You Own Me (Owned 1)

“What are you doing?” Vic asked. He had a bad habit for abusing his landlord key.

Not obsessing over you or your naked body. “Nothing,” I replied, squinting my eyes to hide what I’d been thinking. Whenever I was with him, I felt like my brain was an open book.

“So, you're free?” Vic asked, slouching against the side of my door.

I bit the inside of my lip trying to compose myself. Compared to his cool and collected demeanor, I was a Tasmanian devil. Already I’d said I wasn't doing anything, but I could not hang out with him. I needed time to decompress and figure out what was going on inside my head. Obviously I was attracted to him. Fine. I was attracted to David Duchovny, but that didn't mea

n I thought we should be together. Anyhow, Vic was as attracted to me as David Duchovny knew I existed.

Being friends was tricky. No, being friends with Vic was tricky. I don't understand why I can't just be friends with him. I have male coworkers that I don't entirely loathe. Vic shouldn't be any different.

“Lenny?” Vic asked, straightening up a bit. “You've been sitting there silently for two minutes. Having a brain aneurysm?”

I suppose you're only allowed long internal monologues in movies, not in real life. “If I was, that's not really the appropriate response.”

“Are you free?” he repeated.

“Not exactly,” I said. I'm a chicken. He’d rejected me and now I was afraid of it happening again. Technically, he never said he wanted to be more than friends. But I pushed, he said no, and I got butthurt. Using nakedness as a weapon . . . tsk, tsk. I got what I deserved. I should be over it, but I'm not.

Continuing, I said, “I've got this really important bat mitzvah in a week, and I've got a lot of last-minute planning to do.” Yeah, bat mitzvahs are really hard to plan. It's not like every party does the exact same thing: superhero bar mitzvah, celebrity bat mitzvah… Ugh.

Vic studied me.

I swear, he can see right through me. Okay, I’ve already finished planning this fashion show bat mitzvah, however, it's not as though I'm entirely lying. I do have a lot of last minute details to finalize. I need to tell the baker it's spelled A-M-I-E-E not A-M-Y. Really important stuff.

But, let’s face it: I’m lying because I don’t trust myself around Vic. I am worried I’ll do or say something that would let him know I am still attracted to him. Completely head-over-heels attracted. I love being around Vic, his stillness calms my choppy waters. I don’t want to lose that because I’d been behaving like some drunk and horny teenager at the cabin.

“Okay,” Vic finally said.

For a moment I thought he was angry, but then he smiled. He has the most beautiful smile. It outlines his gorgeous, square jaw. When his smile reaches his eyes (and this time it did), I can’t help but feel it at all over my body.

“I'll see you later.” Vic stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind himself.

I decided to go out and get over my obsession with Vic. No one knew that was the reason why I was going out, but that’s why. I also decided to introduce Lissie and Zoe to each other; thinking they would get along famously. So, it was just us girls out on the town.

“I'm fine!” I repeated for the umpteenth time.

“That's your tenth shot,” Lissie said, eyeing my now empty shot glass.

“Do I look drunk?” I countered.

Zoe pursed her lips, “Well no, but that's kind of what's worrying us. Are you a closet alcoholic?”

I glared into the empty glass. Little drops of whisky glinted on the bottom. “Fine, I won't have any more. Just water. Okay?” If they knew I was out tonight because atomic bomb Vic blasted me away leaving nothing but a shadow of what-could-have-been, I don't think they'd be griping. But they don't, and I'm not going to tell them. Lissie and Zoe both nodded cautiously.

“We're just out having fun. I don't want to make you uncomfortable,” I said a little too tersely. I just wanted to forget everything. Every single goddamn thing that had put me on this barstool.

Cool, wet breath teased my neck. I was about to turn around and tell the person to fuck off when the owner of aforementioned breath asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

I can't believe people still use that line. But it works, so I guess that's why they do. I shifted on my seat to see who was using it on me. He was handsome enough, not really my type, but he'd do the job. He had thick blonde hair and puppy dog brown eyes. His jaw was a little weak, but his gaze was calculating. The way he looked at me, I could tell that if I said “No” it wouldn't ruin his night. He was a numbers guy.

“Yes,” I responded. “I'm having a Seven and Seven.” That was about the time I stopped paying attention to Lissie and Zoe, and started paying attention to my buzz. And Brown Eyes.

Brown Eyes, who I learned had the first name of Steve, and I didn't waste any time. After I downed the Seven and Seven he bought me, I said goodbye to the girls and he and I got a cab. He was on me the minute the cab door shut. Sloppy, and tasting like pretzels and beer, I wanted to tell him to shove off, but I knew I had to do this. I needed to do this to forget Dean and get over the weird connection with and dependency on Vic that I had developed.

Steve was terrible. It was no surprise he stuck to one-night lays. His caresses could only be described as groping, and his hands were like paws. His tongue felt like a slug sliding across my mouth. Nevertheless, I felt that if I slept with him it would be some kind of rebirthing for me. A way to wipe the slate clean. Rebirthing wasn't supposed to be pleasant, anyway.

We tumbled out of the cab, drunk and (only one of us) horny. I pulled him into my building and pressed the elevator’s up button. When we got inside the elevator, he was immediately all over me. The “hot and heavy in the elevator” scene isn't sexy when the other person isn't into it. All I kept thinking was “Seriously?” He was like toddler with a new toy. Slobbering, groping, and biting all over it.