My smile fades. I have no idea what to make of that.
“Let’s go,” I say, raising my fists to frame my face.
Owen nods and does the same.
We spend the next fifteen minutes sharing hits. He’s getting better, but he’s still not good enough.
“Fuck, Owen! Protect your left side. You have a terrible habit of exposing it after a right hook.”
Owen steps back and drops his hands. “Excuse me, Miss Perfect. Didn’t realize this was so serious.”
My anger rises. “It wasn’t until you went and did something that almost got you killed!”
Owen’s eyes widen. “How is this my fault?”
“I don’t know! How about you tell me because I know for damn sure that there is more you’re hiding.”
Owen stalks toward me, and I instinctively retreat, my back smashing against the mirrored wall behind me.
He slams both hands on the glass by my head, but I don’t flinch. I know he won’t hurt me.
“And what about you, Miss Riley? How about you tell me why your friends call you Nova and not Nora?” His voice is a low growl that has goosebumps rising all over my body.
Fuck.
“Nova is my given name. I changed it recently.” Not exactly a lie.
He narrows his gaze. “Why?”
“Does it matter?” I ask, exasperated. “It’s just a name.”
“It’s not just a name, and you know it,” he says, leaning closer. The whisper of his breath skates over my lips. I shiver against the wall.
Somehow, I know what he means. It isn’t just a name. It’s the truth of who I really am. A lie I told him to weasel my way into his life. To manipulate him. To take him away from this life and lock him up until his bones turn to ash.
“Nova. Call me Nova.” I whisper because, truth is, I want him to call me by my real name, even if I can’t give him the reason why I lied. Even if, in the end, I’ll never hear it spoken from his lips again.
Owen closes his eyes, and I don’t know if he’s angry.
When he opens them, it’s not rage glinting in them. It’s something that scares me even more. Something dark and promising. Something I refuse to name.
“Owen.” It comes out breathy and shaky, and I have the urge to either run or pull him closer. My hands tremble with indecision.
Owen’s eyes drop to them as if he knows my struggle and is battling the same urges. When his gaze shifts back to my face, they linger on my lips.
He leans closer. So close, I’m pretty sure he can hear my racing heart, and that urge to run disappears.
“Nova,” he whispers, low and deep, as if my name is something sacred.
That name. Myname. Myrealname.
Something snaps in both of us, and the wall I’ve put up comes crashing down. His mouth collides with mine.
It only takes a moment, a single sharp breath before I open my lips and his tongue sweeps in, devouring me.
Perhaps it’s been too long since I’ve been properly kissed. Perhaps it’s that I’ve never quite let myself feel much for the people I’ve kissed. But nothing compares to this one. Nothing compares to the hungry way in which he consumes me or how right it feels despite everything.
If this is how a kiss is supposed to feel, then I never want it to end.
