years.

They don’t notice me at first, but then again, I don’t stand there and stare for more than a split second before I go back to my task of putting the plate out. Dad must hear it hit the table, because he turns around to look at me, his arm still casually draped around Carla as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, while she laughs into his shoulder about something.

“Hey, Amy. How’s everything going?”

“Good,” I tell him. “Everything’s going really well. You two go back to…whatever it is you were talking about.” I offer them a big smile that tells them I’m more than happy for the both of them. And I am…but I’m also kind of hoping Dad will remember this moment and take it into consideration when Owen and I finally tell him about us. I won’t put too much stock into that idea, but I can hold onto a little bit of hope for the very slight possibility.

It’s almost seven o’clock when I run upstairs to change into the red dress I bought for the party tonight. While we’re pretty laid back most of the time, we like to dress up for our Christmas parties. I always buy a new dress for the occasion, and this year, I may have spent a little more than I normally would. But only because this year I have someone I’m dressing up for—even though no one else knows this. I lock my bedroom door and strip down, pulling the red chiffon dress from the garment bag I’d hung in my closet. I pull it on, putting the slightly off-shoulder straps in place. I’d bought the dress because it hugged my upper body all the way down to my hips before it flowed out in a soft A-line skirt to my knees and flattered my curves. The neckline was high enough it wasn’t trashy, sloping into a very shallow scoop that sat against my chest while showing off the lines of my collarbone and shoulders. It’s a classy dress, and I have a feeling that Owen is going to lose his mind.

Which, in hindsight, I’m starting to think, maybe, this isn’t the best time to test that theory. Shit.

It’s too late, now; it’s the only dress I have here, and every other piece of clothing is far too casual for tonight. It’ll have to do. I’ll apologize to him later if I have to. After getting dressed, I pull my hair away from my face, save for a few face-framing tendrils that refuse to cooperate, but they look all right, so I leave them instead of fighting an impossible battle. I’ve never been a big makeup wearer, usually only bothering with the basics, but tonight, I apply eye shadow for a dramatic smoky-eye effect and a red-tinted lip gloss. Once I’ve finished up, I smooth the lines of my dress one last time and look in the mirror before grabbing the solid black pumps I brought along. I’m just pulling the second shoe on when there’s a light knock on my door.

“Amelia, it’s me,” Owen calls softly through the door. “I just need my things so I can get ready.”

Smiling, I swing the door open to let him in. His eyes widen as they travel down my body, and he inhales an unsteady breath. “You look… That dress…” He’s at a loss for words; score one for me. And also, crap, because, while I’m thoroughly enjoying his reaction, I still worry that the dress is a mistake when it comes to keeping our secret.

“Thanks,” I say, a soft blush filling my cheeks.

His eyes snap back to mine, full of seriousness and desire. “No, really,” he says, lowering his voice. “Wow.”

I can see that he wants to kiss me—I want that, too—but before either of us gets swept up in the moment, I grab his things and hold them up between us. “Here’s your stuff. I’m done with the room, so please feel free to change in here.”

As I descend the stairs to the main floor, I feel Owen’s eyes on me for a few seconds, and I shoot him a quick glance over my shoulder before my door clicks shut. Part of me regrets us not manning up and telling Dad about us right after Thanksgiving, because maybe things would be different tonight. Maybe Dad would let us bunk together (doubtful), and maybe he’d look at us and smile as I looped my arm through Owen’s and laughed at all his jokes (ha!). Deep down, I know that had we told him after Thanksgiving, the possibility of tonight even happening would be low, but I’m still curious about the “what ifs.”

I give the food and beverage tables another once-over as the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of the first few guests. Dad’s invited a few of his coworkers who I’ve only met a couple of times, and Carla’s invited her sister and her family, as well as a few people from her workplace. The Carlsons show up minus their son, Alex, who’s at his girlfriend’s parents’ house tonight. The Murphys were invited but couldn’t make it, which I already knew because Liz wouldn’t stop talking about her Christmas in Mexico. Was I jealous? Maybe a little at first, but not enough to want to give up my yearly tradition with my dad.

Dad turns on the music as the doorbell rings again, and I offer to answer it. I don’t even contain my squeal of excitement when I open the door to find Julia and Stephen there, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into the house.

“Julia! It’s so good to see you!” I momentarily forget how nervous I was to have her here, instead letting my excitement take over.

She returns my embrace, laughing. “It’s nice to see you, too, Amy. We really do need to make a habit of seeing each other more than a few times a year. How’ve you been?”

We pull apart, and she shrugs her jacket off, handing it to a waiting Stephen before smoothing her chocolate-colored chin-length bob. Her husband hangs their coats before rejoining us, running his hand over his short, slightly wavy blond hair. He towers over her by at least five inches. Slowly, her eyebrows knit together and her blue eyes search mine carefully. Just like that, my nerves return full force, and I squirm like a worm on a hook under her scrutinizing stare. “I’ve, uh, been good. You?”

Then, out of nowhere, her expression changes from curious to excited. “You’ve met someone!” she squeals, drawing the attention of a few guests. Including my dad. “You’re going to tell me everything!”

“Tell you everything about what?”

I turn toward the sound of Owen’s voice, and practically combust upon seeing him dressed in a nice pair of jeans, white dress shirt, and red tie. He looks positively lickable, and I struggle to keep my composure. Aside from wanting to devour him, the first thing to go through my crazy mind is that we match. Unknowingly, we’d coordinated our wardrobes.

“About the guy she’s been seeing,” Julia chirps.

Her reply catches him off guard, and I don’t know what I expect his reaction to be, but it sure as hell isn’t slipping on the stair and stumbling slightly. He’s usually so graceful. He manages to catch himself, but not before both Julia and I gasp and reach out for him.

He laughs it off, his face reddening a little, and runs his hands through his hair. “Man, that last step came out of nowhere, huh?” He slaps his hands together, a look of resolve on his face as he sets out to change the topic. “Now, who wants a drink?”

Shit.
I still need to talk to him about us not drinking too much. I look around at all the guests and decide that a couple now can’t hurt, so I follow him as he leads Julia and Stephen to the living room to get them set up.

With my glass of red wine in-hand, I go around the room and mingle. Naturally, I catch both Ethan and Ben with a couple bottles of beer and have to take them away. It’s not that I’m entirely innocent when it comes to having a good time before the ripe old age of twenty-one, but if my dad were to catch them…well, shit would hit the fan. We can’t condone underage drinking. It just can’t happen. He might not be a cop, but my dad still lives by a code and abides by the law.

After talking with the Carlsons’, I migrate my way back to where Dad and Carla are talking with Owen, Stephen, and Julia by the Christmas tree. Owen looks uncomfortable, and naturally, my curiosity piques. I slip between Dad and Julia, standing across their little circle from Owen and shooting him a quick smile.

“What’re we talking about?” I ask, taking a sip of my second glass of wine. My arms and legs have that delightful warm tingle running through them, signaling that I’m well on my way to being a little bit drunk, and my head feels only slightly fuzzy.

Dad barks a laugh, and Owen inhales deeply. The look in his eyes as he averts them tells me that he wishes this conversation would be over, and I don’t understand his reaction until my dad opens his mouth. “Remember when I was in the city a few weeks ago? Well, after I went to your place to find you’d gone out, I decided to stop by Owen’s place to see if he wanted to go for dinner…”

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

“…and I’d arrived at the
worst
possible time. Apparently he’s met someone.”

“Not apparently,” Julia pipes up, making Owen groan and my palms sweat around my glass. “I’ve noticed he’s been acting differently, but he refuses to say anything about her.”

I repeat:
oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

I glance around the room, trying to remain nonchalant about all of this, but my heart pounds like a jackhammer against my ribs, and my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls. Not even finishing my wine seems to be helping. When my eyes catch Stephen’s, I smile weakly, but he eyes me almost as intensely as Julia had earlier, so I decide to throw them off. Or, I hope that’s what I do.

“Well, who is she?” I ask, really hoping that no one notices the tremble in my voice.

Owen’s gaze snaps to mine so fast, I fear he might get whiplash. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, it’s been a few weeks, right? Is it serious?” I’m not saying any of this in hopes he’ll answer, I just don’t think that my remaining silent on the matter will help us keep the fact that I’m his mystery woman a secret.

“Serious…” he says, almost uncertain if this is something he should attempt to dance around. “I suppose it’s showing promise.”

Dad laughs, taking a swig of his beer. “Well, you should have brought her! I think it’s safe to say we’re all curious to meet her.”

I smirk, bringing my glass to my lips, because I can honestly say that I’m not; I already know she’s awesome.

Looking down into his glass of scotch, he exhales a breathy laugh, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling. “She’s celebrating the holidays with her dad, actually.”

Oh, he’s fucking hilarious. A regular stand-up comedian, this guy is.

“And what about you?” Julia says, nudging me with her elbow. “I suspected you were seeing someone, and your dad told me I was right.”

I narrow my eyes in my dad’s direction. “Oh, did he, now? And what exactly did he say?”

Dad tries to backpedal his way out of this. “Hey, I only told them that I ran into your neighbor the night I was in the city and he told me you were seeing someone.”

“An
older
someone,” Julia amends, causing Dad to grimace. Not a good sign for when I tell him about Owen and me, but we’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it. “So, is it true?”