by Hart, Cary
“Whatever.” I grab the chopsticks and hold them out in front of me. “Now, where did we leave off?”
“I wasn’t kidding when I said patience. These things are easy to use, you just have to relax and chill.”
“I’m chillaxin, brah.” I flash him a smile.
Being with Owen is almost as easy as being with Austin, but without all the history. Instead of Austin, who knows exactly what I want, Owen has to find out for himself. It’s refreshing. Almost like we are on a real date.
Interesting.
“Don’t say ‘brah’ again.” He nods the bottle toward me before he tilts it up to his lips.
“Feed me and I won’t.”
“Okay.” He grabs his sticks. “Now that everything is in place, use your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to grasp the second chopstick a bit more tightly.”
“Like this?” I don’t bother to look up as I try to finagle my way through his instructions.
“Yes! Exactly! Now, using your index and middle fingers, try to move the top chopstick up and down.”
“Oh my God! It’s moving!” I glance up and see Owen leaning back against the front of the oversized chair behind him with a huge, satisfied grin plastered across his face.
“Now, how do I get the food in between there?” I nod toward the sticks, afraid to actually move my wrist.
“Keep your hand loose, the chopstick steady, and once you’ve got a good grip, eat,” Owen says, as if this isn’t a big deal.
“This better work.” I slowly lower the wooden sticks in the carton.
“Go ahead and pick it up.” Owen cheers me on.
Opening and closing a few times, I fumble with a piece of chicken. “I’m going to get you in my belly,” I warn all the little nuggets.
“Um, are you talking to the chicken or”
“Shhh!” I lift my eyes and shoot Owen a look. “It’s do or starve time!” I announce as I manage to balance a piece of chicken and slowly raise it to my mouth.
“You’ve got this,” Owen whispers as I finally get close enough and snag the piece of chicken with my teeth.
“I did it.” I pump my fists in the air. “Go me!”
“Pretty simple, right?” Owen sits across from me and just smiles, as if this is exactly where he wants to be.
“Yep. Totally simple.” I drop one of the chopsticks to the table. “But so is this.” I jab a piece of pineapple with the other one and stuff it in my mouth.
“Nooooooo!” he hollers as he falls back and rests his head on the chair cushion. “All that hard work!” He slaps the top of his head and drags his hands down the sides of his face.
“A girl’s gotta eat.” I shrug and take another bite.
He seems equal parts shocked and amused at my tactics. I prefer to think of them as innovative. I continue eating as we fall into a comfortable conversation and I master using chopsticks. Using the term “master” very lightly. But with Owen’s help, I get the hang of it. His patience is refreshing.
“You know what?” Owen wipes his mouth and tosses the napkin on the table. “This is a perfect time for a date tweet.”
“Yeah. I can show off my new skills.” I hold up my chopsticks and snap at the air.
Owen pushes himself up and crosses to where I’m sitting.
“Oh! Are we going to take a selfie?” I push the coffee table to where Owen was sitting to make room for him.
“We sure are.” He plops down beside me and stretches out. “I’m not going to let you take all the credit for that.” He swipes the chopsticks from me and pinches my nose with them.
“Hey!” I snatch them back.
“Okay, smile!” He holds out the camera in front of us.
“Wait!” I take the chopsticks and grab some noodles. “Open wide.”
Owen opens his mouth as I gracefully slide the noodles in.
“Say Chiiiiiii-nese.”
Snap.
Owen laughs and noodles go flying, but there I am still clasping my chopsticks smiling and having a good time.
“I think this is the perfect pic for this evening.” Owen flashes me his cell.
“I need a filter,” I mumble.
“I happen to think you look beautiful.” Owen turns to me and slowly begins to lean as his phone rings.
Austin.
“Do you want me to get this?” he asks my permission.
What do I say to that? Austin is his friend, his coworker, and I’m just the girl who happened to get dumped at the right place, right time.
“Up to you.”
“I’m still pissed.” Owen presses the red button, sending Austin to voicemail. “I think I need the night to get over it.”
“About that? What exactly happened between you two?”
“I’ll tell you about it when we clean up. But first…” Owen swipes his phone to life and texts me our picture. “Let’s tweet.”
“Okay.” I download the selfie and upload it to Twitter while Owen does the same.
Clover Kelly @UnLuckyInLove_13
Finally! Thx @Decker_LIVE for the personal lessons.
Owen Decker @Decker_LIVE
Nick who? This girl’s got skillz!
“All done.” Owen stuffs his phone in his front pocket and stands.
“I’ve been sitting for so long, I’m not sure I can get up gracefully without flashing you.” I let out an awkward chuckle.
“Here.” Owen pulls me up, and I crash face-first into his muscular chest.
“Oh my.” I can’t help but inhale. Owen smells so good—like clean soap, spice, and something else—Chinese? “In case I forget to tell you later, I really enjoyed tonight.” I look up and get lost in his big brown eyes.
Owen clears his throat. “Me too.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Clover?”
“Yes?” Owen leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “Can I kiss—?” Nooo!
Owen’s phone begins to chime, and not just once, but multiple times. He hangs his head as he pulls out his phone and flashes me the screen. “It’s Austin. He saw the tweets.”
“What did he say?” I stand on my tiptoes to look over the phone.
“I haven’t opened it.” He tucks it in his back pocket. “It’s not polite to be on your phone while on a date with a pretty girl.”
I just want to jump up and down, point to myself, and scream, “That’s me! I’m the pretty girl!” Instead, I hand over my device. “In that case, can you hold on to mine. I’m kinda on a date with a pretty amazing guy.”
I’m not sure what this is, but for once, I’m not going to overthink it or analyze every detail. This is me living in the moment.
I’m just thankful he was able to turn my tears into laughs.
Austin’s usually the one who does that. But this time, Owen’s the cause.
CHAPTER 22
AUSTIN
How in the hell did I become the bad guy? Everything I have ever done is to protect Clover, and now the person who got her in this mess is on a date with her? That doesn’t even make sense.
Then again, Owen isn’t the bad guy—Nick is. Somehow, in my fit of rage trying to protect Clover, Owen got caught in the crossfire, and I said things I shouldn’t have. Which is why I tried to call to apologize, but the asshole sent me to voicemail because he decided to take Clover on the fourth date.
And not just any fourth date—he took her back to his house where it would take a good thirty minutes or so with no traffic to get there. For all I know, he could have her perky little tits in his face living out my dream.
“Fucking kiss,” I mumble to no one. It’s only me and the annoying-ass bird who keeps making these ridiculous sucking, slobbering noises while squawking, “Kiss me,” over and over again.
I’ve tried to escape that night. Hell, even Clover was able to forget it, but me? It felt so fucking real and so goddamn good, it’s on my own personal instant replay.
<
br /> “Mwah—moo-wah—smmmmmck.” Kramer hops out of his cage and mocks me. “Kiss me. Kiss, kiss, kiss me. Kiss, kiss me. Kiss, kiss, kiss me.” Kramer stands in front of me, bopping his head as if this is some stupid song he just made up.
“I’m not singing this one, dude. You’re flying solo.”
Great. Now I’m talking to a fucking bird.
My phone beeps with a Twitter notification. “Another one?” As much as I don’t want to look, I can’t help it. I’m following all her dates and designated hashtags—and Clover’s date with Owen is now trending thanks to their series of tweets and stupid-ass pics.
Clover feeding Owen with the chopsticks—whatever.
Them watching a movie with only their feet and the screen in the picture—blah.
Owen and Clover’s fingertips touching in the buttery popcorn—what is this junior high?
This date has been going on for over five hours. FIVE—FUCKING—HOURS. What do you even do on a first date for that long?
Get lucky!
“Dammit.” I’ve never wanted to punch myself more for thinking something like that. Clover wouldn’t sleep with Owen. Would she?
“Intruder! Balk! Balk! Intruder!” Kramer alerts.
“Thanks, buddy.” I run to the door and look through the peephole. Clover isn’t home, but the elevator is coming up.
“Intruder! Balk! Balk! Intruder!”
“Shhh, it’s just your mom.” I try to calm my new feathered friend down.
“Intruder! Balk! Balk! Intruder!”
I turn around and shout at the bird, “Kramer! Shut—up! I can’t hear them.”
Kramer just stares at me, opening and closing his little black beak.
“Yes!” I point to him. “Just like that.” I nod, turn around, and place my ear against the door.
Voices!
I peek through the hole, but I can’t see them.
The logical thing would be for me to take a seat on the couch and wait for Clover to come in so I can apologize for earlier today, then casually discuss her date, but I’m not a logical man. Nope! I’m a man who can’t stop.
I grab a baseball bat out of the umbrella stand and swing open the door.
Thank you, Clover, for being a paranoid freak.
“Gotcha!” I yell, startling Owen and Clover, who are wrapped in an embrace.
“Austin!” Clover screams, jumping back. “What are you doing?”
“Austin, put the bat down.” Owen holds up his hands.
“Sorry, guys. Kramer,” I throw my thumb over my shoulder, “set off his alarm.”
“Kramer is an alarm?” Owen seems confused.
“He’s my white cockatoo who can mimic an alarm when he thinks someone is breaking in.”
“Yeah. He’s growing on me.” I nod just as Kramer comes strolling out. That is, until he sees Owen—and freezes.
“Buddy, are you okay?” I bend down and pet the little creature who seems to be growing on me. He doesn’t move.
“Kramer?” Clover steps forward and whistles. “Come here, baby.”
You know how I said Kramer was growing on me. Well, my little buddy just moved up to side-kick status.
“Little dick. Little. Little. Little dick.” Kramer begins to kick his feet up like he’s a bull in a rodeo. He’s out for blood, and this time, it’s not mine.
“Kramer!” Clover shouts, dragging out his name for a straight minute, as this whole scene plays in slow motion.
Kramer flaps his wings, takes off for Owen’s thigh, attaches himself at eye-level, and begins pecking Owen’s cock.
“Son of a bitch!” Owen screams, doing a little dance, trying to shake the bird free.
“Owen! You’re going to hurt him.” Falling to her knees, Clover tries to reach for her bird and misses.
“Wrong cock,” I holler out, and her head spins around.
“Not funny, Austin. A little help would be nice.”
Now, I could help out, but I’m loving this. It’s a huge mood killer for Owen and a little revenge for me. I call this a win-win scenario.
“Austin,” Clover pleads.
Normally, this wouldn’t faze me, but every time I hear Clover say my name, it’s as if she’s moaning it like my dream. So, of course, I’m going to do what she asks.
“Kramer, cage,” I repeat the words Clover said the night I came home a tad drunk, and what do you know—it works. Kramer hops down and wobbles his way past me into our apartment.
“I guess I’ll leave you two be.” I slowly walk backward. “Carry on with whatever it is you were doing.” I motion between the two.
“Actually, I have to get going.” Owen bends down to give Clover a little peck on the cheek, and the look of disappointment kills me.
Clover just wants to be happy, and for some fucking reason, she thinks Unlucky in Love can give her that. Maybe Owen was right. Maybe it was her choice and I took that away from her. How was I supposed to know Owen would come and sweep her off her feet?
This whole thing went from a disaster to a state of emergency.
I don’t like this. I mean, it’s literally only been a minute and I can hear them talking so I know they aren’t sucking face, but still. She needs to get her ass inside. It’s almost midnight.
“Hey, Austin.” Clover tiptoes in.
“You don’t have to be quiet. I put the cover on already.” I point to the cage.
“Oh.” She lets her heels, which she must have taken off earlier, slide to the ground, and plops back onto the couch.
“So, Owen?” I ask the question I already know the answer to.
“We’re just friends.” She gives the standard excuse when two people are attracted to each other but don’t know what to call it.
Just friends.
Or maybe best friends?
“Well, thanks to your date with Owen, our website is getting a shit ton of hits and Unlucky in Love is all over Twitter. Hell, they are even shipping you two.” I pull up my phone and read off a few.
Monica Marti @kNOw_It_All_6
Is Clover finally going to #getlucky? I think so. Clover+Owen=Cloven #cloven #pagesix #unluckyinlove #hotlinehookup
“No way.” Clover giggles. “That’s crazy.”
Cary Hart @authorcaryhart
Hello, Owen Decker! #cloven #nomnom #cometomama #unluckyinlove #hotlinehookup
“Oh! I love her books.” Clover grins, loving all the attention. “Maybe she will write a romance novel based on my dating story?”
“Oh jeez.” I shake my head and lean back in my chair. “I can’t believe you’re buying into this shit.”
“What? Apparently, they think Owen and I should be an item.” Clover glares at me while she twists her hair into a pile on top of her head and searches the room. “Hey, throw me that pin over there.” She nods to the end table beside me. Tossing it her way, she shoves it in her hair “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So…” Clover stretches out on the sofa and settles in. “You don’t like Cloven?” She rolls over to her side so she can get a better look at me and winces. “Can you turn that light off over there?”
“Then you will fall asleep,” I try to argue, but I know this will be a losing battle, so I reach over and flip the switch.
“Thanks.” She yawns. “You never answered me about Cloven.”
“Because Cloven sounds like an STD.”
“It does now!” Clover gasps.
“Yeah, it’s like one step away from the clap.”
And to make it more dramatic, I actually clap.
“Whatever, Austin,” she defends the mash-up of their names.
“Fine. Maybe an STD is a little harsh. I mean, after all, it’s two of my favorite people.” I wink. “It’s more like an antibiotic for an STD.”
“Oh my God!” Clover sits up, resting her back against the armrest. “What is your problem?”
“Nothing. Well,” I lower myself to my middle school ways. “this was supposed to be my radio sh
ow, and now we are shipping my producer and best friend, and have an after-hours on the website and a Twitter following,” I state the facts. How can anyone argue those?
“Speaking of your radio show.” Clover sits up and pats the seat beside her. “Owen told me what happened.”
I hang my head and puff out my cheeks. “I called him to apologize.” I stand and cross the room, falling onto the seat next to her.
“Owen figured as much, but he admitted he was wrong.”
“Good.”
“But,” she rests her hand on my leg, “you were wrong too.”
I’m pretty sure she said I was wrong, but with her hand on my thigh, I’m kind of distracted. Wrong, right—it all sounds the same.
“Listen.” I turn to face Clover and take her hands in mine. One, I really want her to pay attention, and two, I need her as far away from my cock as I can get her. “It was no secret I never approved of this, but what I also didn’t approve of is the way it was handled. Owen knew Nick wanted to run a proposal by me and told him not to, but he did it anyway.” I give her hands a little squeeze. “That tells me the man was desperate for an ‘in.’”
“Maybe,” she somewhat agrees.
“It also was disrespectful to you because he could have waited. To me, that shows he didn’t give a flying fuck about your feelings.”
“I get that now, but what upset me the most is when you said I’m naïve.” Her eyes begin to water. “I know it may seem that way, but I’m not.”
“Shhh.” I reach up and swipe away the tear that escaped—the one I caused to fall. “I know, Clover. You had a life you thought you were happy in. You worked hard to make it that way by not letting all the messy stuff dirty it up. There is nothing wrong with that.” I lean in a little, and whisper, “That actually makes you wiser than most.”
“You really think so?” her lips curl into a small smile.
“Yeah. Because when you really do find the one and get married, that all-for-love mentality will be what makes you last forever. It’s like you hold the secret recipe.”