Just For Now (A Flirting With Trouble Novel) (5 page)

Chapter Six

“Whew. That was . . .”

Owen trails off, shaking his head. I give a mirthless laugh.

“Brutal?” I offer. He nods.

“Yeah, that’s a good word for it.”

It’s almost nine at night—way after my shift was supposed to be over—and I’m definitely not out with Cyn like I’d expected to be. Once we’d managed to calm Charlie down, the staff powwowed and came up with a temporary plan. Wendy drove her home and talked to her mother, asking if Charlie could start coming to BYC every day after school for an “internship.” We don’t technically have interns, but we all agreed—including, maybe most importantly, Owen—that keeping an eye on Charlie was the best way to keep her safe.

So, now, we’re sitting around the break room—Wendy, Jenn, Owen, and me—chowing down on lo mein and hoping that we’ve made the right choices. When Wendy and Jenn decide to call it a night, I turn to Owen with an apologetic smile.

“About that dinner we’d planned . . .”

He grins and his face immediately relaxes, making him look younger. Making him look adorable with a sexy, frat-boy edge.

“Looks like we had it anyway,” he says, gesturing to the cartons of Chinese food littering the large table. “Besides—I think I learned more about this place and these kids today just from the experience with Charlie than you could have possibly described to me. And honestly? I probably wouldn’t have believed you until I saw it myself.”

I chew and swallow another bite of lo mein. “I know. It’s a hard job in some ways, but so incredibly rewarding in others. It’s why I stay. I have my social work credentials—I graduated last spring—but I love these kids. I don’t think I could be doing any better work than the work I do here.”

“How old are you?” Owen asks, reaching for another egg roll.

“Twenty-five. Why?”

He shrugs. “I was curious. I’m twenty-seven. I didn’t see myself in this field by a long shot. I went to business school.”

I raise a brow. “That is not at all like this job. Wow.”

“I know.” He chuckles. “I sort of fell into it—my roommate worked at the BSC, and he got me the job. I just never left. And then they moved me here.”

It’s a pretty succinct description of what happened in the last three days, but I let it go.

“Honestly, though,” Owen says, looking up thoughtfully, “there’s a lot of business-related concerns when it comes to this place. I’ve spent the last two days buried in the books of budgetary concerns and receipts and shit. I mean—this place bleeds freaking money.”

I snort. “Don’t I know it. That’s the reason I keep applying for grants. Remy’s biggest concern was always about state money and funding and how to make sure we had what we needed.”

Which reminds me of Remy’s request about his receipts.

“Hey, speaking of which, Remy said that he had a stack of receipts in his desk—can I grab them? I don’t want them to get mixed in with the budget stuff.”

Owen frowns. “I don’t remember seeing anything like that—I can certainly look, but I haven’t seen anything.”

“Huh. Weird.” Although, honestly, Remy lost his keys on the regular when he worked here and forgot his badge more days than he remembered it. Maybe he’d taken them home without realizing it.

I watch Owen polish off the egg roll and then practically inhale the rest of his plate of noodles. I shake my head.

“What is it about guys’ metabolisms? I could never eat like that. I’d blow up like a damn balloon.”

Owen scoffs.

“Please. I don’t think you have any trouble in that area. Everything about you is like a college freshman’s wet dream.”

I freeze.

Owen freezes.

Well, everything about him freezes, save his eyes, which widen exponentially.

“Holy shit—I mean—God, Rainey, I’m sorry, I have no idea what made me say that out loud. It was super-inappropriate.”

His face looks panicked—so much so that it’s almost comical. I do the only thing I think I can do, which is wave dismissively and take a sip of my soda.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, laughing, even though I know my cheeks are pink and flushed with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. And maybe pleasure. Just a little bit.

But Owen looks like he just ran over my dog or something. He jumps up and starts gathering all the empty plates and cartons, attempting to pick up too many at once, then losing a few in the process. He shuffles to the trash can, incredibly focused on his task, but I can see his face is red.

Shit. He’s going to make this a thing.

“Owen.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t look at me, so I clap my hands. He blinks over at me as he bags the rest of the garbage.

“Owen, seriously. It’s not a big deal. You said it, let’s move on.”

He shakes his head. “But, I’m your boss—I never should have . . .”

“But you did,” I say, “and it’s fine. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

I stand up and brush the crumbs off my lap. Owen still looks visibly upset, and I could almost laugh at his discomfort. Instead, I toss out my trash and grab my keys.

“Come on—I’ll show you how to lock up the pool.”

We spend the next half hour going through all the basics of the facility—the pool maintenance (which Jenn mostly takes care of anyway), the locker room cleaning schedules, the preschool Clorox wipe-down. Owen doesn’t take any notes this time—instead, he just watches me. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t ask a bunch of questions. I’m not sure if he’s still mulling over his inappropriate commentary or if he’s just bored. Or both.

Once the facility’s shut down, I glance at my phone—I was supposed to text Cyn almost an hour ago.

“Hey,” I say to Owen as we head out to our cars, “I’m going to grab a drink with a few friends. If you aren’t busy, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

For a long moment, he just stares at me. In the moonlight, the features of his face seem all the more pronounced. His nose is narrow, but not too thin. His chin and its prominent dimple are strong and utterly masculine, much like the tawny five-o’clock shadow that’s bloomed over his cheeks since this afternoon.

If he were a coworker—someone who I considered an equal—I’d make a move. I’d walk a little closer to him and gaze up into his coffee-colored eyes. I’d play with my hair, twisting a lock around one finger in the universal sign of “I am so fucking into you, please take me home.” I’d tilt my head while I talked and I’d laugh and flirt and lick my lips.

Once we were close enough to count individual eyelashes, I’d bite my bottom lip, in the hopes that his eyes would flare wide open with unbridled lust.

Then all bets would be off.

But, instead, my boss, Owen, shakes his head.

“I should really get some sleep.”

I swear to God I hear longing in his voice. Longing for me? Longing for a night out? Or longing for a good eight hours? I guess they’re all options.

“Okay,” I say, feeling slightly unsure. I’m not used to wanting someone I can’t have. Not that I’ve wanted anyone recently. I’m usually pretty good at avoiding that experience as a general rule.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I blink up at my boss. AT MY BOSS, I try to tell my brain. What is it about this guy that’s giving me goose bumps? I try to remember his bossy attitude. Instead, I’m remembering everything else about him that is driving me crazy. Crazy in a good way—the muscular frame, the flirtatious smile, the flash of humor in his gaze that is always tempered by something hot and sexy and seductive.

“Absolutely,” I finally answer, forcing a bright smile. Before I make a bigger fool of myself, I turn and unlock my car. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I realize I haven’t taken a breath in a good thirty seconds. I exhale hard, and then inhale deeply through my nose.

Owen honks and waves as he pulls out of the parking lot, and I give a halfhearted honk back. But, for a long moment, I don’t start the car. I just sit there, thinking. Thinking about how I would have wanted that interaction to go in my perfect world.

In my perfect world, Owen would have backed me up until my ass hit my car door. He’d have leaned in, hovering his mouth just above mine to allow me the option to resist, to say no. But I know I wouldn’t. I know I’d have pushed up on my toes and pressed my mouth against his. I’d sweep my tongue out along the seam of his lips, hoping he’d open his mouth and devour me the way I wanted him to. I would have felt his erection—gloriously hard and above average—pressing against my deeply throbbing core.

And I would have tried to drag him into the backseat of my car like a horny sixteen-year-old boy.

So, maybe I should be grateful that we both held back. Or maybe I’m wrong. Despite what Owen said earlier about me inciting wet dreams, I have a feeling that I’m not inciting any of his.

And I should be happy about that . . . right?

***

Trivia Night wrapped up hours ago, but there are a ton of people still hanging around Dino’s for an average Wednesday night. When I pull into the parking lot, I see Smith’s discreet squad car. Ever since he started dating Cyn, he’s been doing a variety of undercover jobs, including the one he was on when they met for the first time. Just recently, though, he was promoted to detective, which took him off the street beat and back in the office—something Cyn loves and Smith has mixed feelings about. Smith Asher is the only police officer I know, save his older brother, Eric, and they’re both really good guys.

Which reminds me of Charlie and her stepdad.

Shit, I wonder if Smith actually knows him. He’s a county cop—Delauter is his last name, Charlie told us earlier—so their paths may not have crossed much, if at all. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask. To at least get some insight.

As I enter through the side door and come around the back end of the bar, I see a sight that I both love and loathe. I just can’t help it. Seeing both of my best friends, Cyn and Carson, with their boyfriends, Smith and Wyatt, shouldn’t be upsetting. I should be a bigger person than that. I should be able to just accept they’re moving forward with their lives. I should not believe that it’s a reflection of me and my life and my choices.

I should do and feel all of these things. But sometimes, I just feel jealous. And bitter.

Carson’s sitting on Wyatt’s lap. He’s been out of his wheelchair now for about six months, and, while he still needs a cane now and then, his recovery is going really well. He suffered from a traumatic brain injury after a really terrible car accident that killed a close friend. He’s also a phenomenal drummer. And, you know, super-hot.

Carson is one of those girls who could pretty much rock any look she tried, and right now she looks slamming—tight jeans, a leather biker vest, and an AC/DC T-shirt. She gives a little shriek as she hops up to hug me.

“You did come out! Yay! Cyn told me you said something about meeting up, so we stuck around. I’m so glad we didn’t miss you.”

I smile as I hug her back, exhaling as I do. Tonight, being around friends should be a good distraction. Something I could really use right now as I grapple with my emotions for Charlie’s situation—and grapple with my desire for my boss.

“It’s been a long day. I grabbed some dinner with my coworkers.”

Cyn raises a brow as she comes to kiss my cheek.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m okay.”

She smiles, and then looks back over at Smith. Her dark curls are a complete contrast to his much lighter, shortly shorn haircut—not to mention her fair complexion clashes with his bronzed one. But the two of them make an incredibly cute couple, and the way he looks at her? It’s like there’s no one else on earth.

I order a draft beer, then another for good measure, finishing the first one in record time. Wyatt raises a brow at me as I plunk my empty glass on the table.

“Thirsty?”

I smirk. “Something like that.”

The five of us manage to find a free table in the fairly packed bar, and I sip my second draft beer while I listen to Cyn tell a funny story about one of her students. She’s been at the Franklin School, an alternative high school, for over a year now. It’s challenging and sometimes frustrating, but she loves it.

“How about you, Rainey? Did things settle down after the shake-up with management?”

Everyone looks at me. I open my mouth, then close it.

What am I supposed to say? That I’m dealing with disgruntled employees on the regular? That I’ve got a transgender teen who needs guidance and I’m pretty sure I’m totally ill-equipped to handle the situation? Oh, and I want to fuck my boss.

“Actually,” I finally say, looking from Cyn to Smith, “I was hoping I could ask Smith a question. Um, privately. It has to do with a kid I’m working with.”

Cyn glances over at Smith, then back at me. “Sure, Rain—no worries.”

She hops up, then tugs Carson’s hand. “Come on—your man is going to buy us a few drinks.”

Wyatt chuckles and Carson rolls her eyes.

“Whatever happened to straight-edge Cyn?” she asks, clucking in mock disapproval. Cyn shrugs.

“She got a life.”

I watch my friends go, with Wyatt in tow, then turn back to Smith. He’s leaning forward, his hands clasped in front of him like he already knows that whatever I have to say is serious business.

“Hit me.”

I bark a mirthless laugh at his unintentional pun.

“Do you happen to know a cop named Delauter? He’s county, not city.”

Smith frowns, considering the question. “What’s his first name?”

“James. I think he might go by Jimmy.”

He looks up at the ceiling like he’s trying to picture a face he’s never actually seen.

“I don’t think I do,” he finally says slowly, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t get to know him, if needed.”

I smile at his turn of phrase, then press my fingertips to my temples.

“I have this girl—she’s transgender, but was assigned as male at birth. She lives as a female and her stepdad—this Jimmy Delauter—has been saying some really awful shit to her.”

Smith nods, watching me closely. One thing I’ve always liked about him is that he doesn’t jump to respond to something with an initial reaction. He thinks about what he wants to say.