He sighed and his shoulders drooped.
“How could I not, Brooke?” he asked, his voice full of hurt. “How could I not? You were looking up at me with those eyes, and your skin is just so damn soft...”
My mouth was already open, ready to fight back, but I snapped it shut at the quiet admission.
“This is all feeling too familiar,” Owen continued, gesturing between us. “I’m here, I’m convenient, but I’m not the one you truly want. So let’s just be done, okay?”
I couldn’t answer him because he was right and wrong at the same time. It was more than him being convenient. Sure, I was horny, but when we kissed, it transcended what was normal. I was drawn to Owen in a way I couldn’t understand. He was unlike anyone I’d ever been attracted to. I wrote the type of men who normally captured my heart, the swaggering, larger-than-life cowboys who oozed sex appeal and knew their way around a grand gesture.
Owen had plenty of confidence since he was basically a god at CPA. And handsome? Yeah, in the best, slow burn–iest sort of way. His sex appeal was unquestionable. But the guy who made my heart flutter, who’d given me all the undefinable hopefulness of a good old-fashioned crush wasKai, and I needed to sort that out if I wanted to finish my fucking torturous book.
The problem was I couldn’t stop kissing Owen. Or being kissed by him. I craved it more than I wanted to admit. And I loved being with him, on and off the court. I didn’t want to lose our friendship, or whatever it was, but I wasn’t sure how we could move forward after this latest car crash.
And if it was possible to stop wanting something I couldn’t define.
I grasped for the last possible connection that remained between us.
“What about the tournament?”
“You’ll do fine,” Owen replied quickly, his frown evident even in the dim light. “You’re ready.”
“You literally just said I wasn’t,” I replied, throwing my hands up in frustration. “You told me I needed polishing!”
He made an indecipherable noise.
“I’ll pay you to keep coaching me,” I said, defiantly raising my chin.
“I won’t take your money.”
“Then I’ll beg.”
“Brooke.”Owen sighed and scrubbed his hand across his eyes like he was over my shit.
I walked closer to him. “This is bigger than the tournament and you know it. You picked up on something fractured in me, dissected it, and helped me get past it. And that opened up awhole new side of me.” Tears inexplicably filled my eyes. “Can’t we just, I don’t know . . . keep going a little longer? I’m havingsomuch fun learning from you, and honestly, given how shitty the rest of my life has been, I sort of crave it.”
His expression softened a bit. “You cravepickleball?”
I opened my mouth to answer but couldn’t say that what I craved was the way I felt hanging out with him on the courts.
“I like being sporty for a change.” I shrugged a shoulder, trying to make the confession sound nonchalant. “I like being good at something athletic, even if it’s just an old-timer sport like pickleball.”
“Hey,” Owen chastised gently while staring at the ground.
“I like learning and mastering new techniques,” I continued. “Istilldon’t know how to backspin, by the way.”
I caught the tiniest curve of a smile.
“Let’s just keep going until the tournament. Okay? Please?”
His arms were crossed and he wouldn’t look at me. I held my breath.
“And I still need to help you with your book,” I offered gently.
He was shaking his head before I even finished speaking. “Nope. Once we’re done, we’re done. No cute, encouraging texts about my word count, no coffee shop writing sessions. If I write this book, I’m doing it on my own, because I can’t have you in my life cheering me on like some regular friend.”
A red chrysanthemum firework thundered in the air above us, an exclamation point to Owen’s anger.
“So we’re okay to keep going?” I asked tentatively, my heart thumping.
