I’m not sure what the hell I was thinking inviting Owen to stay. I’ve already made things awkward when I got pissed earlier. Sure, he deserved it but he also doesn’t owe me anything. We’ve hung out, we’ve kissed, we’ve … okay, so he really was a jerk. But we’re friends.
Kind of.
Okay, so more like friendly coworkers than anything.
Friendly coworkers who kiss.
Of course, I’m attracted to him and, if his flirtation is even fifty percent real, he’s attracted to me. But, attraction is one thing and the right to be jealous is another. Not that I was jealous per se. I mean, it was more frustrating that my friend was ignoring me. Yep, that’s it. It had nothing to do with the fact that he barely said two words to me and then moved on to a table of women. Women that felt the need to touch him. And lean on him. And … yeah, nothing to do with that.
Not at all.
I can admit when I’m pathetic—I’m pathetic. Then, he had to be nice and offer to check my house. I swear, the second I grabbed his shirt I almost wished there was someone or something in the house. Then I could see him flex the muscles I felt with each move he made. Who knew backs were an aphrodisiac? Not this girl.
I digress. Now I have a guy who has starred in one too many of my dreams over the last few weeks in my kitchen. By the sounds of things, he’s possibly making an actual meal. I need out of these clothes and into something comfortable. Doris’s Tavern was great and not overly crowded but they should really have their air-conditioning system looked at. I was sweating bullets the entire time.
My skin feels sticky, and as I peel my jeans from my skin I decide a shower is necessary. Once I’ve shimmied out of all my clothes and clipped my hair up to avoid getting it wet, I quickly remove my makeup and step under the spray of my shower. A quick lather and rinse off my skin and I feel a lot better.
Since I’ve been in here longer than expected, I grab a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top. While I’m carrying around more than the average gal in the chest area, I can still get away with a fitted tank and normally I am able to go bra-free. But, considering how a simple touch from Owen tends to send shivers down my spine, I slip on a bra to avoid any nipple action. Once I’ve pulled on the tank top and let my hair down, I make my way back to the kitchen.
As I approach the doorway to the kitchen I know Owen has chosen my “Chill” playlist as Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran begins playing. I love this song and sometimes I sit on the back deck with a glass of wine and look up at the beautiful night sky while it plays. I want everything this song embodies. I want an all-encompassing love. A love that takes my breath away. Love from a man who can hold me and right my upside-down world with only a simple touch.
I need to stop reading so many romance novels, clearly my mind is clouded by fiction. Except that a romance novel leading man is standing in my kitchen. Unaware of my presence, Owen is singing along to the song and putting together what looks like an amazing platter of snacks. I notice he’s pulled out the ingredients for martinis and has them out next to my shaker and two glasses. How long was I changing?
I clear my throat to alert Owen of my presence and he looks up from slicing cheese to smile at me. I swear the room spins and my heart begins racing at a rapid pace. I’m frozen in place as Owen assesses me. He starts his slow and lingering gaze at my wiggling toes, up my legs, and stopping slightly at my chest before settling at my eyes.
My chest tightens and I quietly gasp. The electricity between us is monumental. A tightness in my chest causes me to exhale, a move that releases the tightness into a thousand butterflies in my stomach.
Holy attraction, Batman.
“Sorry that took so long.” I walk over to where Owen’s standing at the island and lean across to see what he has out on the platter.
“It’s okay, I heard the shower turn on and figured you’d be a few minutes. I managed to put together a little snack for us but decided you need to make me one of those dirty martinis you love so much.”
“Oh, you decided, did you? How did you know what ingredients I needed?” I grab a grape from the platter and pop it in my mouth while smirking. Okay, flirting. I’m flirting, not smirking. It’s like I can’t help it. I need to help it. He was a jerk and I’d be a fool to let him off the hook so easily.
Owen picks up his phone and waves it toward me. “Bartender app. There’s some weird shit on here. Who wants to drink a ‘Duck Fart’?” The look on his face reminds me of Cali when she sucked on a slice of lemon.
I laugh in response and grab the shaker from the counter and add some ice before I begin mixing the martinis. Owen finishes slicing the cheese and washes the knife before setting it in the drainer on the counter.
“Would you mind drying that and putting it in the block? I have little ones around here and can’t take the risk Arizona won’t try to cook one day.”
“Sure. Is that the squirt’s name? Arizona?”
“Yep. Didn’t you know that?”
“I’ve only heard you call her Ari. So, let me get this straight. You’re Minnesota, your sister is Dakota, and your niece is Arizona. I’m seeing a pattern.”
“You forgot Cali,” I say before raising the cocktail shaker over my shoulder and giving it a healthy shake.
“Don’t tell me her name is California.” Owen looks equally frightened and intrigued at the thought.
“Nah, just Cali. But, like the rest of us, she was named after the state she was conceived in. It’s really embarrassing but true. All of us except my brother were blessed with that tradition.”
Owen begins laughing a loud boisterous laugh as I fill the martini glasses with the cocktail and stab a few green olives with the plastic cocktail swords I keep. I slide a glass toward Owen as I take a sip.
Perfection.
I watch as he takes a tentative drink from his glass. I can tell he wasn’t expecting the tangy saltiness, but he likes it all the same. He’ll probably act nonchalantly at first, claiming it’s just okay, but he can’t fool me. I saw the way his eyes widened in appreciation.
“It’s not that funny. My parents were young and my sister loved us having non-traditional names growing up so she wanted to do the same with the girls. Plus, she’s an over-the-top Grey’s Anatomy fan and it was a great excuse for her to name the girls after two of her favorite characters. I’m not sure what her excuse would have been if she’d been in the south.” I watch as Owen takes another drink, a less timid one this time, and sets the glass down.
“This isn’t half bad. You make a good martini, Minnie.”
“Dirty.”
Owen sputters his drink, causing a coughing attack. I grab my sword of olives from my drink and slide one off with my teeth while I watch him compose himself.
“What?” His voice is raspy from his coughing so I walk around him and grab a glass from the dish drainer and fill it with some water before handing it to him.
“I said ‘dirty.’ It’s a dirty martini.”
“Oh. Yeah well, it’s good.”
I nod in response and pull out a few small plates from the cupboard before turning toward the living room. The small lamp is on in the corner casting a very dim light into the room. I choose to leave it that way, allowing the moonlight to fill the room. Setting the plates on the table, I sit down on the couch, pulling my feet up so my legs are crisscrossed, and sip on my martini while I wait for Owen. I’m not waiting long when he walks in the room, the tray of food in one hand and his martini in the other.
I’ve always appreciated a handsome man. Kent was handsome and I always found him attractive. But, there’s something about the way Owen carries himself that sends another feeling of desire through my body. A desire that has me grateful I replaced the batteries in my vibrator.
As he walks toward me, I can’t help but wish I was more aggressive. I wish I was the kind of girl that could make a move on a man. A man who, from what I’ve heard, knows exactly what it takes to make a woman feel desired.
“Do you want me to turn on a light?”
“Nah, I like sitting in the moonlight. When I was little I used to make wishes to the moon not the stars. I kind of feel like the moonlight is good luck. Besides, before I moved here, I only saw city lights at night. This is a welcome change.”
“Tell me about your life before you moved here.”
“There’s not much to tell. I was one of the lucky ones to find a job right out of college. I worked hard and started moving up in my department. I met a man, we dated and eventually, I moved in with him. My sister needed my help and when I asked him to help me with the girls he said thanks but no thanks and I found myself single and homeless.”
“What a dick.”
I shrug in response before taking a drink and setting my glass on the table. I fill the plate with a few crackers and cheese before leaning back into my spot. “It is what it is. Looking back, I should have known it wasn’t forever. He kind of came with the job and somehow, we just fell into a comfortable relationship that I misread as true love. I was young and naïve when I met him. I know better now.”
“What do you know?” Owen asks as he too fills a plate with crackers and cheese. Except, unlike my few pieces of each, he has piled his plate. Before I respond, I finish the last piece of cheese on my plate and pick up my glass. With one drink I empty the glass.
I stand and reach for Owen’s almost-empty glass. “I know that forever love and soulmates are what I read about in books. That isn’t real life. People don’t always stay for the hard times. I may never find a man to share a life with and I’m okay with that.”
I leave Owen on the couch while I go make us another round of drinks. I think about what I just said to Owen. Some days I believe that. I believe I may never find love. I want to believe in it, but I’m not sure I do. I see it every day on social media. Friends from college who share their picture-perfect lives for us to see, but facts are facts. Not all that perfection will last. Dakota is living proof.
Then, there are the single women I’m friends with on social media. I see their pictures and watch their statuses change throughout the week. Mornings at yoga, weeknights at happy hour, and weekends on dates. They stay busy, look great, and manage to put themselves out there. Nothing seems to bother them and they look happy. I bet if one of them were here in my house with Owen Butler wearing his perfectly fitted jeans and snug shirt sitting on the couch drinking a dirty martini, they’d make a move. They’d tell him it’s been months—okay closer to a year—since a man has made them scream out in ecstasy and they are frustrated.
Fine, they wouldn’t go a year and they probably aren’t frustrated. Whatever, kudos to them. I could be one of those women. I could walk in and seduce Owen. I can put his behavior earlier behind me.
I’m not looking for love. I don’t need forever. I don’t need a flurry of broken promises. I only need tonight. And, for all that is holy, a goddamn orgasm.
I’m capable.
I can be seductive.
I can do this.
I will do this.