But there’s nothing logical about relationships. I’ve learned that quickly, seen it my entire life. Actions speak way louder than words, right? I definitely learned that by watching my father, especially these last few years, before he ended up in jail.
He made so many promises. Ridiculous, unbelievable promises that I always, always wanted to believe. He told Mom again and again how much he loved her, needed her, wanted her, always with a smile and a reassuring hug, a gentle kiss. She believed every word he said, ever the faithful, devoted wife while he was off running around stealing money, having affairs, being the awful, immoral liar he truly was.
He said one thing and did another. All the flowery words in the world can’t hide a black, emotionless heart.
Whereas Mom loves to pretend she’s the one with the black, emotionless heart that feels nothing. That she hates men. It’s all a lie. She’s in denial. She always believes every single word Dad tells her.
It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic. He is, too.
So I need to watch Owen’s actions, not his words. We say things as a way of pretending we feel something else. Maybe that’s what he meant when he told Fable we were just friends.
Maybe he wants us to be something more.
Either that or I’m completely reaching.
Grabbing the sample of body lotion on the counter, I slather it on, using practically the entire bottle. The subtle, lemony scent is delicious, and a little smile curves my lips. When I finally wrap the hotel robe around my body, I’m cozy and warm. More than ready to slide beneath the sheets and go to bed.
With Owen.
Hmm. The idea of doing that has me suddenly wondering. It’s not going to be so easy to go to bed and fall asleep, with him lying beside me all night long. What was I thinking? I may be all sleepy and content at this very moment, but the second he comes back into the hotel room, my heart rate will pick right back up and I’ll be extremely aware of the fact that I have nothing on under this robe.
Alone. In a hotel room with Owen. He could grab hold of the robe belt, slowly untie it, and peel the fabric away from my body. Find me naked and warm, my skin soft and lemony, my body languid and ready for him to take me …
Oh God, what am I thinking? No way can I give up my body to him yet. It’s too soon. I want to, though. Despite my worry, I definitely, definitely want to explore more with Owen.
Exhaling slowly for courage, I open the bathroom door, the steam billowing out into the room. I peek my head around the corner of the door frame but I’m greeted with complete and utter silence, the only sound the low murmuring of the room’s heater.
I’m hot enough. I don’t need that thing running to make me hotter.
I walk into the room and flick off the heater, then grab my purse from the tiny desk. Pulling my cell phone out, I send Kari a quick text, letting her know I’m safe and we’re staying the night in the city and that I would be home in the morning. She immediately replies:
Gonna get some with the sex bomb huh? Don’t forget to use protection!!!
I roll my eyes and reply. Of course she’d think Owen and I got a hotel room for a night of illicit, out-of-control sex.
My body aches at the thought.
I don’t think so. I’m exhausted and don’t feel very good. Have a terrible headache.
I bet he could cure whatever ails you. With his big ol …
Don’t say it! I type back.
A giggle escapes me. God, Kari can be so crude sometimes. I know she does it to freak me out. She texts back a few minutes later, when I’m curled up on top of the giant bed, leaning against the fluffy pillows and anxiously awaiting Owen’s return.
Have fun. Get naked. Live a little.
I smile. Maybe I should take Kari’s advice.
Though I doubt I will. I’m too chicken.
And deep down inside? I’m still too hurt.
CHAPTER 14
Owen
I am such a complete ass**le. I snuck back outside to my car after I left the hotel room and dug around in the trunk until I found half a joint. No way can I go back into the car and light it up. The smell of weed will permeate the interior and Chelsea will figure out quick that I did this. She’s not stupid.
So I’m standing out in the rain, getting pelted with tiny, stinging droplets of water, my hoodie doing a crap job of keeping me dry as I cup my hand around the lit joint to protect it from going out. I take a couple of puffs, trying to clear my mind and ease the tension because I am so tight inside, I feel like I’m going to burst.
It does the trick. Within minutes, I’m high as f**k, my body and brain numb, not caring in the least that I’m soaking wet as I run back through the parking lot and enter the hotel.
My mind is clear. Blank. That’s all that matters.
Hanging out in the lobby, I quickly text Fable and let her know we’re okay and spending the night at a hotel about an hour out from where we left them. I then go in search of and eventually find the tiny gift shop in the hotel, lucking out since they’re just about to close. I grab a couple of toothbrushes and a toothpaste, a travel-sized brush for Chelsea since she has all that hair, and a small bottle of pain reliever for her headache.
Yeah, see? I can be a good guy when I want to. Thoughtful. Nice. So why in the hell is Chelsea so mad at me? What did I do?
You said you were just friends.
Big f**king deal. Chicks can be so sensitive.
After I pay for the supplies, I head back up to our room, dread making my footsteps feel heavy despite my still blissfully blank mind. I should just confront her. Demand to know why what I said in some offhand way was enough to flip her mood like a switch from totally on to completely off. I stand outside the door, staring at the card key clasped in my fingers, zoning out so hard I nearly fall against the door.
Fuck. Whatever was in that joint was some extra-good shit. Maybe it would be best if I didn’t confront her. I might say something infinitely awful.
I open the door after about the fifth try and stride inside, setting the gift shop bag on the bathroom counter. I notice that it’s still warm and steamy from Chelsea’s shower and the faint scent of lemon lingers in the air.
My imagination runs wild. A naked Chelsea beneath the water, her skin all slick and wet and tempting me to touch her.
Yeah. Fuck. That sounds just about perfect. Wish I’d come back sooner. Maybe I could have found her like that.
Instead I find Chelsea lying in the middle of the bed on her side wearing a thick white robe, her legs tucked up, her body curled into a ball. Her long, wet hair is spread out on the pillow, her eyes are closed, and her rosebud lips are parted in sleep.