Oops. My bad. Sometimes the memory chip goes faulty. “But he liked them too,” I add, since the topic of exes is definitely non-flirting territory and I need to walk all over it. It’s perfect for a reset to FriendshipLandia.
“Because I did. Why are you asking whether he liked them?”
“Just thinking about Ezra,” I say, and mayday, fucking mayday. What is wrong with my brain?
Owen laughs like I’ve gone mad. “And why are you thinking about my ex?”
“I didn’t like him. He wasn’t any . . . fun,” I say, since that’s true, and a safe enough topic.
“Ezra wasn’t fun enough? That was your issue with him?” Owen sounds incredulous.
“He never liked to hang out with the whole group. He wanted you all to himself,” I say, and once those words fall from my lips, they don’t sound much better than he wasn’t any fun.
“Let me get this straight. You didn’t care for him because he wanted to spend time with me alone, not because he was a possessive jackass who dumped me publicly in Las Vegas at a poker game?”
And I’m a dick. Quickly, I try to recover. “That’s what I meant. Shit. Sorry, Owen. He was a jackass. I hate him for how he treated you at the end.”
“I didn’t like how he treated me either,” he says, slumping back in his seat.
That’s interesting. Owen didn’t say at the end. “Do you mean how he broke it off, or just in general?”
Owen scrubs a hand across his jaw, staring off into the distance, maybe lost in thought. “Both?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” I ask gently.
“Well, you said you didn’t like him. Did you dislike him all along?” he asks in a tone stripped free of the usual sarcasm that drips between us. “Because I sure thought I liked him, but maybe I liked the intensity of him.”
“I can see that, I suppose. But still, I hate what he did in Vegas. Even if you liked him for a while, he didn’t deserve you. At all. You deserve better,” I say.
“Thanks. I think so too.”
“Why’d you stay with him so long?” I ask, since post-breakup, I was less concerned with rehashing the relationship, more concerned with taking Owen out to as many hockey games as I could—that’s his therapy. Sporting events, as well as cake, so I did my part, and mostly I tried to distract him by talking about things besides Ezra.
Maybe it’s time, though, to talk about his ex.
And surely this is still the safe zone.
Owen shrugs. “Good question. But I think maybe because he was possessive.”
Interesting. I wouldn’t have pegged Owen as wanting that.
That makes me wonder—if he were mine, could I give him that?
Stop, stop. You’re not in the running.
I keep my eyes on the road, going for nonchalance as I toss out: “Is that important to you? That kind of alpha you’re my man and no one better look at you approach?”
He laughs. “You sound like TJ imitating one of his characters.”
“Speaking of, I listened to the audiobook of TJ’s Happy Trail. So good. The guy they got to read that book has all kinds of sexiness in his pipes.”
“Samuel Park? Yes, the ladies and the dudes love him, TJ says.”
“No surprise there. But anyway, are you into that type? The uber alpha?” I’m crossing my fingers, hoping Owen says no. I’m not that type. I’m too . . . high-energy to be a typical alpha, even if I might be bossy in bed.
Might.
Who am I kidding?
I am bossy in bed.
But I’m not growly, grumpy, or possessive.
I just know what I like. To be in charge most of the time.
Owen shakes his head, lifts a hand, adjusts his glasses. He takes them off, cleaning them on his shirt. “No. I think it just made me feel wanted.”
My heart kicks a little harder. “And that’s important to you?”
Owen turns his face to me, glasses free. His deep blue eyes look even more vulnerable than usual, and they make my chest swirl with new sensations.
“Yes, it is,” Owen says. “I just don’t want to mistake possession for love again.”
His words ignite an unexpected flare of emotion in me. A spark of feelings for the man next to me. “You should be wanted. You should be loved. You should be with someone who wants you, and gets you, and understands you,” I say emphatically.
Owen smiles softly, but doesn’t put his glasses back on.
I shake my head, trying to let loose the pinpricks of feelings racing through me.
Want, love, need.
All these things I’m seeking, too, as I look for Mister Right.
“I’d like that,” Owen says, in a quiet but certain tone.
“Is that what you’re looking for most in a relationship?” I ask, pressing on. “I mean, I don’t want to put words in your mouth.”
Oh dear. The innuendo opportunities there.