He grinned. “I miss you.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Your help, I mean. I miss your help with my writing.”
“When are you coming back?” Marci asked.
He turned his gaze back to her, clearly startled. As if her question hadn’t been nearly as innocuous as it had been—as she’d thought it was anyway. “Why? Do you miss me?” he asked.
“I’m just saying. You seem to be getting around pretty well to me. Maybe you’re just putting off writing that paper for your philosophy class.”
“And maybe, just maybe, Marci King, you miss me.” Owen reached over and put his hand under her chin. Moving his face close to hers, he said in a low voice. “Now, the question is, what is it that you miss about me?”
“I miss correcting your really bad grammar. It’s always fun getting out that red pen.” She had to keep this light. She couldn’t let him know how much his touch affected her. Because it didn’t really. If she felt anything, it was the thrill of the challenge—of getting that one thing he’d denied her. Maybe she’d give him a second chance at that one night just to prove to him that no one could resist her for long.
Not the other way around. She could easily resist him. No guy was ever allowed to be irresistible. His touch wasn’t electric. She didn’t want or need that kind of trouble.
“Is that so?” When he mumbled the words, his lips brushed against the delicate skin just under her ear.
“Yeah. That’s—that’s it.” Marci tried to force the quaver out of her voice, but she could tell from the self-assured way he brushed her hair away from her face that she’d failed. Damn. Why did he have to be so good at touching her? He’d applied just the right amount of pressure to just the right spot behind her ear. Let his lips linger just long enough to make her want more.
When his lips closed over hers, she couldn’t hold back. He could probably feel how much she’d wanted this since the last time they’d kissed, but she couldn’t help herself. The short skirt of her dress rode even farther up her thighs as she threw a leg across his lap, but she barely noticed. She put her arms around his neck, pressed in close, and indulged in the feel of his lips against hers, the taste of his mouth. It tasted faintly of licorice and strong beer—maybe an I.P.A. She’d never taken such pleasure in a kiss before. His kisses were not too firm, not too sloppy. Not too much tongue and not too little. Just right. Just perfect. As if his lips had been made to fit with hers and only hers.
When he pulled back just as abruptly as he’d started the kiss, she found herself leaning toward him. Realizing what she was doing, she pulled back and sat up straight in her chair.
“Monday,” Owen said.
“Huh?” She sat up in her chair as she tried to collect her thoughts and make sense of the words coming out of his perfect mouth.
His eyes danced with amusement. “I’ll see you Monday at the writing center.”
#
Owen blinked against harsh bright lights as he tried to orient himself. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. There was a sharp pain in his neck, and he realized it’d been bent at a strange angle. Fully opening his eyes, he realized he’d fallen asleep with his head on someone’s shoulder. Sitting up in his chair, he looked over to see Marci sleeping in the chair next to his.
The events of last night slowly filtered into his consciousness. He was in the E.R., where he’d run into Marci and her friends, and his brother was recovering somewhere in the hospital after having his stomach pumped. It’d been a rough night, sure, but he couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he’d fallen asleep with Marci.
Marci stirred not too long after he moved his head from her shoulder. Squinting up at him, she seemed to be going through a mental retracing process similar to the one he’d just completed.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
He looked down at his watch. “Five-thirty A.M.” He pulled himself to his feet and slowly stretched out a very sore body. His ankle particularly screamed in protest.
“Oh. Guess I fell asleep,” Marci said.
Owen felt someone staring at him. He glanced over to where Marci’s friends were sitting and realized there were two someones staring. Both the guy dressed in drag as Gaga and Ronnie/Snooki’s mouths were wide open and their eyes were wide as well.
Marci followed his gaze and tensed when Gaga started elbowing Ronnie hard in the ribs. “We should go out and get some fresh air, Ronnie,” Gaga insisted. “Now.”
“I’ll go with you,” Marci said in a tight, brusque way. It sounded like she had her teeth clenched. She turned back to Owen with an apologetic smile. “We should get going.”
“No, wait, we’ll go get the car! You wait here!” Gaga’s rushed words tumbled over each other.
Sensing Marci wanted out and considering it’d been a long night and the ordeal wasn’t over yet for him, Owen said, “I should go collect Jeremy.”
Marci turned to him and did something very unlike the Marci he’d known so far. She grabbed his arm in a comforting gesture. “We can give Dante a ride home if it’s easier for you.”
Owen turned to Dante whose eyebrows couldn’t possibly get any higher. “That okay with you?”
“Sure, man. Let me know if you need anything,” Dante said.
“I will. Thanks, man.”
Dante stood and walked from Owen’s far side to stand near Gaga and Ronnie.
“I really am sorry about what happened to Jeremy,” Marci said. “Let me know, too, if there’s anything I can do to help.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes and almost seemed nervous or embarrassed. This, too, was very unlike the Marci he knew—albeit he didn’t know much about her. She hadn’t allowed him to.
Too shocked, sleep-deprived, and preoccupied with thoughts of Jeremy to do anything else, Owen nodded. “Thanks.”
“See you around, Owen,” Marci said.
“I hope so, Marci.”
Marci walked toward the E.R. exit, flanked by friends who were leaning in close and fiercely whispering to her. Dante trailed them. He looked back once and sent Owen a what-the-hell? look. Owen didn’t so much as shrug, and Dante turned around and followed the others out of the E.R.
Dragging a hand over his face and heaving a heavy sigh, Owen limped toward the nurse’s station. It was time to deal with Jeremy.
Chapter Fifteen
After Jeremy was discharged from the E.R., Owen took him back to their mom’s house. Jeremy refused to get out of the car.
“She’s gonna be so pissed. Can’t I just stay at your place for a few days?” Jeremy winced. “I’m so wrecked. I really can’t deal with her right now.”
“You do things like this? You gotta start facing the consequences.” Owen unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the jeep. Then he limped over to Jeremy’s side, his one crutch tucked firmly under his arm. He opened the passenger side door, but Jeremy remained in the jeep just staring up at him.
“You’re always saying how you don’t want to upset her by telling her every little thing I do,” Jeremy said before rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
“This isn’t a little thing,” Owen said. “Besides, she already knows, and she’s worried sick. You had her listed in your phone as an emergency contact. She’s the one who called me and told me where you were. I promised her I would bring you home as soon as you were out of the hospital. It’s the only way I could get her to calm down.”
“She’s gonna kill me.”
“And you don’t deserve it?” Owen shook his head. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to her? You’re tearing her down piece by piece.”
Jeremy recoiled as if Owen had bitten him. “Where’s all this coming from?”
“I’ve tried to be understanding, Jeremy. I know you’ve been through a lot. All three of us have. But at some point…at some point, it gets old. And I don’t think me enabling you is helpful. Not even to you. You can’t just coast through life thinking I’m always going to be there to bail you out.”
Jeremy nodded and looked around
the jeep for a minute. Then he got out. “Didn’t know I was such a burden to you.”
“Jeremy. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Jeremy pushed past him and made his way up the sidewalk without another word. Owen followed. They found their mom on the living room couch clutching a cup of tea as if she could hold herself together by clenching it tightly enough.
“Hey, Mom,” Jeremy said.
“Don’t you ‘hey, Mom’ me,” she said in a low, shaky tone. “You could have died. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Haven’t we lost enough members of this family?”
“I’m sorry. Things got a little out of hand—”
“A little out of hand? There is no ‘out of hand,’ Jeremy. I told you that you had one more time.”
“Mom—”
“No, Jeremy. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living this way, not knowing if you’re alive or dead. Having the cops bring you home half the time. You haven’t even tried to fool me into thinking you’re looking for work for months. This goes beyond irresponsible. This goes beyond what I can bear,” Mom said.
“So you kicking me out?” Jeremy asked, wearing the same stone face he’d worn just before getting out of the jeep earlier.
“I wish I didn’t have to,” Mom said.
“I’m tired of you two acting like you care about me.”
“I didn’t want it to be this way, Jeremy. I didn’t want it to come to this,” Mom said. Setting down her teacup, she added, “You can come back as soon as you’re ready to take responsibility for your actions.”
“Whatever. I gotta pack.”
“You can stay the night.”
“No thanks,” Jeremy said with a sneer.
“Jeremy, watch your tone,” Owen said.
“Okay, Dad. You really think you’re him, don’t you? Everything except the screwing Mom part.” Jeremy snickered. “At least I hope everything except that.”
“Jeremy!” Mom gasped.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m going.”
“Where you going, Jeremy?” Owen asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I guess you think you’re staying with me,” Owen said.
“No thanks.” Jeremy glowered at him. “I don’t need so much as a ride from you. I’ll call someone who actually cares about me to come get me. Yeah, I’ll get one of my real friends to help me out.” Jeremy stormed from the room.
Owen sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “Did you even sleep last night?”
Mom shrugged. “I don’t sleep well this time of year anyway.” October was the month his dad and sister had passed away.
Owen walked over to Mom and squeezed her in a hug. “You did the right thing.”
Mom wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“I can’t imagine it would,” Owen said. This could either be the push Jeremy needed to get his life together or the push that sent him spiraling in the wrong direction. Owen hoped for the best, but he didn’t have a good track record of hoping for the best panning out. Good thing he knew this and always prepared for the worst.
#
Monday afternoon, after their tutoring session, Marci took her time packing up her things while talking to Owen about how his classes were going. He didn’t seem in any hurry to get away either. She wasn’t sure if she should bring up his brother or not. While she was still trying to decide, Owen took her mind away from the subject.
Shrugging on his North Face fleece while balancing on one foot, he asked, “You have any more appointments today?”
“Nope,” she said. “You’re the last one.”
“Good.” He flashed her that toothpaste-commercial-perfect grin that she found herself thinking about more often than not recently. “Why don’t you come home with me?” Owen stuck his crutch under his arm and leaned on it slightly.
Marci laughed. “You get right to the point, don’t you?”
Owen’s ears reddened, and that was the only clue that she’d gotten under his skin. Other than the dead giveaway red ears, he had a decent poker face. “I remember you saying you skipped lunch. Lil cooked for me as she felt sorry for me in my disabled state. There’s some leftover lasagna if you don’t mind the company.”
“I don’t know. I have a lot of work to do,” Marci said. All the while, she was telling herself not to be a jerk after what’d happened with Jeremy over the weekend. That was something that didn’t come naturally to her—not being a jerk when it came to guys. Or, it hadn’t come naturally to her in quite a few years at least.
“You don’t look like you’re very interested in working right now,” Owen said. “And you gotta eat, right?”
“I could work through an early dinner.” Marci worried her dad’s class ring on its chain around her neck. That kiss they’d shared in the E.R. had whetted her appetite for more. It’d brought back memories of their frustrating yet hot hook-up in his room the night of the bet. Damn, he had to be good in bed if the previews were any indication. Besides, even if nothing happened, what was it really going to cost her to be nice to him?
“And you could…not. Do that.” Owen gave her a look that was both unassuming and sexy at the same time. He’d make a perfect con artist. No wonder his brother was so good at fooling people. However, the ability to disarm was likely where the similarities ended. Marci could never imagine Owen using his looks and charm for evil the way Jeremy did.
“Okay. Only because I’m starving. And only if you promise to have the revised thesis and outline of this philosophy paper complete by next Monday,” Marci said.
“I promise,” Owen said with mock solemnity. Marci couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggeration of a serious expression.
“What is wrong with you?” She was still laughing as she asked it.
“Absolutely nothing now that you’re coming home with me.”
“You know that charm-the-panties-off-a-nun ease with flirting you have is such a waste.” Marci leaned in close and whispered. “Because you’re such a tease.”
“I’m not saying you can’t have the milk,” Owen said. “I’m just saying you have to buy the cow first.”
“Isn’t the girl supposed to be the cow in that metaphor?”
“Isn’t this the twenty-first century? I think we can mix these things up a little.”
Marci threw her bag over her shoulder. “To your place. What are we waiting for?”
They went out to the parking lot behind Drew Hall and got into Owen’s jeep. He drove them over to his place. While they waited for the lasagna to heat up, they talked and Marci wandered out of the kitchen with Owen in tow and took a look around the place. She hadn’t seen much the last time she was here because they’d been in the dark.
The first thing she noticed was the place was surprisingly neat considering two guys lived there. The second thing was the old movie posters. They obviously had an obsession with Scarface, Star Wars, and The Godfather. Randomly, there was also a huge The Matrix poster that didn’t quite seem to fit. When Owen caught her staring at the Matrix poster with her head cocked to the side, he said, “I’m pretty sure Dante is convinced The Matrix exists. He thinks that movie is gospel. If you ever say a bad thing about it in front of him, be prepared to defend yourself.”
“I consider myself warned,” Marci said. She looked up at him, and they locked eyes for a moment. Looking away, she said, “The décor in here is halfway decent.”
“Half moms, half dudes.”
“Ah. That explains it.” The furniture was black and mahogany. Black couch, mahogany desk, that sort of a scheme. There was a dark colored vase on a table toward the back of the living room and near the door to Owen’s room. She hadn’t even noticed that table when she’d come over before. It was a wonder and a miracle that she hadn’t knocked it over that night.
“That gross chair doesn’t fit, though.” Marci pointed to a dilapidated recliner that looked as if it had time traveled from the seventies and been d
ropped a few times on the way to Owen’s living room. It had to be the ugliest chair in America.
Owen laughed, a joyful lighthearted sound that warmed her—no, not her heart. Her what? “That’s Dante’s. He calls it The Throne,” Owen said.
“Hm. Don’t know that I’d call it that.”
Owen laughed again, and she was once again disconcerted by how much she liked the sound—liked being able to make him laugh. “Me, neither,” he said.
She turned to him and opened her mouth to say something to him only to discover she had no idea what to say. Something was happening here, she was feeling something she didn’t want to feel. It wasn’t safe to feel this way. Not at all. But she also didn’t want to push him away. Owen was the first guy she didn’t want to push away in a very long time. That made him a threat.
Owen glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “The lasagna’s almost finished warming.” At her suggestion, he’d put it in the oven to heat instead of the microwave so it wouldn’t get that microwave wilt to it. “You want garlic bread? I can whip some up real quick.”
“I can do it.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Let me. Please,” she said. “I feel bad with you running all over the kitchen on your bum foot.”
“I’ll keep you company then.”
“Good.” She walked into the kitchen, and he followed. “I just need to know where you keep your bread, garlic salt, and butter. And do you have any garlic?”
Owen handed her half a loaf of French bread from the counter and followed it with the ingredients she’d asked for. She broke off a couple cloves of the garlic and handed the rest back to him. After putting away the garlic, he went over to the oven to pull out the lasagna and set it on the stovetop to cool.
“How’d things turn out with your brother?” she asked as she busied herself preparing the bread. She hadn’t asked about his brother so far, and he hadn’t offered up any details. She’d been going back and forth with herself over whether to ask about it since he’d shown up at the writing center earlier. Finally, she decided to just ask. He didn’t have to answer.
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