I turn to face him again and see the vein in his throat pulsing. “I know we do. You still haven’t given me an answer, and seeing as how you were busy getting lap dances from that girl at the bar, I figured I’d make it easy on you and find someone else to help me. Honestly, no harm, no foul.”
He inhales, his nostrils flaring as he does.
I straighten my posture, on a roll now. “Don’t worry about me, Owen. I’m not your problem anymore.”
“Please, Becca. We need to talk. Can we go someplace private?” His voice is lower this time, more even.
I don’t want to give in to him, I want to be mad about that girl he had in his lap, but that makes zero sense. This is Owen, the manwhore, and if he has one talent, it’s sticking his dick into things on the regular. Well, maybe he has two talents, because he’s also a damn good goaltender.
He’s always been this way—a ladies’ man—and it’s never bothered me before. I guess it’s only bothering me now because I thought he’d be willing to put that aside for a couple of freaking nights and help me.
His eyes plead with mine, and I soften just the tiniest bit.
“I’m ready to get out of here,” I say. “You can give me a ride home, and we’ll talk on the way.”
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Let’s go.”
I grab my purse and say good-bye to Elise and then Sara.
Ever perceptive, the lawyer of the group, Sara gives me a big hug. “Are you okay? You seem down tonight.” Some of dark hair her has escaped her low bun and her worried blue eyes are locked onto mine.
I nod. “Fine. Just tired, and Owen’s giving me a ride home.”
She nods and doesn’t push further.
Owen stands silently behind me while I say my good-byes, almost like he’s guarding over me. It’s a little disorienting to have a wall of muscle behind me, but I don’t put up a fuss. If he wants to talk—we’ll talk. I just can’t be held responsible for some of the things that might come out of my mouth, because I’m not feeling particularly ladylike tonight.
The ride to my apartment is a quiet one. The dark interior of his SUV smells like his cologne, and the woodsy scent relaxes me. I met Owen through Elise, and he’s always been good to me. He’s also always treated me like a sister, so I can’t help but wonder if this is going to be totally weird.
“Are we going to talk?” I ask.
His hand relaxes on the steering wheel and his thumb taps out a rhythm. “We’ll talk at your place. Cool?”
I find myself nodding.
We arrive at my apartment, and I’m so anxious I can hardly be still. Somehow, I manage to sit down on the couch next to Owen without fidgeting too much.
He takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. I have no idea how he manages to look so calm and relaxed while my heart is hammering against my ribs at an out-of-control pace. His large hands rest on his knees, and he seems totally chill.
“I’ve thought about your proposition. About helping you.”
I nod, waiting for him to continue.
“First, I think we need to talk about what happened to you again,” he says, and when I flinch, he holds up one hand. “Not every detail, not the entire ordeal. I just . . . I need something to go on here.”
“I get it. You kind of need to know what you’re getting yourself into.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not it. I need to know how to help you.”
Oh. Right. “Makes sense,” I say, my voice soft.
It’s not easy to tell him that I was sexually assaulted in college, that it happened when I was walking back to my dorm from the library. I’d lost track of time while studying for my communications final, and it was well after ten by the time I started the fifteen-minute walk across campus.
Owen listens intently, his gray eyes stormy as I recount the details of that night that are lodged so deeply in my brain, I fear I’ll never get them out. The way my attacker shoved me onto the cement behind the building. The way he forced my leggings down and pressed a hand over my mouth. The sick, helpless feelings that come roaring back to life anytime I think about getting naked with a man. The stranger who came to my rescue before things went further.
Other than the way my voice catches over the words at certain points, I’m calm as I tell him this story. I say the words dispassionately, like this was merely a thing that happened to me and not a part of me now. I wish it weren’t. But Owen isn’t looking at me with pity, but instead with wonder, like I’m the most amazing creature he’s ever encountered.
I don’t tell him about the awful year following that event where I insisted on staying on campus, despite my parents’ tearful warnings, or how I acted brave but was afraid of my own shadow, of how I cried myself to sleep every night. I don’t go into the arrest or the trial because Owen already knows that the guy got a slap on the wrist and spent less than forty-eight hours in jail.
When I’m done, I draw in a deep, shaky breath, and Owen pulls me into his arms.
“Fuck, Becca, you’re so damn brave. Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.
“For what?”
“For trusting me.”
I nod. “I thought I’d moved on. God knows, I’ve had enough therapy. But the truth is, I really haven’t. I never date, and the idea of it is kinda terrifying.”
I’m almost surprised that I even said those words out loud.
I tell myself, my parents, my friends—everyone—that I’m past it, but the truth it, I don’t think it’s something you ever get past. It’s part of me now, part of my history and as much as I wish it wasn’t, it always will be. But I’m coming to terms with the fact that no matter what ugly, nasty thing happened—I still deserve good things—I still deserve love and respect and to be close to someone without panicked feelings overtaking every other emotion.
Owen leans forward, and his voice comes out strained. “What can I do? I hate this.”
“Help me feel more confident in the bedroom.”
Once the words have left my mouth, part of me wishes I could stuff them back in. But the way Owen is looking at me makes my belly tighten.
The look is hungry.
“I’ll help you. But it’s got to be me showing you the ropes. I’m not grooming you for some guy you meet on the internet. Some dude we don’t know from Adam. I won’t send you out there to be hurt again. That’s the only way I’m agreeing to this.”
It takes nearly a full minute for his words and the meaning of what he’s suggesting to register, and when they do, my breath catches in my throat.
Owen doesn’t want to be my wingman as I originally suggested. He wants to be the one in my bed . . . making sure I conquer my fears in a safe, consensual manner. My stomach tightens, but this time it’s more than nerves. It’s excitement.
“I know it’s a lot to consider. But you should know that I’d go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with. I’d help you with anything you wanted to know.”
I nod, my mouth suddenly too dry to form words.
“Say something, Becca.”
“But we’re friends. I mean, how would that even work?”
Brilliant, Becca. Way to state the obvious.
Owen nods. “True. We are friends, but you’re beautiful, and I’ve always been attracted to you. I just never let myself act on it because of your friendship with my sister.”
His words ignite something inside me. I’m attracted to him too. God, how could I not be? Those broad shoulders, his firm chest and abs. Focus, Becca.
“But do you really think we can do this? Remain friends and experiment together?”
The word experiment almost makes me laugh—like we’re conducting some fourth-grade science project with baking soda and vinegar in my mom’s kitchen. But at the same time, my question is a serious one, and something I need to know the answer to before I can agree to this. I wait, with my heart in my throat, for Owen’s answer.
He rubs his thumb over his bottom lip, watching me, and stays quiet for a long t
ime. So long that I think he must have changed his mind and is considering how to let me down easy.
Finally, he says, “Feelings generally get hurt when one person is expecting something that the other person never promised.”
I nod, thinking of all the times Owen has probably lived that exact scenario—a girl he slept with wanting him to be her boyfriend. I have the luxury of knowing him well enough to know that he’s never settled down with one girl in all the years I’ve known him, and I would never expect that of him. He’s right. It would only lead to trouble. “That’s true.”
“As long as we both know the score from the start, nothing has to change.”
I smile weakly, my heart pounding out an uneven rhythm. “Let’s try it.”
“Just like that?” His eyes explore mine as if they’re searching for hesitation.
I nod again. “I need your help. If this is the only way I can get help and move forward, I’m willing to try it.”
Truthfully, I feel a little unsure about my ability to separate sex and love, since it’s not something I’ve had to do before. But this is my only shot at getting the help I obviously need to overcome my fears.
“Shit. Are you sure?”
I grin. He obviously wasn’t expecting me to agree to this crazy-town idea so quickly. I guess he doesn’t understand how serious I am about moving past this stagnant part of my life.
“Yes, as long as we agree our friendship always comes first. No deeper feelings. That way no one can get hurt.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” he murmurs, frowning.
I scoff. “Jeez, Owen. Way to hurt a girl’s feelings. You just assume I won’t be enough for you?”
His eyes flash with some unreadable emotion. “It’s not that. I’m more worried I’ll be too much for you.”
Before I can ask him to clarify what he means, he leans back on the couch and pushes his hands through his hair. “You know what? Before we agree to do this, there’s something we need to discuss.”
I’m not sure what he means. We’ve covered the basics—the main one being that our friendship remains the priority.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Owen’s dark hair is a mess, sticking up in the front from his roaming fingers, but it looks oddly adorable messy like that.
He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “I think you should know that my, um, sexual preferences are probably different from yours.”
“O-kay,” I say slowly, not sure what that means. “I know you like women, so . . .”
He looks at me with a tender expression. “I do. That’s very true.”
Is he purposely trying to be confusing? “So, when you say your tastes are different, what do you mean?”
He hesitates, and I wish in this moment I was a mind reader, because his expression gives nothing away. “You know what? Let’s not worry about that right now. One thing at a time, okay?”
I weigh his words, my mind still scrambling to make sense of this.
“Baby steps,” Owen adds.
“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”
“Exactly.” He smiles.
Positioning my body toward his on the couch, I take a deep breath. The one blessing in all of this is that I feel so safe with Owen, and I know he’d never push me for to do something I wasn’t comfortable with. Something about that makes me bolder than I’d usually be.
“So, how do we start? Should we go to my bedroom, or . . .”
“No.” His gaze meets mine. “Meet me at my place at six tomorrow. We’re going on a field trip first.”
“Okay.” I grin at him, my fingers relaxing from the tense fists I didn’t realize I’d made.
Owen rises to his feet, and I follow him to the door. “You sure you feel okay about this?” he asks, pausing by my front door.
I nod. “Yeah. I feel surprisingly good.”
He touches my cheek, brushing a strand of my hair over one shoulder as he gazes down at me in a move that’s surprisingly sweet and tender. “Me too.” He opens the door and then looks back at me one more time. “And, Becca, don’t fuck Morgan, okay?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I hear myself say before I can think better of it. I don’t point out that it’s not his business who I sleep with—I simply agree.
5
* * *
Cheap Massage Parlor
Owen
“So much has changed,” Elise says, waving her arms dramatically.
“Yes!” Sara nods, agreeing with her.
I watch their conversation like a game of Ping-Pong as they lob their thoughts back and forth.
Teddy, Asher, Sara, Justin, and my sister are all here to watch a new sci-fi movie that came out recently. Everyone’s situated on the huge gray sectional that takes up most of our living room, and I eavesdrop on their conversation while I wait for Becca to arrive. Huge bowls of popcorn are on the coffee table, along with a six-pack of beer.
“A lot of women I know don’t want children, and that’s perfectly fine,” Elise says.
“You’re looking at one of them.” Sara holds up one hand. “I mean, if men weren’t attached to my favorite appendage, I wouldn’t need a man at all,” she says with a giggle.
Elise nods. “True. But they’re also good at opening jars.”
“You guys are ridiculous,” Teddy scoffs.
Their conversation is a good distraction from the noise that’s been buzzing inside my brain since Becca asked for my help and our coach all but called me out.
I’ve always heard men and women can’t be friends. That a platonic friendship between a man and a woman goes together about as well as water and electricity.
But Becca and I have always defied that rule. Everything between us has stayed squarely in the friend zone from day one, only now I’m considering changing that, and I have no idea if I’d be making a huge mistake.
But before I can ponder it further, the intercom sounds and I buzz Becca in. A few moments later, the front door opens and she steps inside.
“Hey,” she says, smiling as she takes in the scene.
She looks perfect. When she texted earlier today asking what she should wear on this little field trip, I told her something comfortable, preferably layers. She’s dressed in black leggings and fuzzy boots and an oversized sweatshirt.
It matches my own casual look of athletic shorts, a white T-shirt, and my forest-green team hoodie thrown on over the top.
“Hey,” I say, a little speechless when I look at her. I have to blink and force my eyes away so I’ll stop looking at her like she’s a snack I’m about to eat.
“Hey, Becca.” Elise jumps up from the couch to greet her friend with a hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you had plans.”
Becca’s eyes venture from Elise’s to mine. It’s obvious that Elise invited her over for movie night, and that Becca had to decline.
“I do.” She grins at me. “With Owen.”
Elise’s eyebrows pull together. “But Owen’s going to his gross massage parlor thing-y. It’s Monday.”
It’s true. I have a standing appointment every Monday at six thirty. It’s also true my friends have teased me about it for just as long.
In reality, it’s a cheap massage parlor in a strip mall run by the nicest Vietnamese family you’ll ever meet. But my jack-off friends had to go and turn it into something dirty. They assume I get some sort of full-service massage, complete with a happy ending. It’s compounded by the fact that I’ve never let anyone come with me before, so the place has remained shrouded in mystery.
Becca’s gaze snaps over to mine. “Um . . .”
I grin. Surprise. That’s our field trip. But I don’t want her to know that just yet, because everyone will inevitably try to talk her out of going, and I really think it might help her relax. Plus, she’s letting me into her world, so it’s only fair that I let her into mine.
“You’re going to make poor Becca watch you get a rub and tug?” Teddy asks. �
��That’s just wrong, dude. Sick and wrong.”
“Shut it, TK,” I say with a warning glare. The last thing I need is my idiot friends scaring Becca off before we’ve even started.
Elise and Becca share a worried look.
Needing to defuse the situation, I guide Becca by her shoulders down the hall toward my bedroom. “I just need to get my shoes, and then we can bounce.”
She nods.
Once we’re alone in my room, I face her. “You’re not worried, are you?”
Without even considering it, she shakes her head. “Nope. I trust you.”
Her words release a curl of pride in my chest. “Perfect.” I grab a pair of running shoes from my walk-in closet and slip them on. “Let’s go, then.”
We wave good-bye to the gang on our way out, ignoring the strange looks everyone is giving us, and head to the underground parking garage toward my SUV.
I’m still not entirely convinced that I can be what Becca needs, but she trusts me, so it’s something, I guess. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? We’ll take things slow, start small, and go from there.
I recall Coach’s words about how I don’t let anything rattle me. He’s right. I don’t stress about anything in my life, and I’m not about to start now.
6
* * *
To New Experiences
Becca
I climb in next to Owen, and as we buckle our seat belts, he flashes me his trademark dimple—the one all his fangirls go crazy for. Entire blog posts have been written about said dimple on the hockey sites.
Ugh. God, why does he have to be so damn masculine?
When I arrived at his place and walked in to see him with his athletic shorts slung low on his trim hips and his sweatshirt stretched across those broad shoulders, something inside me reacted. I have no idea if it’s because we’ve agreed to be bed-buddies, or what, but suddenly I’m having a hard time not picturing him naked.
Get it together, Bec.
It’s like his muscles have muscles.
All the Way Page 4