Reeling in Love

by Gloria Herrmann

  Am I okay with that?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Nope, you gotta take it off. Those are the rules,” Owen said with an evil smirk on his lips as he raised his beer bottle to his mouth.

  He was enjoying things a little too much as he watched her like a hungry wolf. She had been scammed, played and now was nearly naked. Strip poker was obviously not her game, after all.

  “You suck,” Molly spat as she peeled off yet another article of clothing. This time it was her jeans that had to go. She slowly pushed them over her hips. Her shoes, socks and soon jeans, in a neat pile on the floor, were proof she was terrible at the game.

  “I could totally make an inappropriate remark, but I won’t.” He took another swig from his bottle as his eyes stayed trained on her.

  “You lied and I demand a rematch.” Molly made a point of wiggling a little more than necessary. She might as well make this fun and torture Owen a bit while she was at it.

  “You said you were good at poker, so I guess you lied, too,” Owen pointed out casually, raising his eyebrows as he saw the sheer black panties that Molly revealed when she stepped out of the jeans and added them to the rest of her lost garments. “Damn. I’m so glad you’re terrible at this game, babe.”

  Molly shuffled the cards, cut the deck then started to deal the next hand. She grabbed her bottle of beer and swallowed. Get your game face on, girl. You got this.

  It had been almost a week since Molly had been to his home. Here she was, nearly naked…again. It had been a week since they’d first slept together. The magic of the weekend before had lingered all week long, but real life had resumed. Work for Owen meant early to bed and early to rise. Molly had completed a couple more book covers and had landed a couple of huge clients who she was scheduling within the next couple weeks.

  But real life hadn’t endangered this new relationship so far. They had managed to call and text, and Owen had continued his ritual of bringing coffee to Molly’s studio in the afternoon. They had gone out to dinner once during the week and had ordered takeout at her apartment one night. Molly found herself thinking about him all the time, checking her phone more than ever, seeing if he’d messaged her. He had even started to invade her dreams at night. They varied from over-the-top hot and sexy, all the way to downright boring, mundane stuff. Either way, Owen was constantly in her thoughts.

  It was now Saturday night and they were sitting at his dining room table, an assortment of snack food surrounding them—nothing healthy, so much for her diet. She’d been fairly good all week. Even the previous night at Tiffany’s house she hadn’t over-eaten, which was hard as it had been all about fish ‘n chips, one of her favorites. French fries were the devil—granted, a greasy, delicious devil.

  “You really need to work on that gorgeous poker face, babe,” Owen said as he won again.

  “Ugh, this game would be a lot more fun if you lost a couple hands.” Molly pouted. Off came her T-shirt, a snug V-neck that showed her figure in a flattering way, which meant it was slimming. Into the pile it went.

  “I can’t help it that I’m so good. But for you, I’ll lose the shirt.” He lifted his ancient Seattle Supersonics basketball team shirt over his head.

  Damn, that man shouldn’t ever wear a shirt. She loved his chest. It was muscular, but just the right amount. His abs were one of her favorite features. They were etched under a fine layer of dark hair.

  They sat there, both topless. Well, she still had her matching black bra on, but she knew it wouldn’t be for much longer.

  “Isn’t this better? It feels a bit fairer, doesn’t it?” Molly asked, grabbing a corn chip.

  “Yeah, a little. But you know what would be even more fun?”

  “Hmm?” Molly eyed the cards he was dealing to her. Great, another crap hand. Okay, so maybe she didn’t have any clue how to really play this dumb game after all.

  “If we take this game into my bedroom,” Owen suggested, licking his lips again, like a hungry wolf. They hadn’t made love since the middle of the week, and he was acting like it had been months.

  “Nope. I plan on winning this one.” Molly bluffed, trying to make an overly happy face as she stared at her cards.

  “Really? You must finally have some good cards.”

  “Maybe.” She winked at him and silently prayed that she had fooled him.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to play her favorite indoor sport, but this had become more of an ego thing now. She’d practically lost every hand and was now only in her bra and panties. This was not how she planned to go out. He’d only lost his socks and now his shirt, which was a mercy removal and didn’t actually count.

  He folded, and just like that, his pants were off. “Now can we go?”

  “Just when I’m on a roll?”

  “You fooled me. My hand was better,” Owen said when he looked at her cards.

  “Isn’t that the point of this game? Bluffing?” Molly asked in her sweetest voice.

  “Okay, next hand, let’s up the ante.”

  Molly eyed him suspiciously. “Like, add money?”

  “Nope, all clothing.”

  “I’m game.” She flicked her bra strap at him and watched as he bit his lip.

  The cards were dealt and before she knew it, Owen folded.

  “What the hell?” Molly cried. He hadn’t even tried to win. He’d played her yet again.

  Owen moved to her side of the table in all his nude glory. “Look. We both win. Come here, you.”

  He was her jackpot, and she was going to enjoy her winnings.

  * * * *

  Molly was flipping through the Sunday morning paper. Her mind wasn’t focused on the black and white print in front of her. She’d had to reread an article a few times to try to comprehend what was even written. Molly’s brain was foggy. It matched the weather perfectly.

  Last night had been a lot of fun. Every time she was with Owen, that was how it was. But she hadn’t spent the night, nor had she the previous time she’d been there. Two for two. The way she saw things, it was that Owen hadn’t asked for her to stay. If he had, maybe then she’d sleep over. Is there a reason why? Doubt tried creeping in and Molly almost invited it to come inside.

  The relationship was new. Even as comfortable as they felt with each other, they had not been together very long. What exactly was she expecting, a marriage proposal? No, but maybe some guidelines as to how the whole slumber party thing was supposed to work. She didn’t want to just show up with her toothbrush in her hand and ask which drawer was now hers.

  Communication. It was so important and vital for a relationship to work. Maybe she should just ask. Ugh. She worried that if she didn’t express her concerns or thoughts now, she never would. Been there, done that, broke up. It was as though, if she didn’t speak up in the beginning, it would suddenly be too late. He’d have already stamped Welcome on her and she would be a doormat. All these thoughts over whether or not she should have asked about spending the night shouldn’t even be crossing her mind. Molly’s worries were probably fueled by her having had a lovely breakfast in bed following him sleeping over at her place. Somehow, she’d expected a similar turnout at his home. The bar had been set, and she was even thinking he would raise it. Instead, he’d told her to drive safely and had let her leave.

  Molly hated this part of a relationship—the drawing of lines in the sand, figuring out boundaries. What were hers? She hadn’t even really considered what she wanted or expected to get out of it. It literally had come out of nowhere, much like that fish. It had been unexpected and she was not at all prepared for something so wonderful. Molly had dated nearly half of Seattle. Not actually, but it felt like that sometimes. Finding a good cup of joe was a whole lot easier than finding a good man.

  She sipped her coffee. She’d just folded up the paper, giving up on trying to read, which she’d always enjoyed doing on Sundays. Molly exhaled loudly. What now? She had no plans for the day. There were things that needed to be done around
her place, like laundry. The overflowing hamper and lack of clean jeans kept reminding her that it was long overdue. Her apartment could use a good cleaning, too. She could scrub the shower, maybe even mop the floors or dust. She’d had a life before Owen, so why was she trying to find random tasks to keep herself occupied? Molly should just laze about and soak up the quiet time.

  Her cell phone buzzed and she noticed it was Owen. She was half-tempted not to answer, as though she needed to prove something to herself. God only knew what. Because what would be the point of not answering his call? What would that really solve, anyway? She wanted to talk to him. The devil on her shoulder tried to convince her that maybe she should make him suffer a little for not asking her to spend the night. They could be eating breakfast and staying in bed all day right now. The weather was perfect for it, foggy and cold. That sounded like all the makings of a snuggle fest to her. But Molly missed him. It hadn’t even been twelve hours since she’d seen him. Her body wanted him, but her heart needed him. She picked up the phone to answer.

  She was hopelessly in love.

  * * * *

  The rest of the week was more of the same, except that the weather was better, a lot better. Everywhere was being doused in ample sunshine. The overload of vitamin D had people acting more cheerful and friendlier than usual. The coffee shop and her ‘dealer’ barista that supplied her addiction every day had even thrown in a free cookie with her order today. Yeah, everyone was all sorts of happy, even Molly.

  Tomorrow was Friday. She had plans to hang out at Mackenzie’s place. It was Friendship Friday, after all. Despite their tradition, which had only been broken when Tiffany and Mackenzie fought or if one of them was sick, Mackenzie asked Molly earlier if she should clear it with Owen first. Her answer was simple—no. After being so conflicted on Sunday morning, Molly had decided to sort of slow things down a bit—not drastically by any means, but enough to keep from going all in so fast. She was hardly pumping the brakes on their romance. That much was evident when she’d gone over to Owen’s for dinner the previous night and had ended up as dessert again, but this time with actual chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Owen had gone as far as to toss a few sprinkles and a cherry on her. His own lil’ sundae and he’d licked every bit of sweetness off. Sticky and still a little horny, she’d gotten to discover just how much better his shower was than hers, too. It still didn’t compare to the Vegas one, though but his had more room to play in and a giant shower head that reminded her of a stainless steel sunflower.

  She’d explained it to Mackenzie over late afternoon coffee, that she was her own woman, that Owen didn’t own her. Molly had felt like she really had to sell it to her friend, like neither of them had totally bought what she was saying. Regardless, Friendship Friday was happening. If anything, it would be so she could brag about her new and improved sex life.

  She was proud of herself for taking her stand, so she shocked herself a bit later.

  “Yeah, we always do this little get-together on Fridays. You don’t mind, do you?” Molly found herself explaining to Owen. He’d stopped by, bringing some fish with him from Pike Place and wanting to cook her dinner.

  “It’s not that I mind. I just thought since I had tomorrow off, we could go out on the boat.”

  The disappointment in his voice made her cringe. Shit. Mackenzie had been right, per usual.

  “I can cancel, I guess.” The moment the words left her lips she regretted it. Am I really going to choose Owen over my girls?

  Owen gave her a weak smile, but it was obvious he was thrilled. “Only if you don’t mind.”

  But she did. Her resolve had collapsed. Her promise to her friends had been completely dismissed, and her argument to Mackenzie that she was her own woman was now gone.

  Her appetite had also vanished. She picked at the fish and felt Owen watching her.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I’m just not super hungry,” Molly replied, grabbing her wine glass and swirling the pale liquid absentmindedly.

  “What’s wrong?” Owen’s face was filled with concern. He set down his fork and waited for her to answer.

  “Nothing. I’m just tired,” she lied.

  “God, I hear that.” Owen yawned. He did look tired. The man worked hard, and now Molly felt guilty. He’d just wanted to make her dinner, when, in reality, he probably should be the one being cooked for.

  Molly recalled her mother always having dinner ready for her father by the time he walked in from work. She used to tell Molly that it was what a good wife did for her hardworking husband. Granted, Owen wasn’t her husband, but he was out there busting his ass. God knew her mother had tried to instill the values of being the perfect domestic goddess. What had happened? Molly wasn’t the domestic type. She didn’t own an apron or a cookbook. She didn’t even own a houseplant in fear of killing it. That was why she wasn’t married and didn’t have any children.

  The mood continued to shift to a quieter and more uncomfortable tension until Owen said goodnight. Molly ended up crawling into bed right after Owen left. She wrapped her blanket tightly around her, almost swaddling herself like a newborn. Tomorrow she would need to call Mackenzie and admit defeat. She felt tears starting to stream down her face. Her friends had explained to her that now that she was involved with someone, things would change. Molly had denied that it would. She’d refused to believe it or allow it. So these tears stemmed from the frustration she felt for failing her friends and for not having a backbone. That was how she saw it, anyway, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  * * * *

  “Oh, Molly, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not. I told you that I would be there.” Molly wiped away some leftover tears that decided to surface after she’d stayed up most of the night crying. She was an emotional train wreck. She was either crying or on the verge of it. God, am I already hitting menopause?

  “It’s not like you’re missing out on something important. You were there for me when I needed you.”

  Her sister’s death. They hadn’t discussed it since their Vegas trip that now seemed like a distant memory, and it hadn’t even been two months ago.

  Tiffany jutted out her bottom lip. “I don’t get why you’re so sad. I feel a little lost here. Wanna clue me in?”

  They were eating breakfast at a tiny diner close to Tiffany’s place. A hole-in-the-wall place that served the best waffles in all of Seattle.

  Mackenzie sighed and stirred her coffee. The cream she’d just added colored the dark brown into a light beige, much too light for Molly’s taste. It was like murdering coffee’s true personality—watering it down and changing its very purpose. Okay, perhaps she was being a little extreme and sentimental, but this was coffee she was talking about.

  “Molly seems to think that somehow by her not hanging out with us tonight, she’s becoming subservient or some nonsense. She’s concerned she will lose our friendship.”

  Tiffany still wore a confused expression on her face. “I don’t see how you going out with Owen tonight changes our friendship. Even if we never did another Friendship Friday, we’re your besties forever, Molly. We aren’t going anywhere just because you’ve got Owen now.”

  “She’s right. We’re like sisters. I’m thrilled you are finally happy, Molly. You know how much I wanted you to meet the right guy.” Mackenzie started to tear up. “And you did.”

  “And I told you that Owen was the one, didn’t I?” Tiffany asked as she popped a small square bite of pure golden and fluffy syrup-drenched perfection.

  “You did. But I don’t want us to lose this,” Molly said, her voice uneven, as she reached across the table and grabbed each of their hands. “You guys are my everything.”

  “We always will be, but Owen is something special, too.” Mackenzie looked away, wiping a stray tear that had fallen.

  “He is,” Molly said softly.

  “Oh, knock it off, you two. Good grief, this isn’t anything to be sad about. It’s the beginning of somethi
ng absolutely amazing.” Tiffany radiated complete optimism. That was why Molly adored her. She was their little ray of sunshine. “I just want to know which one of us gets to be the maid of honor and to be in the delivery room with you. I also think you should name your firstborn after me—just putting that out there. I’m going to be the cool aunt.”

  Nothing dried up sad tears quicker than laughter. Molly was relieved to know that her friends were not going to be left behind, not by a long shot. They weren’t going to allow it and they would always be her best friends. No relationship, marriage, or anything would change that. They were excited about the future—more than she was. They were already making plans for a nonexistent wedding and children that hadn’t even been conceived yet.

  They both might be pretty sure of everything, but Molly still had her doubts, even if Tiffany had said Owen was the one. How would she really know if she’d met Mr. Right and not Mr. Right Now? But who was she kidding? Of course Owen was Mr. Right. It was the idea of marriage and babies that terrified her. That damn self-doubt was trying to sneak in again.

  * * * *

  She dug her toes into the sand. Owen was sitting behind her with his arms wrapped around her. Molly had leaned back and was soaking up the moment. He kissed her neck, tenderly whispering some of the loveliest words that Molly had ever heard, and they were all for her.

  But nothing had made her smile more that day than when Owen pointed to a large piece of driftwood that looked familiar. Yet all the weathered and sun-stained logs all looked alike to Molly. “There, that one.”

  “Yeah, it’s lovely,” Molly replied. She had no idea where he was going with this.

  “Yes, it is, but it’s the first one that I took a picture of.”

  Ah, they were discussing photography. She was all ears now.

  “Is that the one from your bedroom?”

  He nodded, running his hand nervously through his black hair. The sunset was casting a romantic halo above him.