I close my eyes for a moment before pressing on the message.
Owen:You still coming in before work?
Owen:I feel like I may have scared you off yesterday.
Owen:You don’t have to come early. I just wanted you to know that you can if you want to.
Owen:I’m sorry.
I sigh and type back.
Nova:I’ll be there.
I pause. Not sure it’s a good idea anymore.
I hit send.
In the shower, I let my thoughts and feelings wash down the drain. But the shower doesn’t really solve anything.
Entering, I’m instantly assaulted by the scent of alcohol. My eyes snap to the bar that’s covered in open bottles of all kinds. A half full glass sits precariously on the edge of the counter.
Owen gazes at me and grimaces when my eyes meet his.
“I hope for your sake, there isn’t a naked woman in the bathroom,” I growl, throwing my bag on my desk chair.
“No. Just me.”
The bar has only one used glass, so I know he’s telling the truth.
“You could have gone out with Jax and me. You didn’t need to drink alone,” I say, still angrier than I should be. He’s a grown ass man. If he wants to drink alone, then why would I care? And yet, I do.
“You needed your friend,” he says.
Though he’s right, I still feel like his drinking is somehow my fault. If I’d been here, he wouldn’t have done it.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I know it’s not my fault. “Can you even stay on your feet?”
He nods. “I didn’t drink as much as you think I did. I’m not drunk.”
I narrow my eyes, assessing him. His eye is now officially black, but all that does is bring out the green more. He is dressed as he usually is in the morning—jogger sweats and no shirt, and he’s standing without assistance and not swaying.
Taking a few steps closer to him, I tilt my head to look into his eyes. His mouth twitches up, revealing the dimple, when he realizes what I’m doing.
I step back once I’m satisfied. “Your eyes aren’t dilated, and you barely smell of alcohol, so I guess I believe you.”
He laughs but steps aside and motions for the gym floor.
I wrap my knuckles and remove my sweatshirt, acutely aware of his eyes as they land on my wound.
“It’s fine,” I snap before he has a chance to ask. “I can barely feel it.”
“It looks angry.”
I look up from the task of wrapping my knuckles to meet his eyes. “Have you seen your face?”
Owen laughs, and I find myself smiling despite the pit in my stomach.
“There she is,” he says.
