“Charlize.” I step backwards, over my clutch so that it’s in between us. Nodding at it, I say, “I need you to please pick that up so we can get my emergency kit out of it.”
“Your emergency kit? You really think this dress can be fixed?”
My eyes widen in horror. “Don’t you say that! Now is not the time to give up, Owen. If I have to walk in front of my mother again tonight, she will not be seeing my ass swinging in the wind.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Are you Dougall’s or Poppy’s? I’m guessing if your mother is here, you must be family of one of them.”
“Poppy’s. You?”
“Dougall and I went to school together.”
His words catch me off guard a little. Owen has to be late twenties, early thirties at the most, which means he’s been friends with Dougall for a long time. I feel that says a lot about a person—that they look after and take the time with their friends to keep that friendship going. I probably read too much into it—God knows I often do—but I’ve been burnt by old friends one too many times to not think there’s something sacred about old friendships.
He passes me my bag. Finally. However, my run of shitastic luck continues, and I fumble as his hand brushes mine, resulting in me dropping the bag. Tampons, condoms, and cash scatter across the floor. None of those things catch Owen’s attention. No, it’s my Motley Crue vibe and my small notebook that draw his gaze.
His lips pull up in a smile as he turns to face me again. “Motley Crue? I wouldn’t have picked you for them.” He bends to retrieve the notebook. “This looks interesting.”
I snatch it from him as he straightens. Really, the only thing worse that could happen right now would be my mother walking in and finding me with this notebook full of drawings of dicks and sex acts. That I’m standing next to the hottest man on earth, in a toilet cubicle, holding said book, is mortifying. It’s the kind of book a teenager would own, not a twenty-seven-year-old woman. And why the hell are we still smooshed together in this cubicle?
“My bestie gave it to me. And for your information, the Motley Crue vibe was a joke between Poppy and me.” I hold the bullet up. “And also for your information, you’d be surprised what I can do to a man with this.”
Poppy is deader than dead after this fiasco. And Dylan, my bestie, is, too. They will now have to spend the rest of their lives listening to me complain about the night I met the man who could have become the father of my children, only to watch him walk away laughing because he thinks my vagina has a thing for Motley Crue. And that I carry around a book of smut.
His eyes twinkle. “I bet I would.”
I try to ignore the butterflies that just whooshed through my tummy. Owen is way too close for my comfort. I mean, if we were about to get it on, sure, this would be awesome. But we’re not, so he needs to take a step back because I’m concerned I might throw myself at him if he doesn’t. And that would be all kinds of embarrassing.
It’s his eyes.
I have a thing for eyes.
They’re the bluest of blue. Like, I wanna swim in them they’re so blue. And I want him to come swimming with me. Naked. We should have no clothes on while we do all that swimming together.
“I can’t say I did,” he says.
His deep voice snaps me back to attention, and my heart stutters when I realise my hand is on his cheek. I blink and quickly remove my hand. “What?”
What, exactly!
What the fuck was I thinking when I touched him? And how did I not even know I was doing that? This man has some kind of voodoo magic power over me. And I just bloody met him! I’m losing my damn mind.
“You asked me if I realised my eyes looked like the ocean at Shipwreck Beach. And then you said something about going swimming with me there. Where is it?”
“Holy mother of…. Fuck… shit…. No, just ignore me.” Words fall out of my mouth at a horrifying rate of knots. I’m helpless to control them.
He chuckles, and the lines around his eyes are etched deeper into his skin. I could stare at those lines for hours. I’m always fascinated by the lives people live, and to me, the lines on someone’s face tell a story.
“Are you always this intriguing?”
I still. No one has ever called me intriguing before. Chaotic, awkward and compulsive, yes, but not that. My belly fills with a warmth that almost takes away all my mortification over everything that has transpired tonight.
Smiling up at him, I give him my truth—something I don’t usually give this easily. Owen has managed to catch me off guard and since we’ll never see each other again, I feel safe doing this. “That’s not a word used when referring to me. Most people, well, besides Dylan and Poppy, think I’m an oddball. Kooky. I mean, usually I’m not dressed in such a traditional dress that makes me look like everyone else, so I guess you could be forgiven for thinking I’m like everyone else. But I’m not. So yeah, I’m gonna take intriguing as a compliment.”
He smiles big again and good Lord above, it’s a movie-star smile if ever I saw one. Nodding, he murmurs, “Yes, intriguing is a compliment, and I think it’s the exact right word for you.” His gaze roams my face as he speaks. It’s like he’s trying to get a read on me, in much the same way I’m trying to get one on him.
“Shipwreck Beach is also called Navagio Beach. It’s in Greece. You should go there sometime. The water is so blue. It’s one of my favourite places in the world.”
“I’ll check it out.”