by Kelsie Rae
“He wouldn’t remain a noob. Your young Padawan has already done my dirty work by bringing it up to Turner in the first place,” she quips.
“Only because you instilled your own recruiting responsibilities on my shoulders, and I passed it along to him. Without you, we would’ve all been doomed.”
She smirks. “Mm-hmm. Glad I can be of service.”
“So, that means you’ll come?”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”
“No deal. You gotta come. You can even bring Skye if you want,” I add.
The last of her defenses crumble before she grudgingly agrees. “I’ll see if she’s busy.”
“And if she isn’t?”
“Then, we’ll be there. Can we bring anything?”
“Just yourselves. I’ll take care of the rest. Do you know where I live?”
She shakes her head.
“I’ll send you the address as soon as you give me your number.”
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze glued to the pavement, she rattles off a few numbers, and I commit them to memory.
“I’ll text you,” I tell her.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she mutters under her breath.
I laugh, then press my forefinger to her chin, forcing her to look up at me. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Say.”
My touch disappears from her silky skin before she gulps but holds my stare. “Bye, Owen.”
12
Saylor
“Alright, who’s ready for Episode One?” Owen calls with a giant orange bowl of popcorn resting in his arms.
Chanting ensues. “We are! We are!”
“Good. I need everyone to go to the bathroom and wash your hands. Grady, show Turner where the bottles of soda are in the fridge. You guys can each pick something for the movie. Now, go! Move, move, move!”
The two boys dash off to follow Owen’s orders while he lifts his chin toward the empty spot on the couch beside me. “Can I sit here?”
I scoot a few inches closer to Skye on my opposite side. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Thanks.” He plops down beside me.
“I’m gonna go use the restroom,” Skye informs us, leaving me alone with a certain someone who is far too close for my liking.
Gee, thanks, Skye. Way to be a cock-blocker for me. I glare at her retreating form before giving Owen a tight smile.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
I can smell him over the buttered popcorn. The combination is dizzying and makes my mouth water. He nudges the bowl a few inches closer to me. “Want some?”
“Um, sure.” I pop a few kernels into my mouth and moan when the white cheddar explodes across my tastebuds.
His dry chuckle makes me squirm. “Still your favorite, I assume?”
“You remembered?”
“Hell, yeah. You got me hooked on this stuff.”
“White cheddar popcorn and Star Wars. Noted,” I tease through another mouthful of deliciousness.
Pressing his shoulder to mine, his heat brands me. “Trust me, Say. Those are just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Oh, really?” I challenge. “Like what?”
“Like gummy bears.”
“I love gummy bears.”
“I know. Especially the––”
“White ones,” I finish for him with a smile. “I thought you didn’t like those?”
“I saved that color for you because they were your favorite. Now, they’re the first ones gone from the bag.”
My nose scrunches as I try to contain my grin, but it’s no use. “What else?”
“What else did you get me hooked on?”
I nod.
“Hmm, let’s see…pumpkin spice lattes.”
“Because they’re delicious,” I point out. “I still can’t believe you’d never tried one before me.”
“That’s because I thought it was a girly drink.”
“A delicious girly drink,” I correct him with a smile.
He returns it with one of his own. “Agreed. I still order a few every fall and think of you, ya know.” He nudges my shoulder again but doesn’t pull away this time. Instead, the heat from his side practically burns me from the top of my shoulder all the way down to my elbow.
I lick my lips and peek up at him. “Well, to be fair, you’ve ruined me with your fancy-schmancy coffee creamer, and I drink that almost every day. So….”
“So, I guess we both ruined each other in different ways.”
“I guess so,” I admit in a quiet voice, mesmerized by the way his cool blue eyes have little crinkles in the corners and are framed by thick, dark lashes any woman would kill for. I clear my throat. “What else do you miss?”
“About us?” he questions. “Lots of things. Even after all these years, random shit reminds me of you all the time.”
“Like what?”
“Like Star Wars,” he teases, motioning to the paused screen with the bright yellow Star Wars logo shining back at us.
“And?”
“And music,” he continues.
“Music?”
“Blink-182, for example.”
I laugh as the memories wrap around me like a warm blanket. “We used to belt out the lyrics at the top of our lungs while in your car.”
“I remember that your favorite songs were ‘Always’ and ‘First Date.’”
“They’re still my favorites,” I confirm.
“Which made them my favorites too.” Leaning closer, he murmurs, “Want to know a secret?”
His breath is laced with the smell of popcorn and bad decisions. With a gulp, I nod.
“Grady knows most of their songs, thanks to them being on repeat in the car.”
Shocked, I argue, “No, he doesn’t.”
“He does.”
“Why?”
“Because I liked to torture myself and get lost in the memories of us together,” he whispers. “All of them.”
All of them.
How can three totally innocent words paint a picture of us naked in the back of his car while Blink-182 blared from the speakers? Or the time he had to sneak out of my room when my dad came to check on me after Owen had climbed up the trellis and through my window? Or maybe the time we made love under the stars in the center of the football field on a dark red picnic blanket that I still have tucked away in my closet? I grab another handful of popcorn and pop a few pieces into my mouth.
“Does anything remind you of me?” he asks. It feels like we’re both dancing a sexy, dangerous tango instead of taking an innocent walk down memory lane, but I can’t help it.
Everything, I want to say as I swallow my bite, then drop my gaze to my hands. “Um…football. That’s a big one.”
“I ruined that one, though, didn’t I.” It isn’t a question.
With a sigh, I put my hand on his knee and squeeze softly. I’m tired of the sharp bite of pain that mingles with my memories of us. And for the first time since he left, the moments we’ve had together made me smile instead of cry. I don’t want that to end. Not yet.
“Tell me more,” I beg.
“About the things I miss?”
“Yes.”
He looks down at my hand on his knee and shifts in his seat, then bites his lip and drags his attention to my eyes. The heat that accompanies his gaze makes my breath hitch.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he breathes.
“Why not?”
His gaze drops down to my mouth before his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by diving into the other…things we enjoyed doing together while little ears are in the house.”
“I think you just did.”
“Trust me. I could’ve said something a hell of a lot less innocent when describing my favorite activity with you.”
My cheeks heat, but I roll my eyes in hopes of covering up the memories of all the things we used to do together. Naked.
“How kind of
you,” I quip.
“I used to be very kind to you.”
“I think it was a two-way street on that front,” I remind him, making my face feel like it’s on fire.
Are we really talking about our sex life right now?
His brow quirks. “Good point. We fit well together like that, though, don’t you think?” His voice is raw and gritty, laced with an underlying note of lust that brings the heat sizzling beneath my skin to the surface.
How the hell did we get on this topic?
Forgetting about the popcorn in my hand, I chew on the pad of my thumb, holding his stare as I squirm from its intensity. “Um, yes. I think we did.”
With one arm inching behind the back of the couch, his tongue darts out between his lips before he murmurs, “Do you remember the night when––”
“Hey, Dad!” Grady calls from the kitchen, making me almost jump out of my own skin. “Do you want a drink?”
A low groan rumbles up Owen’s throat. “No thanks, Grady.”
“Miss Swenson?” Grady asks.
“I’m okay,” I squeak. “Thank you, though!”
The pitter-patter of feet echoes through the hallway before Turner and Grady return with bottles of soda and a couple of packs of Sour Patch Kids. Then they dive into the gray LoveSac couch riddled with blankets, anxious for the movie to start. Their chaos is followed by a much lighter, much more grown-up set of footsteps.
My gaze narrows. “Fancy seeing you again, Skye.”
A wicked smile stretches across Skye’s face as she takes in Owen’s and my cozy position.
“Sorry. I got a little distracted on my phone. Seems like you two did just fine without me, though.”
My face blanches, and my body fills with thick sludge, but I don’t reply.
She’s right.
How the hell did I end up snuggling with Owen before the movie even started? Am I really that weak?
Sensing my discomfort, she flicks off the lights and approaches my side of the couch. Her voice is quiet as she reaches for the remote on the armrest next to me and mutters, “Saylor, chill. I was joking. You’re not doing anything wrong. Just breathe, okay?”
Then she takes her seat in the center of the couch, which leaves me and Owen on one side of the giant U-shaped gray sofa and the boys on the other.
I take a deep breath and try to do exactly that, but Owen’s too close. And I really am weak. Why can’t I find the self-preservation to put some much-needed distance between us? Have I not learned anything? At all?
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I stare blankly at the television screen in front of us.
And that’s when it hits me. It’s because I miss it too much. The closeness. The warmth. The awareness in every nerve that covers my skin, anxious with anticipation. Like an electric current building between us, the friction is almost more than either of us can handle, but the pull is too strong. And when it strikes? It’ll be lightning.
But who in their right mind would want to get struck by lightning? It hurts.
With a long exhale, I rest my elbow against the armrest to give me and Owen a few more inches of space between us. But all it brings is a fresh wave of disappointment.
You did this, Say, I remind myself. You put the distance there. You moved away to give yourself some space.
Then why does it feel so crappy?
“Shall we start?” Skye asks, handing the remote to Owen.
The boys cheer, so Owen presses play on the controller, and we all settle into the movie.
Well, everyone but me, anyway. I can’t focus for the life of me. My spine is still as straight as a pin, while my vision blurs like a watercolor painting. During one of my favorite movies.
What is wrong with me?
“What did I do?” Owen whispers a few minutes later so that only I can hear him.
I glance over at him, then peek around his massive frame to find the boys and my sister completely engrossed in the story.
“Tell me,” he growls.
“Nothing,” I return quietly.
“Liar. Was I coming on too strong?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m fine.”
“Stop lying, Say. I used to know you better than anyone, remember? What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” I repeat.
“Shh!” Grady interrupts.
Owen leans closer until his breath tickles the shell of my ear. “Keep lying, and I’ll just keep calling you out for it.”
“Self-preservation, Owen,” I whisper. “I keep forgetting to use it.”
His jaw tightens. “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if we met later in life? If the only reason we got together in the first place was because we didn’t know what that shit was? Self-preservation.” He scoffs quietly. “Sounds like fear of the unknown to me.”
“But you’re not unknown to me,” I return.
He ignores my argument and continues, making sure to keep his voice quiet and raspy so that we don’t bother anyone else. Besides, this conversation isn’t exactly meant to be public in the first place. Then again, it should’ve been said a long time ago. Might as well rip it off right now, just like a Band-Aid.
“We dove in head first because that’s what felt right. The jock and the sexy nerd no one saw. People said it would never work. But it did. It worked well, didn’t it?”
The light stubble along his jaw tickles my cheek as I turn my head to look at him. He’s so freaking close I could kiss him right now.
“Answer the question,” he rasps.
“Yeah. We worked well,” I admit, the memories threatening to choke me before I shove them aside. “But we were young and stupid.”
“Maybe we should try being young and stupid again, Say. Because that was the happiest I’d ever been, except the day Grady was born. That includes talking to the NFL recruiters. That includes the NCAA championship. And yeah, I screwed it all up because I was young and stupid, but I’m not young and stupid anymore.”
“Debatable,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
His mouth curves toward the ceiling, only a breath away from mine. “Careful with that sass, Say. We both know how I used to reciprocate.”
I bite my lip, my breathing shallow.
Yes. I remember that well. Too well, in all honesty. And it was my favorite game. Piss him off. Egg him on. Fan the flames until we were both consumed by them. If I close my eyes, I can still feel his punishing grip along my thighs as he’d push me against the wall with my legs wrapped around his waist. His hungry mouth would leave bruises along my throat as he’d suck my skin until I was begging him to put me out of my misery. To put us both out of our misery.
“You’re dangerous for me, Owen,” I choke out.
“Says the girl who’s owned me since the moment we met.”
I scoff. “That’s debatable.”
“It really isn’t. But like I said, I can be patient.”
“Patience has never been your strong suit,” I counter.
“Yeah. Well, I guess I’m not young and stupid anymore.”
“Then, what are you?”
“Determined and patient. And I’m going to prove it to you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. But first, I’m going to do one more stupid thing.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Obviously not.” He smirks. “If I thought it was, I wouldn’t classify it as stupid.”
A breath of laughter escapes me before he inches closer, his massive frame blocking anyone from seeing exactly what we’re doing over here. We probably look like we’re discussing Luke’s lightsaber or something, for all they know. But I’m not stupid. I know exactly where this is going. And I was right about my lack of self-preservation. Because I’m ready for it. Hell, I feel like little bees are buzzing beneath my skin, waiting to be put out of their misery.
He leans in to steal a taste. And I let him. Because I need the friction to stop building between us before it’s too much. If
I can dispel the charge, then maybe I can keep my reaction in check. Maybe I can quiet the voices in my head that are begging me to give him another chance. Maybe I can convince myself that our connection was fabricated by a seventeen-year-old’s perspective. That he doesn’t taste as good as I remember. That I was a horny teenager who had no idea––
Shiiit.
As soon as his mouth connects with mine, my lower lip trembles, and his tongue glides across it soothingly. He tastes exactly how I remember. And the theory of a horny teenager who had no one to compare him to goes right out the freaking window. Because I’ve kissed guys since Owen. And none of them compare to this. To Owen’s mouth. To his heat. To his calloused hands skimming up my arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake.
This backfired. This backfired hard.
Cupping my cheek, he angles my head, then urges me to open my mouth like a damn snake charmer. So I do it. And let out a whimper when his tongue slips against mine.
I was right. This is a very sexy, very dangerous tango. And I’m okay with letting him lead as long as it ends up with me spread out beneath him.
My breathing is staggered when he finally pulls away. His low groan is the only confirmation that he feels anything similar to the chaos wreaking havoc on my insides before he grumbles, “I’m going to regret that.”
“What?” I breathe, praying I heard him wrong.
With a soft smile, he presses another kiss to my lips. It’s more innocent. Less heated. But just as toe-curling as the first. When he pulls away, he explains, “That I promised I’d be patient. I thought a taste would curb my attraction, but I’m pretty sure I just put gasoline on a fire.”
I laugh before covering it with a cough in hopes of not tipping off any of our movie buddies in the room.
“I feel like I should add that I’m all for young and stupid if you’re game. I mean, I can go the determined and patient route if you need me to, but––”
“Will you guys stop talking?! You’re ruining the movie!” Grady and Turner yell.
“Sorry!” Owen and I return in unison like a couple of teenagers who’ve just been caught making out by our parents.
Oh, the memories.
But Owen doesn’t back away. His arm stays around the back of the couch, and he keeps me close. Like he’s afraid that if he gives me any space, I’ll come to my senses.