Just a Number (20 page)

I slowly climb the stairs and reach for Amelia’s hand—not in any way that would imply intimacy, but just in an attempt to comfort her. She pulls away, though, shooting me a remorseful look.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I want nothing more than for you to wrap your arms around me and tell me that we didn’t just mess everything up, but I’m afraid of what I might do once I’m there. And Carla’s right. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again. What we did was…” She pauses, and I suspect she’s trying to find a way to call it a mistake without saying she regrets that it happened, because she doesn’t; I can see it in her eyes. “Well, it just can’t happen again while we’re here.”

“I understand,” I tell her, standing next to her and giving her hand a quick and gentle squeeze. “You go first. I’ll be right out.”

Nodding, Amelia opens the basement door and steps outside. From what I can see, no one is hanging around the door, and she leaves it open just a crack so I can slip out in a few minutes. I use my time alone to inwardly chastise myself for being so careless. All we had to do was get through a few days without something like this happening, and we couldn’t even last twelve hours. Sure, I’d figured since we were hidden away in the basement that one stolen moment would go unnoticed, but I should have known better with all these people here tonight. Especially with how upset Amelia had been; someone was bound to check on her sooner or later, and Carla was right to say we were lucky it wasn’t Alan.

Certain that the coast is still clear, I emerge from the basement, but instead of heading to the party, I turn for the kitchen, still not ready to face Carla or Alan.

Well, at least I avoid one out of the two.

As I round the corner leading to the kitchen, I find Amelia and Alan standing at the island. I stay back and out of sight, silently watching them. Amelia’s leaning over the counter, her eyes downcast and one leg bent casually as she picks at a cocktail napkin. Alan stands next to her, facing her with his arms crossed in front of him. His posture reads relaxed, so I don’t get the feeling he’s getting mad at her, and my assumptions are confirmed when he speaks.

“I really am sorry, kiddo,” he tells her. “I didn’t mean to upset you like that. I just…I worry about you all alone in the city.”

Amelia huffs, crumpling the napkin and then flattening it again. “I know you worry, but you don’t have to.”

“Amy,” Alan says, “You’re my little girl. I’ll always worry.”

I feel guilty listening in on their conversation, but my curiosity keeps my feet planted firmly in place.

Amelia drops the mangled napkin and stands up straight, turning toward her dad. “Well, worry a little less intensely, all right?” She smiles as he reaches for her and pulls her into a hug, her arms wrapping around his middle.

And just like that, all is almost right in the world. It would appear that Alan is still in the dark—for now—and that he and Amelia have made amends. Of course, I still feel shitty that I’d allowed us to almost compromise everything.

“There you are!” Julia says from behind me. When I turn around, I find her smiling up at me. “Where’ve you been?”

“Around,” I tell her.

“Have you seen Amy?” she asks quietly. “I want to apologize to her for earlier. When Alan brought up the fact that she was seeing someone older, he didn’t imply that it was such a big deal. Or maybe I just didn’t pick up on it.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” I tell her honestly. “You couldn’t have foreseen the outcome of that.” I tilt my head toward the kitchen. “I saw her in there with Alan a minute ago.”

“Thanks.” She takes a couple of steps and then stops, turning back to me, her eyebrows pulled together with concern as her eyes move between mine. “You okay? You seem…I don’t know. Off.”

Sighing, I nod. “I’m fine. Really.”

Julia smirks, nudging me with her elbow. “You missing your girlfriend?”

I laugh, running my fingers through my hair. Her question is both ridiculous and accurate. While Amelia and I are in the same house, I do miss being able to say whatever I want to her or hold her whenever the mood strikes. So, yeah, I guess you could say I miss her. “Something like that.”

“Well, chin up. I’m sure you’ll talk to her before the night is over.”

She’s not wrong, but I won’t be able to say the things I want to say. As Julia continues on toward the kitchen in search of Amelia, I head back to the party in the living room. Walking to the table, I grab another drink and a plate of food, and when I turn around, I catch Carla looking at me from across the room. It’s not in her nature to be this upset, but I can’t fault her for it. We’ve put her in an impossible situation, and while I’m grateful she’s giving us the opportunity to tell Alan ourselves, I also hate that we’ve asked this of her.

I offer Carla a smile, but the one she returns to me is both strained and awkward before she turns away and begins talking to another guest. Seems about right, don’t you think?

As the night wears on, it’s as though nothing’s happened; no one is any wiser, save for the three who know otherwise, and by the time the last guest says goodnight, it’s well after midnight and we’re all beat. Carla and the kids stay to help clean up before saying goodnight to all of us—mine is obviously a little more clipped than the others, but I suppose that’s to be expected. After they’re gone, I take the last of the empty wine bottles to the kitchen and find Amelia standing at the sink washing dishes.

“I’m sure those can wait until morning,” I tell her, startling her. Perhaps I should start walking louder or wear a bell; she’s so easily surprised.

“You really need to stop doing that,” she tells me with a laugh, her voice calm and steady as though nothing happened tonight. Then she shakes her head as though remembering and she refocuses all of her attention on the dishes. “There’s only a few more left. I’d rather have them done so I don’t have to worry about them in the morning.”

I walk farther into the kitchen and snatch the dishtowel off the oven handle and stand beside her, reaching for one of the recently washed and rinsed dishes. “Then allow me to help.”

I notice Amelia furrow her eyebrows and press her lips together tightly. “It’s really not necessary,” she breathes softly. “There’s only a few.”

“Amelia,” I reply, “the sooner we can get this done, the sooner we can head off to bed.”

Her posture stiffens, and I suddenly realize what it is I said. “Shit,” I mumble, drying the dish. “You know that’s not what I…I just meant that it’s late, and we’re all exhausted.”

“I know.” Her voice is low, soft.

“Well, the living room is all cleaned up,” Alan declares, forcing us to drop our conversation and go back to the task at hand. “Oh, good. You guys have got the dishes covered.”

Amelia smiles, turning to her dad. “Yup. Almost done.”

“Carla and the kids should be here at about nine tomorrow morning,” he announces. “That should give us all a chance to sleep in a bit and get started on breakfast. What do you think?”

Amelia places the last dish in the sink in front of me, her hand accidentally brushing mine as I reach for another, and then pulls the plug to drain her side. “Sounds great.” She dries her hands on another towel and then walks past her dad, stopping to kiss his cheek. “I’m heading to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay,” Alan replies. “Goodnight, kiddo.”

Before she can leave the room, I glance back over my shoulder. “Goodnight, Amy.”

Her cheeks brighten slightly in hue, and she smiles. “Goodnight, Owen. Sleep well.”

I didn’t. Sleep well, that is. I’ve never had a problem falling asleep on Alan’s couch before, but now, all I can do is toss and turn. I don’t know when it happens—definitely sometime after three in the morning—but I pass out. When I wake up in the morning, I’ve got a huge kink in my neck and my back is in knots. The clock on the mantle tells me that it’s just after eight. Getting through the day with less than five hours of sleep is going to prove difficult.

I get up off the couch and pad into the kitchen in my sweats and T-shirt, the smell of coffee growing stronger with every step. Alan’s always been an early riser, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s up already.

“Hey,” I greet, rubbing my hands over my weary face, blocking my view.

“Oh!” Amelia exclaims, shocking me; I’d automatically assumed it was Alan. I hadn’t expected to find her here this early. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

Shaking my head in response to her question, I smile, letting it widen genuinely as I pull up a seat at the counter. She’s still in her gray sleep shorts and a white tank top with a red flannel long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned overtop. Unfortunately for me, I also notice that she’s without a bra, and this does little to keep my mind out of the gutter. “How was your sleep?” I ask in a hushed tone, hoping to keep my mind in a clean place.

“Restless.” Amelia grabs a second mug from the cupboard above the coffee maker and pours me a cup, adding cream and sugar before handing it to me. She grabs her own mug and then leans across the countertop, facing me, the backs of her fingers brushing mine. The look in her eyes tells me it’s on purpose, and I return the gesture softly, relishing in the feeling of her soft skin.

When she lifts her mug to her lips, I do the same. “Mine, too.” The tightness returns to my neck, and I bring my hand up to rub it, alerting Amelia to my discomfort.

“Your neck’s sore.” She looks somewhat conflicted, her face showing her struggle. “I wish I could…”

Smiling, I nod. “I know. Me too. I’ll probably just grab a hot shower in a few. Hopefully that’ll help.” She smirks, arching an eyebrow, and I suppress a chuckle, shaking my head. “You
don’t
want to go there,” I warn her.

“Actually,” she says, scrunching her nose up adorably, “I kind of do…but I won’t for the sole fact that my father will probably be up very soon to start on breakfast.”

As if waiting in the wings for his cue, we hear Alan’s heavy footsteps on the stairs, and soon he’s in the kitchen with us. He’s also in his sweats and a T-shirt as he pulls up the seat next to me, and Amelia grabs him a cup of coffee, too.

“Good morning, you two. Been up long?”

“Uh, about ten minutes, maybe?” I tell him.

“I’ve been up since about six,” Amelia says, surprising me. “Down here since seven-forty-five.” She catches my quizzical look and shrugs. “Figured you two grumpy bears could use some coffee, so I got a head start on it.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Alan declares, raising his mug to Amelia.

After finishing her coffee, Amelia puts her mug in the sink. “I’m going to go and wash up. I’ll be back down shortly.”

When we hear the shower start upstairs, Alan decides to get started on preparing breakfast. I offer to help, but he kicks me out of the kitchen, and I decide to go fix the living room back up. I’m just putting away the spare bedding when the front door opens and Carla and the kids walk through.

“Merry Christmas!” she calls out happily, the smile on her face fading the minute she sees me. “Good morning, Owen.” She sets what looks like an overnight bag down next to the door, and the kids do the same.

Interesting.

“Carla.” I turn to the kids and smile. “Ethan, Hayley. Merry Christmas.”

They return my greeting before rushing past me, collapsing on the couch and turning the TV on. Teenagers.

With Ethan and Hayley occupied, Carla heads off to the kitchen in search of Alan, and I grab my bag so I can take it upstairs with me when I go shower. I’d heard the shower stop a little while ago, so I figure it’s safe to go upstairs since Amelia’s probably already in her room.

I really should know better than to assume anything, because the minute I reach for the door handle, the door opens into the bathroom, steam rolling out, revealing Amelia wrapped in nothing more than a towel. Her long hair falls wet around her shoulders, water rivulets dripping down her arms as she holds her towel to her chest, and she looks up at me with a bashful smile.

“Oh, hey.” Her voice cracks slightly, so she clears her throat. “I should, um, go get dressed.”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t momentarily contemplate dragging her back into that bathroom and kissing her. Images of me pressing her against the closed bathroom door as I wrap her legs around my waist and have my way with her are far too prominent in my mind, and I have to rein them in before…

“Oh,” Carla says, coming up the stairs behind me. “I was just coming to put my bag in Alan’s room.”

Amelia’s face fills with color, and she drops her eyes to her bare feet, shaking her head. “Th-that’s okay. I was just finishing up. Bathroom’s all yours, Owen.”

Carla’s quick to drop off her bag and then retreats back downstairs, and just before I step into the washroom, I take one more glance over my shoulder, my eyes catching Amelia’s once more as she slowly pushes the door closed. Our morning might have started a little awkwardly in the wake of a rough first night in her dad’s house, but seeing her smile at me—even if only in passing or as she closes herself in her room and away from me—reaffirms how she feels deep down.

Of course, then I’m reminded about how much of an awful tease she is, because just before her door closes all the way, she pulls off her towel, giving me an inch-wide sneak peak of the lean length of her body. There’s no way she did this accidentally, and I definitely  don’t see nearly as much as I’d like, but even just seeing that strip of skin from her waist to her ankle is enough to make my pulse race and my dick react accordingly. I’m trying to stay in place instead of going to her door and slipping inside—again my imagination running away from me—when I hear the click of her door locking and a dull buzz from the pocket of my bag. I dig my phone out and shake my head as I read the text message:

Have a good shower… I know I did. xoxo ;)

Having her confirm having sent the message so I could get my rocks off makes me want her just a little bit more. As if that were even possible.

17. Silent Night