“You are a dream, Owen Lawless,” I told him as he massaged my scalp, working the eucalyptus scented shampoo into my roots.
I angled my head, and he bent to kiss me, murmuring against my lips, “And you’re better than any reality I could’ve imagined.”
I knew he wasn’t going anywhere, that we were still going to see each other and figure out everything that came next together, but it was still strange to be leaving his house that morning—even if we were leaving together. It was almost like leaving summer camp, returning to reality after spending a weekend in a magical bubble where only we existed.
Our drive from his house to Overtime where my car had sat all weekend was quiet, though he gripped my hand tightly, absently drawing circles on the back with his thumb.
When he parked, he angled himself in the seat to face me.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me this isn’t over when this bubble pops. Promise me you’re still mine once you open that door.”
My heart melted to a puddle in my chest and sank to my toes. Without a word, I climbed over the center console and settled myself in his lap, clasping his face between my hands and pressing my mouth to his. Once. Twice. Three times. Mentally punctuating three words I wasn’t ready to say but definitely felt all the same. His hands tangled in my hair, holding me close ashe exhaled deeply.
“As long as you promise you’re mine too,” I whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere, Whiskey,” he said. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ll remind you every day if that’s what you need.”
“And I you,” I promised.
Before I could retreat to my seat and get out of the car, Owen’s hands settled on my hips, keeping me rooted in place.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he blurted.
“Was there a question in there?” I asked cheekily.
Owen chuckled then said, “Delia Delatou, would you do the honor of going on a dinner date with me?”
“I would love to,” I said, tapping his nose. “Name the time and place, QB, and I’m yours.”
“Friday,” he said. “Birdie’s at seven. I’ll come pick you up.”
“Absolutely not,” I protested. “You don’t have to drive all the way up there for that.”
“I would drive a million miles for you, Delia. A quick trip up the peninsula to get my girl is nothing. Besides, it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
I gave him a soft smile, my heart surely in my eyes. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.”
“I’m the one who should be saying that, actually,” he said, kissing me quickly. “Now you know I adore you, but I’m going to need you to get out of this truck before I haul you into the backseat and make you come so hard you forget your name.”
With a giggle and a mock salute, I scrambled off him and to the passenger seat, then gathered my bag off the floor before opening the door. The late-November wind assaulted my bare legs, myskirt back on my body after being lost to Owen’s bedroom floor all weekend, one of his oversized sweatshirts draped over my torso tucked into the waistband, enveloping me in his scent.
I was never washing it, nor would I probably ever take it off.
With a little finger wave, I got in my car and reversed out of the space. The second I was speeding down the street, Owen drove off in the opposite direction.
The week passed ina flash, a blur of deliveries and staging, of stocking shelves and sampling spirits, of keeping my hands as much to myself as possible whenever Owen was within a twenty yard radius. We hadn’t made it a secret that we were together now, but we were attempting to be professional at work.
Personally,professionalcould get fucked—and not in the good way.
I wanted his hands on me at every opportunity, and by the time Friday evening rolled around, I was damn near coming apart at the seams, desperate for some alone time with him.
Only, I frowned when we parked around the back of Birdie’s instead of the main street.
“Why aren’t we going in through the front?”
