He nodded, suddenly not so amused.
“And the homecoming dance.”
I still remembered the rush of excitement when he had asked me to dance and how it felt to be in his arms. Maybe he’d do the same for me now. To rattle myself back to coolness, I added, “And we watchedMatrix Reloadedtogether.”
“Simon was there.”
“But he fell asleep,” I retorted.
We both laughed now.
“He’ll kill me,” Owen said when the laughter died down.
Again, he didn’t say no. He even thought about my brother’s reaction ‘after’.
“We won’t tell him. I knowIwon’t.”
“Rio. It’s not like I ... don’t want to. But it’s ... complicated.”
“I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to take my cherry,” I said, misquotingNotting Hillwith a cheeky smile.
Owen laughed, shaking his head.
I scooted closer to him. His expression shifted—something changed in his eyes, in the warmth radiating between us. I held onto his gaze and leaned closer. Until Owen did, too.
And I kissed him.
12
Owen
IT WASN’T EASY TO REMEMBERwe weren’t on a date.
It wasn’t easy to convince myself we weren’t on one.
It wasn’t easy to recall the last time I had talked to someone like this.
Not even with Simon.
Simon was my pillar, but he never challenged me on my choices, never interfered, never dug into the underlying issues. To him, my ability to adapt—to shift into whatever version of myself the world needed—was discipline, work ethic. To me, too. And that was the problem. I couldn’t tell him how exhausting it was to always be performing, always live up to everyone’s expectations, to live in a constant state of auditioning for a role I could never step out of. To be buried under the weight of everything I’d swept under the rug.
My grandfather was just as competitive, just as obsessed with winning as I was. Maybe even worse, considering what he had planned for poor Clarice. He was proud of what I’d become, though he never stopped complaining that I’d done it so farfrom home.
But Rio ...
With just a few sentences, questions, and digs, she shoveled through layers of bullshit I had spent years stacking. And I had a feeling she was holding back from digging deeper.
I wasn’t sure I wanted her to. I’d spent too long believing that the version of myself I projected was the one that mattered—that if I just kept pushing forward, if Ibecamethat version, if I kept proving myself, I’d finally feel like I’d made it. That I was enough. And I wasn’t there yet. The goal line kept shifting.
“Do you think Clarice will still be there?” Rio asked as we drove back from the restaurant.
“I hope so. I hope she didn’t run off screaming with Scrabble tiles chasing her.”
She laughed, then threw me a look—playful, daring. “What if we surprise them?”
I shot her a dry look. “I’d rather not walk in on a game of strip Scrabble, thanks.”
Her grin turned wicked. “You think they’d go that far?”
