Just a Number (5 page)

“I’m so sorry,” Owen rushes to apologize, and I shake my head, silently telling him he has no reason to.

When I see that my handprints are still clearly all over Owen’s shirt, I look down at my own shirt and begin to swat at it frantically in an effort to get rid of any incriminating evidence. Owen does the same, and we’re successful in hiding most of it when Dad enters the kitchen.

He looks between Owen and me, one of his eyebrows arched suspiciously, and his eyes widen. “What the hell happened here?”

6. My Sacrifice

M
y heart races, and I can’t seem to get enough oxygen as panic takes a firm hold of me and squeezes. Alan is going to kill me. He’s going to beat me to death and then force his daughter to help him hide the body as her punishment.

Okay, so this is probably pretty far-fetched, but the room does seem to be getting darker around the outer corners of my vision, and my chest feels tight with every breath I take. How are we going to get ourselves out of this? I look to Amy for help, but she seems just as stunned as me—fearful for her life, even.

“It looks like a bag of flour exploded in here.”

“Oh,” Amy breathes with relief, and my heart slowly returns to a normal pace. “Owen was being a smartass, and I felt the strong urge to throw flour at him. Little did I know he would retaliate.”

“Like I would just sit there and take it,” I rib playfully.

Alan eyes us suspiciously again, but before he can figure everything out with his incredibly in tune powers of observation, Amy smiles and gets back to the forgotten dough. “So, Daddy, what are you doing home so early?”

“Turns out one of the guys isn’t feeling well, so my partner and I have agreed to take the graveyard shift,” he explains. Through my periphery, I can tell Amelia is looking at me, but I can’t bring myself to look her in the eyes. “I just stopped by to grab something to eat for dinner tonight and to let you guys know I won’t be home until late.”

“Okay,” Amelia replies, pressing the last crust into the pan and brushing her hands on the dishtowel to get rid of the flour. “Well, let me make you something for dinner then.”

Amelia rifles through the fridge looking for something to make him while he and I discuss our days so far. Alan seems irritated that Gretchen would show up here after what she did to me.

“I think you need to go out and find some hot, young thing to help you forget all about Gretchen.” Hearing Alan say something so crass isn’t unusual to me, but behind me, Amy starts coughing. We turn to look at her, and she’s setting her knife down with a trembling hand and shaking her head.

“Amy?” Dad inquires, preparing to stand from the table.

Holding up one hand, she clears her throat. Her face is a little red, and I worry that our secret is about to be revealed. She’s never really had a great poker face when it comes to her father. I hold my breath and prepare for the worst. “I’m fine. I just never would have figured you as the type to suggest something like that.”

Alan grumbles gruffly. “The situation more than calls for it.”

I notice a small smile form on her lips as she looks back down at the countertop. “I, um, actually don’t think it’s such a bad idea.” This time, it’s my turn to choke and sputter on the sip of wine I’ve just taken. Finding some kind of sick pleasure in it, she looks at me and shrugs. “I’m just saying, if you’re lucky enough to find someone who’d be willing to help you out with something like that, then why the hell not?”

Alan seems thrilled that Amy’s taken his side—though, I suppose if he knew she was really suggesting that I forget about my cheating wife with
her
, he might kick me out of the house and lock her in a tower for all eternity.

I guess I’ll just have to keep that to myself.

“Okay, Dad, here’s your dinner. You sticking around for a bit longer?”

Alan looks at his watch and sighs. “Can’t. You two have a good night, and I’ll be home late, so I’ll see you in the morning.” He takes his lunch bag from Amy and kisses the top of her head. “Sleep well, Amy.” Then he turns to me. “Sorry, but now that Amy’s here, you’ll have to take the couch.”

I smile, but it feels a little forced. “Figured as much. Thanks again for letting me stay until everything gets sorted out back home.”

“Of course.” Alan says one more goodbye to us both, and then heads for the door. Amy and I remain silent until we hear the front door close and Alan’s Tahoe back out of the driveway.

“More wine?” Amy offers softly. It’s almost like she’s not sure what else she should say. Neither am I.

I only nod, choosing to remain silent as she refills my glass. After she recorks the bottle, I glance toward her apologetically. “I’m going to go hang out in the living room for a bit so you can get everything done.”

“Owen,” she protests, but it’s no use; I leave her alone in the kitchen.

7. We’ve Got Tonight

I
debate whether or not to go after him, but I figure he just needs a minute to himself. With everything that’s happened today, we’ve both had an emotionally tumultuous afternoon.

The silence in the kitchen is deafening, so I decide to turn on the radio while I finish the pies. The next hour and a half goes by pretty quickly, and the kitchen is spotless by the time the pies are done in the oven. After I take them out to cool, I grab the bottle of wine and my glass and head into the living room to find Owen sitting in silence on the couch.

“Hey,” I greet quietly, walking around the couch to sit next to him. “You okay?”

He acknowledges me with a small smile. “Yeah. Fine.”

Things between us seem awkward—but I suppose that’s to be expected after the day we’ve had—and we remain in uncomfortable silence for a while, both of us drinking our wine and refilling our glasses a couple of times. I’m starting to feel a little light-headed as the alcohol takes effect, and I’m unsure what to say to break the silence.

Thankfully, Owen speaks first. “Amelia, what your father suggested...well, that still doesn’t make what happened okay.” He rubs his hand over his face roughly before tugging it through his hair. “God, you’re the daughter of my best friend. I’ve known him for over thirty years—I was there the day your mother gave birth to you, for fuck’s sake.”

I can feel his stress rolling off him in waves as he overthinks this. And, yes, hearing my dad suggest that Owen hook up with some hot young girl had shocked, stunned, and horrified me just a little bit. Hell, I almost cut the tip of my finger with the knife. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if my dad’s logic was sound. Why shouldn’t Owen have a little care-free fun?

 “Owen”—his eyes rise to mine—“I know that this wasn’t something that either one of us expected, but you can’t deny that there’s something here.”

“It’s still wrong.”

My arms and legs feel weightless and tingly from the wine as I inch closer to him on the couch, getting close enough that my knee brushes his thigh. “Is it, though? I’m twenty-one—an adult. You wouldn’t be doing anything
wrong
or untoward. I want this—have for so long—and you said you thought about it, too...” I pause for a second, biting the inside of my cheek as I prepare my next move. “Can I ask you something?” He nods once, seeming unsure. “How long have you thought about me this way?”

“Too long,” he replies softly, reaching out and placing his hand over mine. My gaze shifts to where his thumb moves over the back of my hand, and I sigh as the warmth of his touch spreads through my body, traveling up my arm and neck. “Since the last time I saw you two years ago.” He laughs once, humored by something still unspoken. “It was Thanksgiving, actually, and you had brought that boy home...Nolan. I hated him—for reasons that didn’t make sense to me then.”

“Uh huh,” I whisper, turning my hand over beneath his and letting our fingers naturally thread together.

“It was only after you left to go back to school that I realized I wanted you more than I should.” I look up from our hands to find him staring intensely at me.

“Okay,” I respond. “Well, I’m not with him anymore, and you’re a free agent now...so, let’s just give in.”

“What about your—?”

I press my finger to his lips to stop him from saying the one thing that could kill the mood. “We’ll worry about that later. Who’s to say this goes beyond today—beyond right now? Why can’t this just be about two people giving in to their impulses?”

“Y-you’d be okay with that?” Owen asks, uncertainty still lacing his velvety voice. “You’d be okay with a casual tryst with a man twice your age?”

“This age thing really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

He looks perplexed. “It doesn’t bother you?”

I shake my head. “Not in the slightest. It might if this were five years ago, but right now? I couldn’t care less.” I lean in close, our noses less than an inch from touching. “No one has to know, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You’re sure this is what you want?” The desire in his eyes tells me what he wants; he just wants to make sure it’s one hundred percent consensual.

Running my hand over his jaw, I laugh breathily and brush the tip of my nose over his. “I wouldn’t be throwing myself at you if I didn’t.”

The awkward air in the room suddenly dissipates as Owen leans in the rest of the way and presses his lips to mine. I whimper, releasing his hand from mine and bringing it up to mirror the position of the other along his chiseled jaw. Maybe it’s due to the bottle of wine coursing through our veins, but things between us escalate quickly, and Owen’s hands ensnare my hips, pulling me onto his lap. Now that I’m straddling his thighs, I can feel his erection pressing firmly against me, and I shift my hips forward to help ease the steady pulse of arousal.

“God, Amelia,” he moans into my mouth as I shift my hips again. Every time he calls me this, I tremble. “We shouldn’t do this here...”

“Then take me upstairs,” I tell him, throwing my head back so he can kiss the column of my throat.

He groans, gripping my ass and standing up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he makes his way for the stairs, and when we reach the top, I pull his face back to mine and kiss him deeply, my tongue seeking his out voraciously. He kicks my bedroom door closed and lowers us to my bed, pressing himself firmly between my legs. This time, it’s his hips that move, thrusting against me and making my skin tingle and ache with pure ecstasy.

My fantasies of Owen and me locked in a similar embrace don’t even compare to how his hands feel moving up from my ass to underneath my shirt. His hands are warm as they run up the length of my stomach and toward my breasts. When he palms them both, my back arches off the bed as much as it can beneath him. I mewl into his fervent kiss as he pulls the cups to my bra down, exposing my hardened nipples to his dexterous fingers.

“Take it off,” I command breathlessly. “All of it.”

Owen pushes himself to his knees, and I sit up, lifting my arms as he removes my shirt and tosses it to the floor. While he removes his own, I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, tossing it to the floor, too. My eyes move over his bare chest, and I bring my hands up to touch him for the first time, letting them glide slowly down his body and through the light hair under his belly button that disappears behind his jeans. My fingers rest on the buckle of his belt, and I look up at him, giving him the opportunity to stop this if he’s still uncertain. All I see is how much he wants this—
needs
it, even—and I slip the leather from the buckle and work the button of his jeans free before lowering the zipper carefully. Brazenly, I guide my hand into his pants and grip his erection. His eyes close and his hips move in time with my wrist. Watching him come undone is so hot.

With a groan, he slips his hands into his jeans at his hips and slides them down as far as he can before having to stand up and kick them off. Naturally, having seen the rest of him already, I can’t help but focus on his erection. Now, I’ve seen a few in my lifetime, and while this one looks no different—maybe a little thicker and longer than some—I think the fact that it’s
Owen’s
is what has me so transfixed.