Wrong Bed, Right Man (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  “Of course,” she said quickly. I’m such a jerk. She didn’t know anything about his life. He’d left abruptly once before, but she’d thought that was an act. Teasing her, leaving the headboard unfinished so he had to come back. She hadn’t thought the same thing would happen tonight.

  But it was good that he took care of his father. He was attentive and kind. She shouldn’t have felt such a sharp pang of disappointment that he couldn’t stay.

  “Is he doing okay?” she asked.

  “Mostly,” he said. “But he likes to think he’s still thirty and can do anything he wants. He doesn’t always remember his pills.”

  “Do you live with him?”

  Owen nodded. “In the apartment my grandparents owned. My dad grew up there, too. My mom died when I was young—I don’t remember her much. My grandparents helped raise me. I grew up in the woodworking shop.”

  “Wow.” Rose had only moved to New York after college, because her friends were, and it seemed the thing to do. She’d had no idea where else she might go. Her parents had wanted her to stay in St. Louis. They didn’t approve of her leaving—until she met Jason, who they thought was some kind of proof that she’d “turned out okay.” What would it be like to spend every day steeped in such family history, to have the city be a place to grow up in rather than a place to run away to?

  “It’s above the shop,” he said. “We own it, so you’d think that’d be a buffer. But—”

  He stopped abruptly.

  “But what?” she prodded.

  “I just remembered. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

  He wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten.

  But he didn’t have to worry. “Nothing leaves this room,” she said. “I promise.”

  She’d started at CUBE with no experience and no advertising background. People already thought she’d slept her way into a job. Even if something came up that would influence CUBE’s marketing, she wasn’t about to announce what she’d learned while gazing at the competition’s clear blue eyes.

  He sighed. “I was just going to say that the taxes are skyrocketing. And then my dad worked himself so hard he nearly died. So.” He gave a sideways shrug in the bed. “Here we are.”

  Right. Here they were.

  “You should get home,” she said and felt selfish for how much the words cost her. How much she wanted him to stay.

  How much the fact that he was leaving made her want him even more.

  But it wasn’t like they had some kind of arrangement. He didn’t have to spend the night. He wasn’t her boyfriend—not for real.

  She’d only ever done relationships. Big ones. The kind where a man didn’t kiss her cheek and then roll off the bed and ask if she needed more tissues to wipe his come from her stomach.

  She was used to a man who stayed and slept beside her. Not someone who picked his pants up off the floor and hunted around for his socks five minutes after telling her how pretty she was.

  See? They weren’t a thing. There wasn’t a tomorrow for them. Let alone a tonight.

  As Owen gathered his things, she slipped on a robe and tied it tightly around her waist. She stood by the door and let him give her a good-bye kiss.

  And then he was gone, heading home to his father. To the rest of his life.

  She stood with her back against the closed door, surveying her small apartment, the bed rumpled, the duvet kicked to one side, pillows tossed on the floor.

  Maybe it was a good thing they hadn’t had sex. Maybe she’d feel even more confused right now if they had.

  But even though she’d mostly cleaned up, she could still feel the sticky warmth on her skin. And the wetness between her thighs from his tongue. The weight of his body where it had pressed so close to hers.

  Owen had been wrong. So had she. This wasn’t less intimate than sex would have been.

  It was more.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’m a fucking idiot.

  That was the only thought running through Owen’s head as he left Rose’s apartment and headed for the subway. It was still the only thing he could think when he arrived home, fiddled with the key inside the persnickety lock, and rammed the stuck door open with his shoulder.

  His dad had already finished eating dinner, but he hadn’t taken his pills. Owen lined them up on the table, careful not to miss one.

  “You don’t have to hover,” his dad said with a wave of his hand. “I was just about to get those.”

  Owen wished he could be sure that was true. But his dad been known to forget. Or, scarier, to double up instead.

  “I’m not that old,” he said whenever Owen tried to get him to use a pill box to keep track. “You can’t get away with treating me like an invalid yet.”

  He hadn’t been fudging the truth about why he had to leave Rose.

  But had he really needed to get home right that second? His limbs were still Jell-O. His heart was beating too fast. All he could think about was the softness of Rose’s skin. And what a masochist he was for dragging himself from her bed.

  Couldn’t he have given himself five more minutes, ten, an hour—two hours, tops—just to be with her more?

  But he knew the answer to that. He couldn’t keep getting so comfortable. He shouldn’t have gone over in the first place—let alone told her all that stuff about his family, his home, the history of Crowley & Sons. At least not any more than what CUBE could Google. He was only helping along his own demise.

  “You eat yet?” his dad asked as Owen shuffled around the kitchen.

  “Nah, I’m not hungry.”

  “Where you been?”

  His dad was just making conversation. It wasn’t like he was checking up on him. He’d probably be thrilled to hear that Owen had been doing something besides worrying about the shop. Let alone having actual human contact.

  But probably not who he’d chosen to see.

  Owen mumbled, “Nothing,” and said he was heading down to the shop. He needed to review the drawings for the commission he was working on. He didn’t want his dad to get too excited about the prospect of Owen on an actual date. It wasn’t going anywhere, anyway.

  And he didn’t want his dad to ask what Rose did or how they’d met—innocent, normal questions anyone would want to know.

  Because then he’d have to tell his dad about the mix-up with the bed. And about the fact that he’d just told off the future owner of CUBE. And then sort of slept with an assistant in CUBE’s advertising department. While claiming he was her new boyfriend. Because clearly that made a lot of sense.

  No, thanks. He and his father were close, but not like that. There was a limit to how much of an idiot he wanted to feel like tonight.

  He didn’t need anyone to lecture him that if he played with fire, he’d wind up burned.

  As he headed down the stairs, his dad clicked on the TV in the kitchen. The familiar jingle for CUBE filled the apartment. Owen shut the door and shoved in earbuds before he could hear the voiceover cheerfully extolling the virtues of fast furniture.

  But it was no use. If he wasn’t replaying the jingle in his head, he was hearing the sounds of Rose’s whimpers and moans, her breathy little pants, the way her cries built and built as she got closer to coming on his tongue.

  Goddammit.

  He busied himself in the shop as best he could, spending the next few days on a set of dressers and a table he’d bought for cheap and refinished, dragging out the last commission he had so he wouldn’t have to face what he’d do after.

  But no matter how much work he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about Rose.

  Only now, he had no excuse to text her. Call her. See her again.

  Her bed was fixed. The headboard was intact. She didn’t need him anymore.

  She’d had her rebound, and now it was over. Just as it should be.

>   Leaving was the smart thing to do. He’d been too open with her, going on and on about what things at Crowley & Sons were really like. He needed to protect his business and forget about CUBE’s ads—and the woman who worked on them.

  But he didn’t want to be smart. He didn’t want to be careful.

  And he didn’t want to forget.

  …

  Rose checked her phone at home. She checked her phone at work. It was silly. She should just text him. Call. It wasn’t 1952. She could make the first move.

  Only she felt like she already had.

  She’d invited him to spend the night—heck, even just stay for dinner. Stay for five more minutes in her bed. And he’d bolted out of there as fast as he could. For his father—which was important. She genuinely liked that he cared.

  But he’d left so fast. The insecurities wouldn’t leave her alone. Had he decided she wasn’t worth the risk to his business? Maybe taking things slow actually meant having them grind to a halt.

  As the days passed, the only text messages lighting up her phone were from Amanda sending hugs.

  You had hot sex with a hot guy! Talia added to their group thread after Rose texted a frowny face. Enjoy it! Followed by a bunch of flames.

  And if it doesn’t turn into something more, that’s okay, too, Jessie added.

  She sat in her cubicle at work, one eye on the computer, the other eye on the message thread. They were right. It was good for her to put herself out there. Have some fun. Remind herself there were other men out there besides Jason, who stormed quietly past her every time he stalked the halls, his seething even louder than his words.

  Whatever. At least he wasn’t still demanding “his” money back.

  And if there were other men out there besides Jason, then there were other men out there besides Owen.

  There was just one problem.

  She didn’t want any of them.

  She wanted him.

  Even if it was a terrible idea. Clearly she sucked at this whole Fun New Rebound thing, since she was pretty sure pining after her first post-engagement hook-up wasn’t part of the rules.

  He probably had huge regrets about sleeping with her—and as much as it hurt, she didn’t blame him. Crowley & Sons was going out of business. CUBE was taking over the market. Owen may have been willing to put aside their differences for a little fun. But there was no way he’d want to come near her when everything he clearly loved came crashing down.

  As she made her way home at the end of a long day, she tried to keep herself busy on the subway by coming up with a list of all the things New Rose could do without a fiancé—or a “boyfriend.”

  She could binge watch her favorite shows for hours. Stay in on a Saturday night, wear sweats, and not feel one ounce of guilt about not being “presentable.” Read all those books piling up on her Kindle.

  Or go online like Amanda kept telling her. Put herself out there. There were eight and a half million people in New York. She could find one decent man who didn’t work in the furniture industry.

  She’d just about convinced herself that she was excited to meet someone new—or at least excited for a quiet night at home—when she rounded the corner and froze.

  There was someone sitting on the steps in front of her building. Again.

  And this time, there was no question who it was.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rose rounded the corner, and Owen’s breath caught. Every inch of his skin grew hot with things he couldn’t name.

  The falter in her step made his chest squeeze, worried she was going to stop.

  Then her steps quickened toward him, and his heart kicked up again, stuttering into overdrive at her approach.

  Was she pissed?

  But just seeing her walk toward him made him feel like the luckiest bastard in the world. He ran his eyes over her body—her hips as she moved, her hair as it swept over her shoulder. He didn’t care if he had a stupid, sloppy grin on his face as she walked up to him. Somehow, right now, he couldn’t worry about a goddamn thing.

  “Owen?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Hey,” he said, still grinning.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did you have a good day or something?”

  “It’s just taken a turn for the better. Why?”

  “Because you look like you just won the lottery.” She sounded suspicious when she said it. Her frown only made him laugh.

  “I might have,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

  “It’s called a phone, you know,” she said as she pulled her keys from her purse.

  “Does that mean you’re busy?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Depends on what you’re offering.”

  Good. He was hoping she’d ask. He lifted the bag of takeout next to him.

  “Behind door number one, we have Thai food from the best place in Queens that I’ve been ordering from for so long, the owner always gives me extra spring rolls.”

  “I see you’re not ashamed of your delivery habit.”

  “Shame?” He pretended to be shocked. “They’re really good spring rolls.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said. “Maybe. How about door number two?”

  He pulled out a bottle of red from his bag. This one he was less sure about—wine was a mystery to him, unlike anything deep fried. Rose nodded with approval. “Door number two—relaxation in a bottle.”

  “I like the way you think,” she said.

  “And door number three—”

  “There’s another door?”

  He pulled a wrench from his bag.

  “Uh,” she stammered. “I’m not as into that.”

  “Your bed. I’m afraid we might have…loosened it.” His lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile. That barest acknowledgment of what they’d done was so much dirtier than any four letter word could ever be. From the two pink spots on her perfect pink cheeks, he guessed she was thinking the exact same thing.

  He gave the wrench a twirl in his fingers. “The gentlemanly thing would be to double check that nothing needs tightening after our recent test of the product.”

  Rose folded her arms across her chest. He could practically see her willing her blush to go down. “I thought you said you’d made sure the bed was unbreakable.” Her eyebrow notched up. “Not standing by your handiwork anymore?”

  “I believe in being thorough,” he said, trying to keep a straight face.

  But he couldn’t help a grin at the end.

  “The Crowley & Sons touch?”

  “No one else gets to touch you.” The words came out in a throaty growl. He fucking meant it.

  Rose tossed her hair like she didn’t believe him. “We’ll have to see about that.”

  “No matter what you pick, behind all of the doors is a massive apology,” he said, entirely serious now.

  She nodded. “Next time, you should think about leading with that.”

  “Next time, I’m not going to be such an ass.”

  She unlocked the front door and pressed her hip against it to push her way in. He hoped it was an invitation.

  He may have been all kinds of reckless for coming back here. But he was going to earn his place in her bed tonight.

  No matter what.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rose whirled around as soon as she stepped into her apartment. All she wanted was to drop her bag and reach for Owen. Fuck decorum. She had to kiss him. Now.

  But she put down her things and kept her feet firmly rooted in place. She folded her arms in front of her to stop her itchy fingers from doing something stupid. Like immediately grabbing him.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  There was a pause. Kind of awkward.
/>   “I’m sorry, again,” he said. “I should have called. I shouldn’t have left so abruptly in the first place.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say. Then decided to go with honesty. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “It kind of seemed like that.” Like you never wanted to see me again.

  “I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

  Same. But she didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

  “It’s not that I wanted to leave. I just—” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

  “My mind-reading skills are kind of rusty,” she said. “You’re going to have to help me out.”

  “I did have to take care of my dad. I told you the truth. But you work for CUBE, Rose. They’re putting me out of business. You were engaged, like, five seconds ago. Why would you want a guy like me?”

  Rose opened her mouth then snapped it shut. That wasn’t where she’d expected that sentence to go. Yeah, she worked for CUBE. Yeah, she’d just been engaged. Maybe more like ten seconds ago, not five. But still. Really recent.

  And he was sexy, funny, generous, kind. And had direction. A purpose. A business of his own. What did she have? A cubicle and the perfect answering-the-phone voice? She wasn’t sexy. She wasn’t fun. She was “wife material,” as Jason had said. And who wanted that?

  The question wasn’t what she was doing with Owen, but what he could possibly see in her.

  She cleared her throat. “We didn’t sleep together,” she reminded him.

  Fuck, his sly little grin made her legs wobble. “Close enough.”

  “No,” she said, and then her voice did this melting thing in her chest. “Not at all close enough.”

  Not with the way you left me wanting.

  “I was hoping we could change that,” he said. “If you’d give me another chance to do things right this time.”

  “I’m not a doormat, Owen. If you’re looking to walk in here and test me out—”

  “God, Rose. I’d never think that. That’s not what I want, either. I have a lot on my plate, but I shouldn’t have left, and I’m sorry.”