Just a Number (3 page)

I won’t lie; I wanted to bite it a little. Don’t ask why, I just did…still do.

I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one thinking lustful things regarding the two of us, though. The evidence I have to support my theory is simply that he had his eyes on me almost constantly, and the intensity in his stare couldn’t be denied. Seeing this thrilled me, but I also found it a little bizarre. There was something in his eyes—something that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared—that suggested maybe he was attracted to me, too. I forced myself to shake the thought off, because, once again, he was my father’s
best friend
. There was no way this could ever happen.

I still couldn’t believe just how close we’d been to being caught with our pants down—literally. The stress of only a thin door keeping my dad from finding us and jumping to all the wrong conclusions was enough to give me a heart attack. In my blind panic, I began to wonder just how mad he would be when he opened that door. Who would he be most mad at? Me? Owen? Who would he think initiated this? Expecting the worst, my stomach rolled—partly due to my drinking last night, and partly out of fear—but I managed to fight back the nausea and wait until Owen and I could devise a plan of sorts to avoid the worst case scenarios I had playing on loop in my mind.

With his apology still hanging on the air, Owen heads downstairs, and I watch from the top of the stairs as he takes his position in the kitchen doorway. I’m scared we might still be caught, but I know we’ve got to try something.

“Smells good down here, Alan.” I watch from my position as he leans against the wall and quickly glances over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Owen. I hope you’re in the mood for bacon and eggs. I’m afraid it’s all I know how to make,” Dad replies with a laugh. “If you decide to stick around for the weekend, Amy should be home sometime today, and she’s a master in the kitchen.”

Owen shifts, and even though I can’t see his face, I can tell he’s nervous. “I might just take you up on that. God knows I don’t want to go back to Seattle until Gretchen gets her shit out of the condo.”

So, Gretchen’s moving out, and Owen only came here to give her the time and space to do that. I wonder what happened...other than her being a stone-cold bitch.

I’m so wrapped up in wondering what went down between the two of them that I almost miss Owen waving me on. I immediately press my back to the wall and carefully make my way downstairs. Once I’m on the main floor, Owen shoots me a brief smile and then returns his eyes to the kitchen. “Can I give you a hand, Alan?”

I quietly disengage the lock and slip outside, pulling the door closed as quietly as possible. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer, and I lean against the house for a minute to catch my breath before I make my presence known. As I inhale deeply, I look out over the front yard and notice, for the first time, that Owen’s car is parked in the driveway behind my dad’s gray Tahoe. “Huh,” I grunt in surprise as I pop a stick of gum in my mouth to mask my morning breath until I can sneak
back
upstairs.

Once my heart and breathing regulate, I steel my resolve and open the front door. “Hello?” I call out. “Daddy? I’m home!”

From the kitchen, I hear a set of heavy footsteps, and then Dad appears. The elation I feel when I see him isn’t for show; it’s been months since we’ve seen each other, and this reunion is no different than any other.

“Amy!” he exclaims, rushing forward and pulling me into his arms.

Throwing my arms around his neck, I giggle as he lifts me off the ground and squeezes me tightly. “Hey, Dad.” He sets me down, and I arch an eyebrow as I take in his dark salt and pepper hair as well as the moustache he’s been growing out for the last few months. “Still rockin’ the porn ‘stache, I see.”

“Easy, now,” he mock-threatens. “I’ll have you know, the ladies love it.”

I shudder, but also fail at suppressing a laugh. “Ew, Dad. Anytime you want to quit bragging about being a ladies’ man, you just let me know.”

Dad smirks, making the outer corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly. “Don’t hold your breath.” I laugh, and before I can say anything else, he wraps an arm around me and leads me to the kitchen. “You hungry? I wasn’t expecting you until later this afternoon.”

“Oh, yeah, Liz wanted to come in early.”

“Well, I’m glad. We very rarely see each other, and this gives us a little more time together.” He pauses, stopping to look behind us at the front door. “Where are your things?”

Shit.

“Oh...uh...” I begin to panic, but then I realize that I don’t necessarily have to lie, I only have to omit a few key points. “Actually, Liz and I got in last night. I stopped by here, but no one was home, so I dropped off my things before we went to a party.”

Dad accepts this, and we continue on toward the kitchen. When we step through the threshold, I find Owen at the stove, flipping bacon in the frying pan. “Look who came home early,” Dad announces, drawing Owen’s attention.

“Hey, Amy. Long time, no see.”

Oh, he’s hilarious.
I fight back a smile and shake my head. “Owen. It’s nice to see you again. How are things?”

“Better now that you’re home,” he replies, and my stomach flutters a little. “I was afraid your dad was going to attempt to cook Thanksgiving dinner this year.” And then my hopes deflate.

I try to remain unfazed, keeping my disappointment buried. I hum, leaning over the island counter to watch Owen cook. I reach out and grab a piece of already-cooked bacon off the plate between us and take a bite. “Beer and spaghetti with sauce from a jar. Sounds heavenly.”

“Hey, now,” Dad speaks up from behind me. “I’ll have you both know that I’d have at least gone out and bought a pre-cooked chicken or something.”

The three of us laugh, and I almost forget about the morning’s events—almost; every time I look over at Owen, I find him glancing at me in some way or another, and the intensity of his brief stare is enough to make my entire body blush.

Before breakfast is ready, I excuse myself to use the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth. By the time I come back downstairs, Dad and Owen have set the table and are just bringing the food over. When we’ve all taken our seats and dished up, we talk about tomorrow’s dinner. “I can head into the market this afternoon while you’re at work and grab everything I need.”

Dad looks up at me, looking apologetic. “I guess now’s not a good time to tell you your old car’s dead, is it?”

“What?” I demand sadly. “When did this happen?”

“About a week and a half ago. I went out to start it up, and it just died,” he responds. “Ben came out to take a look, but there was nothing he could do that wasn’t going to cost a small fortune, and I figured that it would be more cost efficient to buy a newer vehicle for the amount it would cost to fix the beast.”

This news sucks; I really love that little Jetta. Even if it was too unreliable for me to keep while living in the city. I couldn’t take the added expense of it breaking down once a month to justify keeping it. Besides, I’m fine to take the bus, and Liz has been generous enough to pick me up for school in the mornings.

“Okay, I guess I can bus it. It shouldn’t be too difficult to bring everything ba—”

“Why don’t I drive you?” Owen interrupts, surprising me. “I mean, I have nothing to do this afternoon, so if you don’t mind me tagging along, I could give you a ride there and back.”

I can’t look him in the eye, because after countless fantasies and then this morning, his offer to “give me a ride” stirs up a world of inappropriate images. “Thank you, Owen. That would be great.”

After breakfast, I offer to clean up, and Dad heads upstairs to get ready for work. I wish he could stay home, because I love spending as much time with him as possible, but his job as a paramedic is very demanding, and he loves it, so I take what I can get.

 I’ve just begun washing the dishes when Owen appears beside me with a dishtowel in his hand. I hand him the first dish, and when his fingers brush mine, a spark of desire shoots through me, settling deep in my stomach and inching its way down below. With a shaky breath, I look up to see that he looks just as stunned by this innocent touch. The only difference is shame fills his eyes before he tears them away from me, while I let my imagination run wild and visualize him pushing me up against the counter and having his way with me.

“Okay,” Dad says behind us, startling me. “I’m headed into work. Amy, I’ll leave the money for the groceries on the table. Don’t forget the pies.”

My shoulders slump, and I shake my head. “Dad, I’m not buying the pies. I’ll make them like Grandma used to.”

“No,” Dad argues. “You’re already going to be busy cooking. Just buy them, it’s fine.”

“Forget it. I’m making them. End. Of. Story.”

Shaking his head, he turns and heads away from the kitchen after dropping a stack of cash on the table and mutters, “So damn stubborn.”

“I wonder where I got that from!” I playfully shout after him. “Have a good day!”

The front door closes after his laugh, and I turn to Owen, leaning my hip against the counter and crossing my arms. “So, Dad wants pumpkin, but what’s your favorite kind of pie?”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head before I realize my unintended innuendo. I smile and try to laugh my way through it as I backpedal—something I seem to be doing a lot of this morning. “Clearly,
that’s
not what I meant. Wow, I’m really on a roll today, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Owen says, his blue eyes returning to their normal size. “I’ve apparently turned into a dirty old man who pounces on young girls while sleeping and reads a little too deeply into everything that’s said.”

“Who’s to say you did the pouncing?” I inquire teasingly. “If my dream was as real as it felt, I think it was me that instigated this whole thing—and, for the record, you’re not
old
.”

His eyes fall to the dishtowel in his hands, and he dries them roughly. “Old enough, Amy.” There’s something about his tone that throws me off; I don’t sense shame behind his statement, but...
disappointment?

No
, I tell myself, feeling a little silly.
You’re reading too much into this. There’s no way that Owen Cavanagh, your father’s
best friend
, looks at you in that way.

“So, when did you want to head to the store?” Owen asks, changing the topic entirely.

“Um, let me shower quickly, and then we can go any time after that?” I suggest.

Owen nods. “Sure. I’d actually like to grab a shower, too. You go first.”

“Cool. Thanks.” I head upstairs and dig through my bag for my toiletries, grab a towel from the hall closet, and start the shower. As the bathroom fills with a warm fog, I undress, pull my hair from the ponytail, and step beneath the warm spray of water. Sighing in contentment, I realize just how much I missed the shower here; the one in my off-campus apartment has absolutely no water pressure.

While I would love nothing more than to stay in here, I don’t want to use up all of the hot water before Owen can have a turn, so I shut the water off after washing my hair and body. After quickly drying off, I get dressed and then comb my hair, leaving it down to dry. When I arrive downstairs, I find Owen on the living room couch, reading the paper.

“Okay, it’s all yours,” I tell him, climbing over the back of the couch and flopping down next to him, cross-legged. My knee brushes his thigh, and his gaze snaps to mine. Before he can make a big deal out of it, I smile and snatch the paper out of his hands. “Whatcha reading?”

“The, uh, headlines,” he stammers, standing up. “I won’t be long.”

“Cool,” I reply with a bright smile as I flip to the crossword. “I’ll be puzzling.”

“That you are, Amy...among many things,” he quips with a laugh, and I narrow my eyes.

Pursing my lips to suppress a smile, I tear a page off the paper and crumple it, throwing it at him. “Funny. Go shower before I take the keys to your precious Lexus and go to the market myself.”

“All right, all right,” Owen surrenders, holding his hands in front of him as he backs out of the living room. “No need to resort to grand theft auto.”

With my back to Owen as he ascends the stairs, I bite my lip to hold back the giddy schoolgirl smile that plays at the corners of my mouth. This kind of bantering isn’t anything new, but the events of this morning certainly lend some inappropriateness to it all.

And that excites me more than it probably should.

4. Sweet and Innocent

T
he entire time I’m in the shower, I can’t stop thinking about how seriously fucked up all of this is. That doesn’t stop me from taking things into my own hands, so to speak. And as much as I try to avoid it, I picture Amelia the entire time. Her soft white flesh. Her big eyes. Her full, pouty lips. Her perky breasts and tight little ass.

The guilt is back, and yet my dick is harder than before. Fucking perfect.

My shower takes longer than I originally intended, but I finish up and get dressed before heading downstairs to find Amelia sitting on the floor in front of the couch, hunched over the crossword puzzle.