Guilt squirms in my stomach at the thought of having Owen all to myself for two whole days. But he insists it's not an issue. Landon spends nearly every weekend with his aunt. It's easy to see why Landon prefers hanging out with his cousin than with the father he doesn't know and can't seem to connect with.
Owen and I talk about all of this, on and off, never letting the mood get weighed down for too long. Still, I read the layers of hurt underneath his casual references. He and Landon are finding it impossible to connect with each other, both pushed into an awkward and untimely relationship.
There are many other things that Owen doesn't say explicitly but I can read between the lines. It seems Landon's mother never talked to him about Owen and so the kid was left to assume his father wasn't in the picture by choice. The kid's grandparents were the ones to break the news to him that his father didn't know and that once he did, he wanted nothing more than to be part of his life. But by then, it seems, the damage had been done.
Owen's sister, Callie, is a few years older. She's an oncologist and—if the fact that she owns a house in Del Mar complete with a guesthouse is any indication—the woman's pretty well off. Lucas moved into her guesthouse after he discharged from the hospital.
Something about Lucas' recovery doesn't ring true to me. A heart attack requiring his children to rally around him with such force, making him quit his job, sell his loft, and move into a guest home to keep a closer eye on him? It all makes me suspect there's more to the story.
I don't ask Owen what's really going on. Our conversations still have a layer of protective coating over them as we test the waters, tentative. Unsure yet how far into topics we can submerge ourselves without going in too deep, too quick.
I immerse myself, instead, in him, in our weekend together. Because, as he points out, we won't see as much of each other once he returns to work. His schedule is demanding and mine is about to get hectic as well.
Our weekend has a distinct feel of a honeymoon in January. And by the time Sunday evening rolls around, we accept, with a frustrating reluctance, it's time to leave our self-made paradise of his king-sized bed and face the real world.
Owen heads off to pick up his son and I stalk back to Lex's condo for the night, hoping to drop into bed early and get extra sleep before my interview in the morning.
The condo door slams shut behind me. My keys rattle noisily in my hand as I walk further down the hall. I'm making a big production of my entrance, and given the way that everything is still and quiet, I know I have good reason to. There's a car I don't recognize in the lot outside. I'm pretty sure it's Leo's. And I'm pretty sure he and Lex aren't in the bedroom preparing memos for their return to the office tomorrow morning.
Sure enough, Leo comes out of Lex's bedroom not even three minutes later, wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt. He crosses the living room into the kitchen, where I'm putting away the leftovers from the dinner Owen and I shared.
"Hello," Leo says without much enthusiasm, though his eyebrows rise in question at the way I eye his appearance.
It's not that he looks disheveled. He doesn't. It's more that he's so obviously oozing sex and it's activating my gag reflexes.
Back when Lex first started things with Leo, back when she vaguely alluded to theoretical sex, I was excited for her. But now it's literal sex. It's right in the next room sex. And I want it to stop.
We don't speak, focusing on our individual tasks. Leo reaches for two glasses from the cabinet without having to ask where Lex keeps them. He's comfortable here. Even more so than me, now.
Leo pours himself a glass of water and turns to face me. No shame, this guy, staring me dead in the eyes as though he doesn't care what I might have overheard. My sister must be hiding out in her room, mortified at the possibility I did hear something.
If I had, they would've found me collapsed at the entryway floor after carving out my eardrums with my car keys.
"Couldn't you guys go fornicate at the little house you bought for…what was it?" I try to recall what Lex told me about his little, bleeding heart speech. "Not to live in, right? It was for your hopes and dreams of the future or some crap like that."
He chuckles as he pours a second glass of water and sets it on the counter. "It's being shown to renters next week."
"Okay. Don't you have your own place with a bed and other sturdy surfaces?"
"This is a quick drive to the office."
I turn my head a fraction to demonstrate his point is lost on me.
"We get more sleep here. Trust me, your sister needs to rest when I'm done with her."
I cringe and hold my hand up to stop him from elaborating any further. "You two are disgusting."
Leo raises his glass as though in a toast, his lips twisting up in a small grin. "Yes. Yes, we are." He pauses then adds, "Could you remind me again where all your seething hate for me comes from?" He doesn't seem upset, just genuinely curious. "Were you team Jacob or something?"
"I was team Jacob. But also, you broke my sister."
"And I put her back together."
"No." I glare at his presumption. "She put herself back together and decided to trust you. But if you break her heart again, Leo? I'm going to cut off your balls with a pair of dull scissors."
He nearly laughs.
"You believe me, right? You think I'm crazy enough to cut off your balls?"
"You know what? I really do think you'd be crazy enough."
"Good."
With a hint of a smile on his face, he extends a hand for me to shake.
I look at it. "No offense, but I don't want to touch your hands right now. Let's just agree we have a mutual understanding."
"Agreed."
I think this is the closest Leo Conrad and I will ever come to a truce.
With a small nod and a glass of water in each hand, he walks off and disappears into Lex's bedroom. My sister's burst of laughter is muted through the walls. The sound warms my heart. But I'm also left feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Like a third wheel.
I can't wait to move out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I'm interviewed by Elizabeth Wilson, the head of the legal department, an attorney herself, and my future boss. She's a tall, thin, brunette in her mid-thirties who carries herself with such an exaggerated poise, I wonder vaguely if she's secretly royalty or something. My first impression of her is that she's stuck-up, but she surprises me with how friendly she is. And though I don't feel any sort of warm, possible-friendship vibes from her, she seems sharp and stern in the ways a boss should. So I have no reason not to like her.
I can tell by her facial expressions that my answers impress her. I'm doing great, until the inevitable happens.
"You left Bernstein & Snyder after only a few months?" Elizabeth asks.
I swallow. "Yes, I did."
"That was a short time for such a big firm."
My mouth threatens to part but I sink my teeth into the side of my tongue.
She posed a statement. Not a question.
I nod and wait for her to continue, but Elizabeth watches me, clearly wanting me to offer up an explanation to a question she's yet to ask. Well, that's not how interviews work. If she wants to know what happened, she'll have to ask me point-blank. I see no need to dig my own grave just because someone hands me the shovel.
The brief silence that follows echoes between us and I resist the urge to shift in my seat. I know what she's doing. My sister does it much better. Using silence as a weapon, expecting me to blurt something out in discomfort.
Right as my pulse becomes the prominent sound in the room, Elizabeth picks up the interview as though the awkward moment never happened. I can't believe my luck and suspect her leniency might have something to do with Giles, who is her direct supervisor, putting in a good word for me.
As the interview wraps up, I say a silent prayer that Bernstein will be good on his word and not sabotage my career any further. While I'm at it, I say a second silent prayer that I w
on't sabotage my career, either.
Wednesday is my first full day of work and I'm dropped in the midst of a land simultaneously muddy and overloaded with detail. As though my brain relaxed far too much in the time that I've spent away from work and now I have to retrain it to focus and absorb information. It's a good thing I start midweek, because by the time Friday rolls around, I'm eager for the weekend.
Saturday morning, I bring Lex to see the loft. She and I drive in my car with boxes of clothes and lighter items while Leo and Owen bring my heavier furniture from the storage unit in a small moving truck.
Lex holds in her mortified expression when she realizes my new place is over a diner and the entrance is in the back of the building. A sort of surprised, mechanical smile freezes on her face. But when she walks into the loft, her face relaxes.
"It's cozy," she says, a genuine smile now warming her face. "Aw, Emily. This is so…you."
"I know, right?!" I can't contain my excitement that she sees it too, and I do a small, whimsical twirl in the middle of the empty living room before leading her around for a quick tour. Lex comments on the charm of the place, saying all the things I want to hear. How spacious it feels despite its size, how bright it is in the daytime, how quaint it feels in its attic style.
When the moving truck pulls up, Lex and I peer down at the parking lot, quietly watching our men interact, both wondering if they'll like each other or if—like Leo and me—they've gotten off on the wrong foot.
Even from a distance, it's clear to see the two men are comfortable with each other. Owen and Leo converse easily, neither man seeming to try much, giving the impression of familiarity.
"I guess it's just you, then," Lex muses, shooting me a sideways grin.
"I don't get his appeal," I say of Leo, adapting the pretentious tone of a bored aristocrat. "The man is positively petulant."
Lex nudges me. "You'll always be my number one. You know that, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," I say, pretending her words don't reach the small kid inside of me, always secretly seeking her approval.
My sister and I hang back as the two men bring in my sofa, maneuvering it around the tight doorframe. I'm staring at Owen, at the ways the muscles in his arms flex under the strain of the furniture yet his face remains relaxed and unaware of the effort.
Jesus.
I need everyone to leave right now so I can fuck this man on that very couch, right this very minute.
I shoot a sideways glance at my sister, worried she might notice me drooling, but find her staring hard at Leo, instead. He locks eyes with her and winks, his lips tugging slightly. I look away, knowing they've communicated something silently that I don't even want to imagine.
Owen wears a white crew neck top while Leo wears a black one. I find it amusing that they are dressed in contrasting colors because it's true the two men couldn't be more different. It's not that Owen's hair and eyes are dark compared to Leo's blond hair and piercing blues. It's not that Owen's bigger than Leo, with a much bulkier build, though their heights are maybe an inch in difference.
No, it's most noticeable in the way they carry themselves. Leo oozes nonchalant-ness and initiates small talk with ease. Owen is more reserved, visibly tighter wound, which turns me on because it makes me want to ride him until he relaxes in all the ways I know he can.
"You're having quite the lucky streak," Lex says to me, as we unload the dishes and place them into the cabinets. The men are in the bedroom setting up my bed.
"What do you mean?"
"Emily, you've been in town for what—just shy of a month? And you already have a new job, a new place, and a new man. Each one exactly what you want. Talk about perfect."
My response is an automatic smile. I know she's saying this to make me feel good. To make me feel accomplished and maybe proud. The truth is, her words scare me.
I can't quite put my finger on why my reaction isn't what I know it should be. It's not that I'm not grateful, I am. It's not that I don't see how lucky I've been, despite my previous misfortune. And it's not that I'm unhappy. God knows it's most definitely not that.
Things are pretty perfect. Things are stable. Every little piece in its place.
And that…makes my skin crawl with discomfort. It's like that moment of the movie when the sweet couple is driving down the road, singing and laughing, having the time of their lives, not a care in the world.
And then a tractor trailer sideswipes them right off the road.
There's a reason for that cliché. There's a reason why Hollywood directors rely on it. Every single person watching can relate. We've all felt it, that nagging fear when things begin to line up in just the right way. When everything is going right—we fear it may be the perfect time for it all to fall apart again.
I've never been a pessimist. This isn't me. I don't have these scary thoughts about impending doom. And yet, I've been having these twinges a lot lately, right in the moments I should be feeling the opposite. Moments I should feel crazy happy and insanely content.
Owen comes out of the room and the sight of him sends a thrill running down my spine, coiling between my legs. I'd do anything to freeze this moment. Keep things the way they are in this second. With him standing there, looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Like a man wandering the desert and coming across a fresh-water lake.
Maybe the reason I'm so terrified is that I've never had so much to lose.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Owen wasn't kidding when he said we wouldn't get to see each other as often once he returned to work. Being with someone you constantly fantasize about but can't see often is a form of torture. And somehow, it's also incredibly refreshing. I'm able to focus on my new job, spend time with my sister, and my friends. All the while feeling the inexplicable comfort of knowing someone, somewhere, is missing me as badly as I'm missing him. Counting the hours until we get to see each other, kiss, and feel our bodies slide against one another.
On the days that Owen is on the swing shift, he visits me for lunch before heading off for work. Those nights, I wake after midnight to his goodnight text, as he finally returns home.
When his days off land on a weekend again, he invites me to join him and Landon on a trip to the Air and Space museum. I'm hesitant about intruding on their father-son time, expecting Landon to be as starved for quality time with his father as I am. But the sad reality is the kid doesn't want to spend time with Owen.
Landon does nothing to engage any of Owen's attempts at conversation. Yet, for as cold and dismissive as the kid is toward his father, he's pleasant and chatty with me. This makes me uncomfortable. I don't deserve his attention; I'm not the one busting my ass to raise him.
The more time I spend around them, the more I witness how overprotective Owen is of his son. And how much it suffocates Landon. How little they talk. How quick they are to revert to cutting, snide remarks in response to simple questions.
I've never dated someone with a kid before. But common sense tells me I shouldn't get involved in their relationship. So, I bite my tongue and pretend I don't notice their dynamic, or how it weighs heavily on Owen.
The other day, Amelia asked me if it was hard dating a cop. Not seeing him when I want to, spending a lot of time alone. On the surface, it's not ideal. But then I think about how much missing him keeps things between us exciting. Our time apart keeps our relationship fresh. My stomach does summersaults when my eyes finally get to feast on the sight of him. When he touches me? My entire body lights up in a flurry of nervous energy. I'm giddy and excited, on our first date all over again, every time we are together.
Tonight is one of my nights with him.
All the furniture in my living room has been pushed into the center of the room. The sofa, the coffee table, and the television Lex gifted me as housewarming presents. I've prepped the loft for a night of painting the walls, something I've been meaning to do for two weeks now.
"What exactly were you planning to do here?"
Owen asks, eyeing the large sheets of plastic I've draped over every inch of the living room floors, securing them with tape to the baseboards.
"It's to protect the floors. I'm a terrible painter—ceiling, doorknobs, trim…it's all fair game. I can't help it."
His chuckle's interrupted by the chime of his phone. Glancing at it, he says, "It's my sister. I should get this."
I nod and walk off to the kitchen to pour us some drinks.
"Hello," Owen says into the phone. "No. I already told him he's not going. Because he was a smart ass, that's why. You know what—put him on the phone." A beat. "Hello? Where exactly do you think you're going? No. I didn't say maybe. I said no."
Even from where I stand at the kitchen, I can hear the buzzing sounds erupting from the speaker. Someone raising their voice. Owen lifts the phone from his ear a few inches.
"Listen to me. You are not going. You stay where you are, with your aunt. That's right. I don't care."
More yelling. At first, I remain where I stand, taking a sip of my drink and pretending to look for something inside a kitchen drawer. I've always known he and his son don't have a good relationship, but I've never been privy to the details of a full-blown argument.
Something in Owen's expression elicits a soft tug inside of my chest and makes me want to shut my eyes for a second. I decide he needs his drink, so I walk over and hand him the glass. He shakes his head, distracted, and though he takes it, he immediately sets it down on the coffee table.
Standing beside him, I hear Landon's voice, laced with venom. "Stop acting like you're my fucking father."
"Don't you dare use that langua—" Owen's mouth is still open in mid retaliation when the line goes dead with a click.
I try to remain outwardly unaffected, as though I didn't overhear what I did. But somewhere inside of myself, I cringe. It's literally painful to see the frustration fighting through Owen's expression, the embarrassment as he meets my eyes.
Entice (Hearts of Stone #2) Page 16