Four Years Later
Page 16

Uh-oh. Here come the personal questions. “No,” I say, shaking my head.
“You’re an only child?”
“Yes.”
He studies me, his gaze narrow, trying to figure me out, I’m sure. “You don’t like talking about your family?”
I shrug. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Hey. I get it,” he says softly, then takes a sip of his soda.
And that’s it. He doesn’t press, doesn’t ask for more. I almost want to collapse with relief. He makes me feel so wonderfully normal.
“So you never did tell me how it was,” Owen says as he pushes his empty bowl away from him. For someone who’s as fit as he is, he can certainly pack it away.
“How what was?” I’m stuffed. I did my best to finish everything but as usual, my eyes were bigger than my stomach and my bowl is still practically half full.
“Your dinner. With the magical, crazy I’ve-never-tried-this-before sauce.” He smiles.
“Oh.” Crap. I almost hate admitting how delicious it was. “It was all right.”
“Uh-huh. You didn’t finish it.” He nods toward my bowl.
“I’m full. I guess I don’t have a big appetite like you do.” I wave my hand toward his very empty bowl.
“Hmm.” He snatches up my bowl and takes a bite that consists mostly of noodles. The look of pleasure that crosses his face is unmistakable. “Damn, this is good. Better than mine.”
“Give me a break. I pretty much copied you.” I roll my eyes.
He laughs and continues to eat my dinner. Where does it all go? “Maybe you have the special touch. Because this shit is amazing.”
I watch, enraptured with everything about him. He laughs and talks and eats like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but I know that’s somewhat of a façade. What Owen wants all of the world to see. There’s more beneath the surface. I can sense it, have seen glimmers of it, though he’s pretty secretive.
But then again, so am I.
My gaze drops to his lips, and I see the tiny bit of mushroom clinging to the corner. “You have something right there. On the corner of your mouth.” I point right at his face and he smirks, a sexy glow lighting his eyes as he studies me.
“Yeah? Maybe you should lick it off, then,” he suggests.
Now I’m really shocked. “Are you serious?”
He tilts his head. Doesn’t bother removing the bit of vegetable hanging off his lip and I swear it’s taunting me. Just begging me to lean over the small table and lick the corner of his mouth. “What do you think?” he asks.
“No. You’re definitely not serious.” There’s just … no way.
“What if I told you yes, I was?”
“I wouldn’t believe you.”
Owen
Well, she should believe me because I’m dead-ass serious. We’ve been going in circles all night. Dinner was good, though it got tense at one point with the pot talk. But that quickly became a non-issue and I actually talked to her. Told her a little about my private life, and I never do that. I’m not one to open up, especially with girls.
She hardly said anything. I’d try to ask her a question and she’d deflect it with another. Or she’d give me those bogus one-word answers. I thought I was secretive. This girl won’t give an inch, no matter how subtle my questions, or how blatant. No information about her family, where she’s from, nothing. I figured out she’s from the Bay Area and that’s about it.
I want to know more.
We’ve been flirting, having fun. I like giving her shit for going out on a limb and breaking a rule here and there. She’s so damn orderly and in control, she needs to learn how to let loose. Be free. I might be a little too free sometimes, but that’s better than being so rigid you don’t know how to enjoy life.
I think Chelsea’s been on such a tight schedule of studying, working, then studying some more, she doesn’t know how to relax. And I want to help her. I want her to relax.
With me.
Since I know there’s no way in hell Chelsea’s going to lick my freaking face in the middle of a restaurant, I’m ready to go. Take her for a drive and kiss her in the quiet confines of my car. Wade’s home tonight and has a few friends with him. I bet Des is there, too. They’re probably drunk as f**k or worse, high as kites.
Forget that shit. I need to avoid it.
I grab a napkin and wipe the mushroom off my face, ending that little discussion. I’m over it. It’s time to kick this date into the next level. “You ready to go?”
Chelsea nods and tosses her napkin on the table before she stands, her purse slung over her bare shoulder since that sexy-as-hell sweater slipped again. She did something to her hair between the time I saw her at school and picking her up at her place. Gorgeous waves that fall past her shoulders tempt me to run my fingers through her silky hair. Cup the back of her neck and draw her in close. So close our lips are almost touching but not quite. I want to breathe her breath, anticipate the kiss for long, trembling seconds before I finally move in and close the deal.
I have never been patient. If I’m interested in a girl, I go for it. There’s no holding back. But with Chelsea, I’m taking it slow. I’m afraid I’ll scare her.
More than anything, I’m scared I’ll somehow f**k it up. I … like her. A lot. I actually want to spend time with her, and that’s not normal for me.
At all.
I follow her out of the restaurant, resting my hand on her lower back when we walk outside. She’s warm, even through the thick fabric of her sweater, and I slip my hand down slightly, wishing I could slide it over her backside.
But I wait.
The night air is cold and misty; a high, thin fog has settled in, and little sparkles of moisture dot her hair by the time we end up at my car. I open the door for her, feeling all gentlemanly for once in my life, but then all thoughts of being a gentleman fade as I study her ass when she slides into the passenger seat.
Get it together, Maguire, I tell myself as I round the front of my car and open the driver’s door, slipping inside.
“Where to now?” she asks, chewing on her lip in that nervous way she has as she reaches for the seat belt.
“Can’t go to my place unless you want to deal with Wade, and most likely Des.” I start the car and let the engine idle. “They’re both there, and I’m sure other people are over, too.” They can’t ever be alone. Always got to turn everything into a party.
“Oh.” More chewing of the lip. Poor thing. I should probably kiss it and make it better. “My roommate’s home and I think she was having her new so-called boyfriend over, so that probably won’t work.”
“So-called boyfriend?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s a casual thing that I think she wants to make serious.”
“Ah.” Sounds familiar. I’ve been that guy not willing to make it serious.
I’ve never been in a real relationship, ever. Mom screwed me up in that regard. Though seeing Drew and Fable through the years made me realize that a solid love can last, I’m still full of doubt.
Insecurities. I’m a mess. What girl would really want to deal with me? What with my mommy issues and minor drug problem, I’m no prize.
“Since we can’t go home, want to go for a drive?” I ask her.
She turns her body toward mine, her scent wafting in the air, making me inhale as discreetly as possible. “Where to?”
Damn, she smells good. I could breathe her in all night. “I know a place that has a great view of the city. No one will bother us up there.” I might have parked in that very spot a few times in high school. Always taking a girl with me, it was somewhere private where we could make out and I could possibly get my hand up her shirt or in her panties. No worries about the cops coming by unless we happened to be up there past midnight.
I haven’t been to that spot in a couple of years. Once I graduated high school and got my own place, there was no need to sneak around. Why fool around in the backseat of a car when you can get busy and na**d in the comfort of your own bed?
But I’m not getting busy and na**d with Chelsea tonight. So I’m looking forward to this.
“Okay.” She runs her tongue over her lower lip, then smiles. “Let’s do it.”
I can read all sorts of things in her “let’s do it” statement but I ignore the urge. Instead I smile, reach out, and give her knee a gentle squeeze. “Let’s do it,” I murmur, making her cheeks flush as she turns away from me and stares out the passenger-side window.
I see the mysterious little smile that curves her lips, though. And I know without a doubt I am definitely kissing Chelsea before the night is through.
CHAPTER 11
Chelsea
Owen drives us out of the city limits and heads up the Skyway, a road I’ve traveled maybe twice since I moved here. But he’s a local, he’s grown up in the area and he knows his way around, all the little-known roads and spots with the best views.
I’m not stupid. We’re not driving to this spot with the awesome view to check out the twinkling lights of the city. I might not have much experience, but even I know that a girl and guy going to park in an isolated spot to check out the view are going to end up making out.
I both can’t wait and am quietly freaking out.
Neither of us really talks during the drive. We listen to the radio. Owen has it on one of those specialty satellite stations that only plays nineties rock. One song comes on in particular and he turns it up¸ a little wisp of a smile curling his lips.
“Candlebox. This song reminds me of being a little kid,” he says wistfully. “My mom loved this band.”
I’ve never heard of them, but Mom always preferred listening to top-forty-type stuff. Grunge rock was not a part of my growing-up playlist whatsoever. “I like his voice,” I say sincerely. It’s a pretty good song, and I’ve come to realize my tastes have changed over the years. I’ve come into my own, found things I like versus what my parents had me listening to, reading, watching … whatever.
“The words remind me of you,” he says softly.
I turn to look at him, shock washing over me. “How?”
“The song is called ‘Blossom.’ Since you told me your middle name is Rose, every time I hear the words rose or flower, blossom, or bloom, I think of you.” His smile grows, but he’s not looking at me. Just tapping the edge of the steering wheel to the beat of the music, his smile growing as he drives in the dark, cold night.
There’s nothing dark or cold about his admission, though. My heart is thumping so hard I’m afraid he can hear it, and I wish I could say something as sweetly poetic as he just did.
Instead I remain quiet and listen to the words of the song. It’s sad, about love and loss, and I wonder what he means by the song making him think of me. Is it only because of the title? Or does he really think we’ll be over before we’ve even begun?
As usual, I read too much into it and worry.
When we finally arrive at our destination, I’m a bundle of nerves. Owen shuts off the car and puts it in park, then turns to look at me. “You cold?”
“I’m okay.” My breaths are coming quick, and I swear I need to get it together before I hyperventilate.
“Want to go outside? I know it’s kind of cold but if we sit on the hood of the car, it’ll warm us up.” He glances in the backseat. “I have a hoodie back there if you want to borrow it.”
“Why do you want to get out?” I keep my gaze locked on the windshield, impressed with the view before us. We’re above the fog line and we can still see the city since the fog is thin and seems to float like a lacy, see-through curtain over town.
“We can see the view even better outside.” I turn to look at him and he’s got that charming, you’ll-do-anything-I-ask look on his face. “Come on, Chels. Live a little, remember?”
“All right.”
“You won’t regret it,” he says, reaching between the seats to grab the hoodie he promised from the backseat. His shoulder brushes against me with the movement and his head is so close to mine, I could reach out and touch his hair.
Instead, I clutch my hands together in my lap.
“You want to use this?” He holds the black hoodie out toward me and I take it, my fingers curling into the cool cotton. It smells like him, fresh and tangy sweet with that hint of spice. I wish I could hold it to my face and inhale.
He’d think I was a total freak.
“Maybe,” I say, holding the sweatshirt close. “Thanks.”
He flashes me a smile, then climbs out of the car and I do the same, meeting him in the front. I stare at the car’s hood, wondering how in the world I’m going to get on there without looking like a complete fool, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip, wincing when I hit a particularly sensitive spot.
I’ve been chewing on my lip a lot lately, I guess.
“Never crawl onto the hood of a car before?” he asks.
I turn to look at him, feeling like a dope. “Not really.”
“Need some help?”
“Uh …” I turn back to face the car, contemplating my choices. “I’m not—”
Owen grabs hold of my waist before I can even finish the sentence and I squeal, shocked that he’s lifting me off my feet and setting me on top of the car as if I weigh nothing. He settles me on the hood and I scramble backward, my feet slipping on the slick painted surface, but I’m careful, not wanting to put a dent in his nice car. Thankfully I don’t slide right off and I plant my hands on either side of me, bracing my body as best I can.