Owen looks at me and there’s annoyance in his eyes. “You’ve been around Harley enough to know he won’t do anything to jeopardize his career again. Or his relationship with Blake.”
“Some people put up fronts.” I say, picking up my glass of water and taking a long drink.
He snorts. “That’s not Harley. What you see is what you get.”
“What about you?” I ask him, putting the now almost empty glass back on the table. “Is what you see what you get?”
“Yeah, I guess I’m the same way.”
“Huh.” I break eye contact, not wanting him to know that I’m not sure if he means it. Because he’s still hiding underneath who he really is.
He looks at me again. “What does that mean?”
I sigh. “You’re much more than what you put out to the world, Owen. I meant what I said earlier. Never change.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
I can’t keep my curiosity at bay any longer. “Who was she?”
He swings his head over to me again. “Who was who?”
“The girl who broke your heart.” As I say that thought that’s been driving me crazy all day, he breaks our eye contact again, hiding away from me.
For whatever reason, I need to know more about her. I need to know why he is the way he is.
He’s quiet for a minute. The only sound is the analyst on the TV talking about Harley and his issues. Owen turns the volume down, but his eyes never stray from the screen.
I stay silent. I don’t know why I’m pushing him, but I want to know more about her, about what went wrong, why he still holds her in his heart, because that’s easy to see.
He loves her still.
I wonder if that will be me in a few weeks—still trucking along, trying to keep myself together and still in love with Matt.
“You don’t need to know about her.” His response is quiet and I barely hear him even with the volume turned so low.
“Why not?” I push, because damn it, he knows about me. I need to know about him.
“Because. I don’t talk about it. Now or ever.”
I shrink back at the harshness of his tone. “Sorry.”
Owen sighs and runs a hand through his red hair. “No, I’m sorry.” His eyes connect with mine and the blue is clouded over with unshed tears. I want to hug him. Touch him. Comfort him. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s still pretty fresh.”
“Did you guys just break up then?” I wonder aloud.
“Something like that.” He closes his eyes momentarily and when he opens them again, the tears are gone, but now he’s curious. “What about you and your ex? Any chance you’ll go back to him?”
I shake my head immediately. “Nope. Not a chance.”
“Why not?”
It’s a simple question that should have a simple answer, but my heart stops. My brain can’t function. I’m not in a relationship anymore. For the first time in five years, I’m without someone beside me.
The tears start again. I curl into a ball, losing myself in the memories.
We were in love at one time. We shared a lot of good memories in college. Hanging out late into the night, talking and discussing random things. Going on cheap dates to the park, and cuddling into the night when the sun would go down, but we weren’t ready to leave yet.
We threw it away. In a matter of months after getting engaged, we threw all of our history away.
All because he wanted to stick his penis in a lot of other chicks.
Yes, I was pulling away. Yes, I wasn’t happy anymore. But he made the choice to move on and left me standing alone in the middle of the road with no clue what to do with my life anymore.
For so long, he was my life. He was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my days with, and losing that security makes this hard..
A hand touches my arm, squeezes gently, and I look up. Owen pulls me up from the chair and leads me over to the couch. He sits down, and then pulls me into his lap. I bury my face into his strong shoulder, letting it all go—the pain, the heartache, the tears.
He rubs my back gently, telling me in my ear it will be all right and whispering other words of encouragement. But I hear the tears in his voice. I hear the pain. I hear his heartache.
What a pair we make. Both of our hearts are so broken and mangled, there’s no telling if we’ll ever survive this.
His large body feels secure under mine. I want nothing more than to just stay with him, have him hold me. My heart flutters at the thought. Damn it, if that doesn’t stop my crying.
How can I be having these feelings for a man I don’t know? How can he affect me like this?
My tears slow, but his hand rests on my lower back. I lose myself in his gentle touch, letting him take some of the pain away.
After a few minutes of silence, his hand stops rubbing up and down my back. I feel the moment he gets uncomfortable. He hasn’t touched a woman in a long time; I can tell by how much he tenses under me.
I lift my head up to look at him. He avoids my gaze. I have the sudden urge to kiss him. So, I move forward, at the exact moment he moves his head to look at me. His eyes widen in surprise.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I bite my lip. “I don’t want to feel sad anymore. I want to feel something else.”
“This isn’t right, Opie,” he tells me in a soft voice.
Rejection stings and I slip out of his lap and stand on the carpeted floor in front of him.
He looks up at me, and watches me standing there watching him.
“Opie.” He just says my name. That’s it. That’s all it takes for me to realize that this was a horrible idea.
My cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “Oh, God.”
“Don’t freak. It’s fine.” Owen stands and reaches out to touch me.
“No. Don’t. Please.” I step back from his outstretched hand, even though I want him to touch me, to make the pain go away.
“Opie.” Again, my name tumbles from his lips.
I want to kiss those lips. I want to know what he tastes like. I close my eyes against the onslaught of feelings he has produced in me.
Matt never made me react this way with just a simple touch, or just saying my name. It’s like Owen’s lips are caressing it every time he says it.
I hold up a hand, breathing through my nose. “Don’t. Just stop.”
My eyes are clenched closed but I sense him stopping his movement toward me. His presence occupies the whole room. It surrounds me like a threatening storm, but I know he stops. I can feel the storm brewing, but the lightning never strikes.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me, standing in the middle of the room close to me, but far enough that I don’t have to worry about his presence knocking me off balance, his own eyes wide and questioning. I wish I could brush this off but after everything that has happened, I don’t. I need to apologize. I wish I was drunk right now. Then, I wouldn’t remember what it feels like to be rejected by this man who, even after a day, has learned more about me than Matt ever tried to know.
“I didn’t mean to come onto you,” I tell him. “Sorry.” He’s so big, so strong, so protective. I want to succumb to that innate need I have to lose myself in him instead of thinking about Matt, but I don’t. I resist.
He shakes his head, “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have held you like that.”
“No, Owen. That was fine. Hell, that’s the best I’ve felt since all of this happened.”
He blushes, from such an innocent comment, and I have to keep the laughter in this time. He’s so different than Harley. Or any other professional athlete that I’ve met.
We’re left in awkward silence. He looks at me, his eyes so serious. I’m half way across the room, trying to stop myself from lunging at him. I want him. That’s pretty damn obvious, but he doesn’t want me.
“Are you okay, now?” Owen asks and his voice makes my body shiver. He’s nowhere near me and his voice affects me in the simplest ways.
“Fine.” My response is clipped and maybe a bit more aggressive than I intended it to sound.
He smiles, it’s small but it’s there, as he goes back to sitting on the couch. He makes our large sectional look small, tiny compared to his size. “Didn’t we talk about fine already?”
This time, I do laugh, relieving some of the tension that has clouded the room. “Really, I’m okay. I promise.”
He nods, “Okay.” He sits back down on the couch and returns his attention to the TV. This time, I sit on the couch with him but make sure to leave plenty of space between us.
“Thank you.” I say. “Thanks for letting me cry on you. And for listening to my blubbering and for being here instead of Blake.”
He nods and something in his eyes lets me know he gets the Blake thing too. “Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to a stranger than a best friend. Since ours are currently out of commission, I see a lot more of these hang outs in our future.”
“I’m perfectly okay with that,” I admit to him, before my brain can tell my mouth to shut up.
He chuckles. “Me too, Opie. Me too.”
“Here’s to a new friendship.” I hold up my empty glass of water.
“To new friendship.” Owen picks up his own glass and we clink them together in a makeshift toast.
The worst part? I don’t want to be his friend, but right now that’s all I can be.
We settle into silence again, and I feel like the worst is behind me right now.
I’m not hopeful about my chances with Owen, and I can’t be. I can’t deal with another relationship right now. But I could use a friend. Especially a new friend who knows heartbreak.
“Do you want to watch something else?” he asks me.
I nod. “Sure, we can watch a movie.”
He hands me the remote. “You pick.”
I flip through the channels and settle on Die Hard, one of the best action movies ever made. Plus, Bruce Willis, enough said.
Owen laughs. “Really?”
“Do you have a problem with Bruce?” I demand. “If you do, then we can’t be friends.”
He laughs again. “No, I love Bruce and I love these movies.”
“Yeah, I can’t deal with anything remotely romantic right now.”
“Me neither.”
We laugh and joke for the rest of the night before falling asleep on the couch, neither one of us moving to go to bed after the movie ended. I wake up the next morning, on the couch, a blanket is covering my body. I notice right away that Owen is gone.
I don’t know the feeling that expands in my chest as I wake up to find him nowhere in the house. It’s a feeling deeper than loss or pain.
I miss him.
I hear the door open causing me to sit up straight on the couch, knowing it might be Blake coming home. I run a hand through my knotted hair, throwing it into a simple bun to cover up the fact that I spent the night on the couch.
“Oh, you’re up.” The deep voice interrupts me from my morning primping and I jump.
My heart pounds as I say, “Oh, I didn’t know who was here.”
He holds out a coffee cup. “I went and got some breakfast for us.”
I cock my head. “How? You don’t have your car here.”
He shrugs. “I walked, not a big deal.”
I open my mouth to say that it is, but he hands me a cup of coffee, brushing off his act of kindness. So, I ignore it.
Owen doesn’t want to be rewarded for his awesomeness. Interesting. He keeps doing unexpected things that let me see more layers of his personality.
I take a sip of the coffee and moan a little when the caffeine hits my bloodstream.
“Thank God you got good stuff.” I lean back on the couch, having no plans to leave my spot today.
“You’re welcome.” He sets down a pastry bag on the table and sits next to me—a little closer than yesterday, but still the appropriate friend distance.
“Donut?” he asks as he hands me a glazed donut.
“My ass is going to hate me, but fuck it.” I grab the donut and take a bite, knowing I’m getting glaze all over my face, but I don’t care.
“Not commenting on any of that statement,” Owen says, his face slightly red.
I snort. “Good idea.”
“I was thinking. I’ve never been friends with a girl before.”he admits, shyly.
“Okay?” I’ve never been friends with a guy before either, so this is new territory for me.
“You’re the first.” He takes a smaller bite out of his donut and doesn’t make a complete and total slob of himself.
“Huh.” I don’t believe him. He brings me food, he let’s me cry on his shoulder, he let’s me talk in girl circles about my pain in the ass of an ex, and never once expects anything in return for it. He’s the perfect friend.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“No, I do.” I reply. “I’m just thinking that other girls are crazy for not wanting to be your friend. You’re the perfect guy friend.”
I ignore that I’ve said the word “friend” a thousand times, but maybe if I keep saying it, he’ll fall into that category. Maybe my heart will realize that I’m too fragile to be anything but friends.
“How so?” he wonders.
“Well,” I say in between bites of donut. “You haven’t hit on me once. Always a bonus. You offer really good advice, which I may or may not take. And you’re a good listener.” Plus, he gives really good hugs and is really comfortable to sit on. But none of those things are friend-worthy, so I don’t mention them.
He smiles at me. I know cheesiness is coming again. “I guess I was right then.”
“About what?” I ask, with a little trepidation.
“This is going to be a beautiful friendship,” he replies, still smiling at me.
I laugh, because he’s right. “It is, Owen. It really is.”
For as long as I need him to, a friend is all he can be.
About the Author
KC Maxwell has been writing for what seems like her whole life. When the voices in her head get to be too much, she has to write them down and out, somehow, pops a book. It's not always easy, but it is rewarding. When KC isn't writing, she's usually hanging with her crazy, loud family, and the dogs. Or she is waiting for fall for football season. As a dedicated Cleveland fan of every sport, sometimes it's hard to watch, but she always hopes for next year. Want to get to know KC more? Check out where she procrastinates, instead of writing, every night!
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Lag - On the Island
On the Island
Megan Matthews
Chapter 1
I was promised paradise, but no one warned me
it would come with extras.
Paradise Island is exactly what the brochure guaranteed. Paradise. My body relaxes deeper into my large white lounge chair as the sun travels higher in the sky, heating the surface of my skin.
“Oh, look, Simone. He’s a hottie. Go talk to him.” My mother’s voice carries from her position to my right, but there isn’t enough strength in my body to move my head and give her a good eye roll.
“Mother, he’s way too young for Simone. She needs someone responsible and mature to be dull with.” The perky blonde to my left, otherwise known as my sister Elena, adds her unsolicited opinion.
I lied.
Paradise Island would be perfect if it weren’t for the two blonde, nosy companions on either side of me. There wasn’t a single warning in the brochure about my mother, Sheila, trying to hook me up with every seemingly eligible man within a thirty-foot radius.
My father, absent from our little group once again, has spent most of this vacation on the golf course. Unless his tee times are spent hunting for the perfect golfer for me to marry, he’s the one family member not obsessed with my sex life. Or lack thereof if we’re being honest.
I don�
��t jump up and try to hump the most recent man my mom’s spotted, and our conversation lulls. To a simple bystander the three of us look the same as we lay out in resort chairs facing the pool. Our blonde hair and blue eyes may match one another, but at 5’9” I tower over my short mother and sister. Height isn’t the single attribute my father passed on. I also ended up with his straight nose, but I think it fits with my big round eyes.
My eyes flutter closed again as I reach the point of relaxation one only finds while palm trees sway in the wind next to you. Nothing back home in New York City is this quiet and calm.
A quick slap to my upper arm stings my already sun-touched skin and I jerk in reflex. The sunglasses fall from the top of my head and land on the bridge of my nose. I rub the sore spot and then turn my head Mom’s direction as I fix the ponytail keeping my shoulder-length hair up. Her hand reaches out again, striking me in the arm with repeated flicks.
“Simone. Look at the guy in the blue shorts at the bar. See him? He needs some body work, but he looks smart. I bet he’s a doctor. Go order me a drink and bump into him.”
I’m not sure what possesses me, but against my better judgment I lift my head and look at the “doctor” Miss Matchmaker points out. His medical status is in question, but he might be a werewolf. He could at least play one for Halloween. Thick curly black hair covers the man’s chest and arms all the way down to his legs. His gut hangs over the top of his blue swim trunks with hair covering the area where a belly button ought to be visible. I send up a silent prayer he won’t turn around and confirm my suspicions about a hair forest on his back as well. None of us need to see that.
“Mom!” There aren’t enough words to express how horrifying her latest suggestion is.
She stops her perusal of the meat selection at the poolside bar long enough to meet my gaze. “What? Sweetheart, we’re trying to help you. It’s possible you might catch more than a tan on this vacation if you put a little work into it.” She flips her striking hand out again and I flinch, but she doesn’t get closer to my already battered arm.
Between Hearts: A Romance Anthology Page 20