The Warriors beat the Lakers by a score of two to one, Brent having scored the game-winning goal. Afterward, Brent, Berkley, Lexie, Mitch, Chloe, Logan, Owen, and I went out to a swanky bar uptown, a place Brent and Berkley assured us would be perfect inspiration for the distillery, while Brent’s parents took their boys back to the hotel. It was strange to be going out on what was essentially a quadruple date without actually being in a relationship, but I didn’t protest. I liked the way Owen tucked me into his side in the giant SUV that delivered us to the bar, and how he grabbed my hand after helping me out, lacing our fingers together as we followed my friends inside. His touches came more freely these days, as though he was doing everything in his power to convince me taking a chance on us was a good idea.
And it wasn’t that I thought it wasn’t. It was more…that twenty-two year old girl inside me who’d had her heart shredded by an older man, one who only wanted me for one thing, was having difficulty now, at twenty-seven, putting myself in that position again.
Owen wasn’t that douchebag professor; I knew that. But that was the first and last time I’d truly been in an “adult” relationship, and I struggled to give anyone the power to hurt me. I’d barricaded myself behind steel reinforced walls for the last five years, and it was going to take some time to tear them down.
But all thoughts of Owen flew out of my mind the moment we walked into the bar. An audible gasp left me as I took in the space around us, pausing right inside the door to spin in a slow circle, soaking everything in.
The walls were paneled to look like logs, the bar top and tables all smoothly sanded and sealed light wooden slabs—birch, if I had to guess—the floor a bronzy poured concrete. The more earthy touches were balanced by multiple crystal chandeliers hanging at regular intervals, plush, burgundy velvet couches, and mahogany leather chairs with brass studding details. Soft jazz music played in the background as patrons conversed quietly.
It was exactly the vibe I was going for with Unlawful: rustic elegance.
As I withdrew my phone to start taking pictures and videos, not wanting to forget a single thing about the space, a hand settled on my lower back and a low voice met my ear, sending goosebumps skittering across my skin.
“Do you want me to buy this entire building, pick it up, and move it to Michigan?”
I scoffed, tipping my head back into Owen’s shoulder to glare up at him. “Absolutely not.”
“I could, you know.”
“I know youcould,” I told him. “But Unlawful is going to be much better than this.”
“And how is that?”
“Because it’s ours.”
Owen grinned, his palm sliding around to my hip as I turned into him.
My god, he was beautiful. Staring into his eyes right then,I couldn’t think of a single damn reason why I was fighting this. My tongue dipped out to trace my bottom lip, and Owen followed the movement, his eyes turning stormy in an instant. His nostrils flared, head tilting slightly, angling toward me—
“Get a room!” someone yelled, and I jumped away from him like I’d been burned, my cheeks heating as my sister’s cackle floated past us.
“That was close,” I breathed as I moved away from him, hoping it was too low for him to hear.
His hand shot out and locked on my wrist, and though I didn’t want to, knew any prolonged eye contact would destroy my resolve, I met his gaze anyway.
“This isn’t over,” he growled.
“Of course not,” I grumbled as he led us to the table where the rest of our party waited.
“About time you join us,” Logan smirked when we sat in the two remaining seats; I wound up sandwiched between Owen and Berkley.
“I was taking pictures for inspiration,” I protested weakly.
“Right, little sister,” Chloe said from across the table, winking. “That’s exactly what it looked like. The last time a man looked atmelike that”—she shot her husband a sly smile then settled a hand on the swell of her abdomen—“I wound up pregnant.”
Hoots and hollers rose from the rest of our group, but Owen and I weren’t laughing. Yet again, my face flamed. I wasn’t embarrassed about the prospect of being with Owen, or of him in general. I’d be stupid to be ashamed of a man like him, who had nothing but light and goodness at his core. I was embarrassed that these people were making assumptions about somethingthat Owen and I had yet to figure out ourselves. I didn’t like having my private business publicly examined, and I knew Owen’s experience as an athlete had turned him into even more of a recluse than myself where his personal life was concerned.
Thankfully, before I could argue further, a waiter appeared at our table, taking drink—virgin for Chloe—and appetizer orders. When he left, the conversation moved on to something else, and I turned my attention inward, unable to stop marveling at this space.
Once the initial discomfort over Logan and Chloe calling me and Owen out wore off, our evening passed smoothly, full of stories and laughter, good food, and excellent drinks. When we’d finished eating, Brent suggested we head to the rooftop bar for a nightcap, assuring us that, despite the November chill, it would be toasty thanks to numerous outdoor space heaters.
Even if it had been freezing, I would’ve wanted to see it simply for the view it offered. Manhattan spread out beneath us, a sea of glittering lights like the sky above us was reflected in the city. I remained at the railing alone, and a moment later, my sister, Berkley, and Lexie approached. Chloe handed me a margarita and inclined her head to a nearby conversational grouping, where four rolled arm chairs were angled toward a small glass table.
My sister wasted no time interrogating me once we’d taken our seats.
“What is going on with you and Owen, Lia?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, which wasn’t entirely a lie but also not the whole truth.
