Going the extra mile today—because the house needs it, not because I’m distracting myself from thinking about Charlie—I strip my bed, put on fresh sheets and then dust and vacuum my room. I do the same to the guest room. There are two more bedrooms upstairs, but one is set up like a game room and the other is rather empty and is just used for storage. It was staged as a little girl’s room when this house was the model home for the neighborhood, and the walls are still a pale pink with an accent wall of polka-dot wallpaper.
Impressed with myself and how clean the house looks, I go downstairs, finish my laundry, and then wash dishes. I never understood when people wanted to downsize so they wouldn’t have so much housework to do, but now I get it. This house is meant for a family of four or five and has a full, partly finished basement that Logan and I converted into a theatre room the year before he moved out.
I’m mostly in the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. I don’t know the last time anyone even sat at the formal dining room table, and I don’t do too much work at home in the office. I’ve considered selling this place before, though since Logan and I bought it together, it would only be right to split the profit with him.
We got a good deal on it since our dad built it and it was a model home for a few years before we moved in. People trampled through here during several Parade Of Homes events, resulting in nicks and scratches on the walls as well as one huge scratch in the hardwood in the foyer. To this day, we have no idea how that happened, and I’ve successfully kept the mark hidden under an area rug.
The rest of the damage was cosmetic and has been fixed, and this house is too much space for me and me alone. But I like it here and it’s home, and I suppose in the back of my mind I held onto the hope that I’d settle down and start a family of my own as well. Though I knew there was only one way that was happening.
There was only one woman in this whole fucking world I want to spend the rest of my life with, and she’s—
Texting me right now?
I glance down at the preview of the text that just popped up on my phone. It’s from a number with an area code I don’t recognize. I unlock my phone at record speed to read the rest of the message.
Unknown: Hey, Owen. It’s Charlie. I ran into Quinn on my lunch break and got your number from her. Do you still want to do dinner?
I read the text three times, not sure I’m believing what I’m reading. Inhaling deep, I type out my reply.
Me: Yeah, I’d like that. What time do you get off work?
Three little dots pop up right away. I stare at the phone, heart in my throat, as I wait for her to reply. I’m pathetic, I know, but this woman gets under my skin without even trying.
Charlie: I can be there around six-thirty. Can I bring my cat?
Me: Is that code for a sex-thing?
Charlie: We’re having dinner as FRIENDS, remember? And no, it’s a “my sister’s dogs won’t leave the cat alone” thing.
Me: I don’t mind if you bring the cat.
Charlie: Thank you so much.
Me: You can thank me later.
Charlie: Don’t make me change my mind.
She sends an eye rolling GIF after that, which I top with a crazy cat lady meme. A laughing emoji comes through after that, and then nothing. Assuming she went back to work, I spring back into action, cleaning the rest of the house as fast as I can. I need to go to the grocery store, and I have no fucking idea what some of these steps in the recipe Quinn sent even mean.
I spend about half an hour watching YouTube cooking videos and then rush out to buy what I need to make dinner. With a full cart, I pass by the wine on my way to the register and grab three bottles of the red wine Charlie likes. At least that hasn’t changed. I remember the first time we snuck wine from the pantry at my parents’ house.
We were sixteen at the time. Dean, who’s two years older than me, was away at his first year of college and Weston was deployed. Logan was at his girlfriend of the time’s house and Quinn was at a friend’s house for the night. And the best part was my own parents were away for the weekend.
We’d been dating for well over a year at that time but hadn’t slept together yet. Charlie was scared of getting pregnant and wanted to wait. As much of a horny teenager as I was, I knew back then she was worth waiting for.
It was supposed to happen that night. In our teenage minds, everything was perfect…until we drank the wine. Charlie had never had a drop of alcohol before and being tipsy freaked her out. She wanted to call her sister and have her take her home, confessing everything to her parents.
Somehow I was able to convince her to just lie down with me, and instead of getting laid for the first time, she fell asleep in my arms, snoring loudly. I can still feel the pins and needles in my arm when I think about how it fell asleep only fifteen minutes after she passed out, but I didn’t want to move and disturb her. Maybe it’s a weird memory to cherish, but to this day it’s stuck out in my mind.
The next morning, when she woke up and felt silly for getting so scared about being drunk, she thanked me over and over for being so comforting to her. Her friends were impressed I didn’t try to take advantage of her, which was a little sickening to hear. That shouldn’t even be a concern. Guys should never take advantage of a woman like that.
Charlie was my world, my everything, and I wouldn’t have done a single thing to hurt her. Well…until I broke up with her.
If—no when—I get her back, I’m never, ever letting go.
Chapter 18
Charlie
It’s just dinner.
Everyone has to eat. It’s a basic human function, and talking with Owen is harmless. Because that’s all we’re going to do. Talk. So what if seeing him standing at the door this morning in nothing but boxers got me all hot and bothered. It doesn’t matter. And if I divert my thoughts, I almost forget how good his cock felt inside of me.
How the sex was good almost every single time. How Owen took his time with me. Was more concerned with pleasing me than enjoying it himself.
Our first time was painful, and I didn’t realize how well-endowed Owen was back then since I’d never seen another penis before. We had sex for the first time together after our senior prom—cliché, I know.
It hurt, probably only lasted five minutes, and had me freaked out for a week that I was pregnant. I didn’t want to get pregnant in high school, but once I was in college, everything was fair game, and once we started, we couldn’t stop.
“All right,” I tell Tulip, dropping down to the floor. The bedroom door was open when I got home, and after a moment of panic that I was going to find Tulip’s dead body chewed up and bloody on the floor, I found her shivering in fear under the bed. “You get a little break from the dogs. I know you don’t like new places, but at least nothing will chase after you.”
Not wanting to drag her out and hurt her broken leg, I end up moving the bed to get to her, and carefully put her in the designer pet carrier I bought back when I was working in New York. I enjoy fine things and don’t see anything wrong with indulging yourself every now and then if you can afford to do so.
There were several other female lawyers at my firm, one closer to my age and the others all older than me. They were all about designer suits and having the latest trends. I thought I was fashionable until I moved to the city and was quickly reminded that “designer” meant different things to the girl from some small town in Indiana and someone living in New York.
I made good money at my job there, more than enough to indulge, and it still sickened me a bit the first time I bought a two-thousand-dollar purse. But then I got compliments on it from the girls at work.
The next month I bought a three-thousand-dollar one.
I shake my head, not having time to bring up every stupid thing I did in the past and feel regret and shame. No, I’ll save those thoughts for when I’m lying in bed at night trying to sleep. Memories from high school and college will come rushing back too, I’m sure, and I’ll regret that
stupid answer I gave in my psychology class all over again.
“It’s not a long drive, at least.” I gently pick up the carrying bag and go down the stairs. I packed myself an overnight bag with the intention of driving past the bed and breakfast on the way home from dinner.
There was one room open as of this morning, and it’s not like Eastwood is a happening place. I can’t see it filling up, and just one night away from barking dogs will do Tulip and myself some good. Plus, everyone at the house will be thankful for a night of peace.
Setting the carrier on the passenger seat of Dad’s old Mustang, I pull the seatbelt over and loop it through one of the straps, just in case. Then I fire up the engine and drive to Owen’s house.
It’s just dinner.
Everyone eats.
Owen eats. I eat. Owen was really good at eating—stop it.
It’s just dinner.
Pushing my shoulders back, I make a promise to myself right then and there that no matter what Owen throws at me, I’m not going to bend. There’s no point, even though having him bend me over sounds like a good time.
Wes and Scarlet are pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, following behind Jackson on his bike. They wave as I drive by. I wave back and feel a tug on my heart. It’s one thing to resist Owen, but damn him for having such a nice and welcoming family.
I turn on the radio, only able to get the local country station to come on. Singing along with Luke Combs, I roll down the window and welcome the warm breeze through my hair. The drive to Owen’s ends too soon, and I have to repeat my it’s just dinner mantra over and over in my head.
I didn’t plan on coming. I know better than to put something tempting in front of me. But then I ran into Quinn, who did such a good job of talking Owen up I’m starting to seriously suspect her of witchcraft. The next thing I know, she’s giving me his number and I’m agreeing that dinner and catching up would be nice since I didn’t really get to do it Sunday.
It made sense at the time. It doesn’t make sense now. I put the car in park and kill the engine. If she’s not a witch, then she’s a Jedi who can pull mind tricks. Yes, that has to be it. Because something starts to build inside of me as I look at the perfectly manicured lawn. I blink and now I know a curse has been put on me because I see a flash of Owen standing on the covered front porch, a baby in his arms again.
Shaking my head, I make a mental note to burn sage or throw salt or whatever it is I need to do. Because I can’t let Owen hold me spellbound.
The wind picks up right as I walk up the steps to the front porch. The smell of rain blows in over the horizon. It’s fresh and reminds me of home. I pause before going up the last step to turn my head and feel the breeze in the air. There’s something else in it, a slight electrical charge that promises a storm.
It sounds weird, I know, to say I can sense storms like that. But it’s been scientifically proven that some people are more sensitive to the change in pressure and the electrical charges in the sky. I’ve always been one of those people, and bad storms give me terrible anxiety.
Growing up in the Midwest should have made me accustomed to bad storms. It should have taught me that tornadoes are inevitable, and as long as you’re smart and know how to hide, you’ll be okay.
But instead it left me with an almost panic-attack like reaction that makes me want to throw up, cry, and run around screaming at the same time. Yes, I’m thirty years old and scared of storms. Call me pathetic if you will.
Though technically, thunderstorms are okay. I enjoy them, really…as long as there’s no threat to my roof being torn off and my house turning into that one infamous barn scene from Twister.
I go up the last step and ring the doorbell, readjusting Tulip’s carrying case on my arm. She’s a small cat but is surprisingly heavy when she’s being carried like this. Only a few seconds pass before Owen opens the door.
He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and dark jeans. His hair is messily styled, and the perfect five-o’clock shadow covers his strong jawline. Light from the setting sun reflects off his chocolate eyes, and his whole face brightens as he smiles at me.
“Hey, Charlie. And Tulip.”
“Hey,” I say back, hating that I find it kind of cute that he remembered my cat’s name. “I have her stuff in the car.”
“Her stuff?” he laughs, stepping aside to let me in.
“Yeah, a litter box and food and water bowls.”
“Glad you came prepared.” He takes Tulip from me, and I dash back to the car to grab Tulip’s bag. I’m tempted to bring my overnight bag in with me, giving myself permission to stay the night here.
And by stay the night I mean have sex with Owen.
I shake that thought right out of my head, telling myself I don’t remember what his thick cock looks like. I have no recollection of that vein that runs down his shaft or the way his balls feel in my hands.
Owen shuts the door behind me once I’m in the house, and the smell of whatever he made for dinner wafts through the house.
“Dinner smells amazing,” I tell him, taking off my shoes. It’s a habit of mine to take off my shoes as soon as I’m inside a house. Owen isn’t wearing any, and I hate how something as meaningless as shoes can cause me so much stress. Take them off or leave them on?
Once I went to a party in college and was the only one who took off their shoes. I didn’t realize until halfway through—dammit. I’m doing it again. I’ll save that random embarrassing story for another day, waking me from a dead sleep or something
“Hopefully it tastes as good as it smells.” Owen sets the carrier down and bends over, unzipping the top so Tulip can get out.
“She can’t jump,” I tell him. “Her front leg is broken.”
“Awww, poor girl.” He gently takes her out and to my surprise, she doesn’t hiss at him. I think she’s so shocked and upset to be somewhere new again she’s not even reacting. Or maybe she just likes him.
“Thanks again for letting me bring her. Those dogs want nothing more than to play with her until she’s dead. She’s getting up there in age, and I worry about what the stress will do. And I know, I sound like a crazy cat lady. But with my work hours and living in an apartment, a dog wasn’t really an option. Plus she’s a nice cat.”
Owen chuckles and sets Tulip on the area rug in the foyer. “It’s okay. I like both cats and dogs. Cats are easier.”
I nod in agreement and then set up Tulip’s stuff in the bathroom downstairs. I wash my hands and meet Owen in the kitchen. The table in the breakfast nook has been set, and I’m almost afraid to look and see how much—or little—effort he put into this.
I don’t want candles and wine.
But I hope for more than a frozen pizza and cans of pop.
What I get is a perfect mixture of both. There is a bottle of red wine on the table, but there aren’t any candles or even flowers.
“Is that chicken tetrazzini?” I ask, looking at the dish on the table.
“It is,” he tells me and pulls out a chair for me to sit. “Do you like it?”
“I love it!” I take a seat, mouth watering as I look at the pasta in front of me. Owen takes a seat across from me and pours us both wine. The last thing I need is anything clouding my judgment, but dammit, this red goes so well with the pasta.
“I’ve never made it before,” Owen confesses. “So if it’s not good, let me have a redo another day.”
My fingers wrap around the stem of my wine glass. “Is that your way of saying you purposely sabotaged dinner to get me to come over again?”
“It wasn’t, but now I’m wishing I’d thought of that.” His eyes flash and that grin takes over his face, fanning the old flames that I’m trying so hard to stomp out. I take a drink of wine, fully knowing how flammable alcohol is.
“That dress looks good on you,” Owen tells me as he starts to dish out dinner. “You always liked fruit patterns.”
My eyes go to my dress. It’s an off-the-shoulder white dress, with a pattern of
printed lemons on it. My heart jolts in my chest, and a weird sensation takes me over. It’s been so long.
We’ve put years between us.
And even more miles.
Yet every little thing comes rushing back right to the surface. The love we had for each other. The way we knew each other better than we knew ourselves.
The pain.
The absolute heartache.
Crying until my eyes were so red and swollen I had no tears left.
“I do, and I don’t really know why. Though, right now lemons are kinda trendy. Pineapples still are too, which I like. They’re cheerful,” I supply with a shrug. Owen puts a big serving of chicken and pasta on my plate, and I take a piece of garlic bread from the bowl in the center of the table.
Swallowing down another mouthful of wine, I set the glass back on the table and tell myself it should stay there the rest of the meal.
“This is amazing,” I tell Owen after I’ve taken a few bites of my pasta. “It tastes just like something I’d order back in the city.”
“Do you miss it?” he asks.
“The pasta? Or the city?”
“Both.”
“If I can have this at least once a week,” I start, using my fork to point to the food on my plate. “Then no, I wouldn’t miss the pasta. And the city…not at all. It wasn’t for me. I’m not a city person.”
“No, you’re not. Though I suppose you get more cases and more interesting ones in the city as opposed to here.”
“Oh, for sure. It’s a lot faster paced and so much more competitive there too. I kind of miss that, but the city can be hard to live in. Not everyone is terrible like some movies make it out to seem, but I did work with a few of the most entitled, stuck-up people I’ve ever met.”
Todd included.
“You’re home now. You can breathe easy.”
I take another bite of pasta and nod. “So, other than the bar, what else have you been up to these last few years?”
Fight Dirty: A Dawson Family Novel Page 11