His gaze dropped to my mouth, his grip on my hips tightening, and I almost let myself fall into it again—into him, into this need that didn’t seem to have an end. But I forced myself to step back, reaching to turn off the tap.
“We’re going to be late anyway, might as well ...” he half-whispered against my skin.
I smirked. “That’s what I said ten minutes ago.”
He grumbled when I shut off the faucet, but stepped out and grabbed a towel, ruffling it through his hair.
I wrapped mine around me, watching as he moved around my bathroom in a way that made something tight unfurl in my chest.
This felt too natural, too good, too easy.
So why were we keeping it a secret? Why didn’t I dare tell Ruby? And why was I nervous to see my brother tonight?
And why couldn’t I stop thinking about Angelo’s questions?
It’d been a few days since that conversation, but it was still there, needling at the back of my mind. The way Angelo had reacted to recognizing Owen—it had slammed football-icon Owen right back into the picture. For a moment there, he wasn’t the man who had touched every part of me the night before and that very morning, the one whose breath, and body, and words had wrapped around me, sank inside me. He had becomeOwen Wonder Wheatonthe star again—the way he wasthere, something that was easy to forgethere.
And then there was the way Owen had hesitated when Angelo asked if he was going back.
Backthere.
OwenWonderWheaton wasn’t one to falter. He always knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. But in that split second, I saw it—the hesitation.
Not because he didn’t want to go back. Because I knew hedid. Not because he couldn’t go back. I knew hecould. His knee was probably better than he let on.
And I wondered ... if I hadn’t been standing right there, would his answer have been different? Would he have saidyeswithout hesitation?
That was the last thing I wanted to be—the reason he felt torn, to stand between him and his dreams.
I hadn’t asked about it later. I didn’t want to hear the answer. And I was too busy pretending this wasn’t real.
I needed to be more Ruby about it—take this for what it was, no expectations, no strings. To remind myself that commitment wasn’t something I could expect.
I slipped into a wine-red dress, towel-drying my hair as Owen pulled on a pair of dark designer jeans and a fresh charcoal button-down. He rolled up the sleeves, his gaze raking over me, dark with intent—like he’d rather be stripping me down than heading out to dinner.
I could relate. I already wanted to unbutton that shirt myself.
But we had to go.
Nicole and Simon were expecting us for dinner. Walter was probably ready and waiting downstairs.
And my mom would be attending, too.
Simon’s house was already loud as the three of us walked in.
Emma was running around the dining room, giggling as she weaved between the chairs, escaping her sister who was trying to get something the little one had taken from her.
Nicole was in the kitchen with my mom, and I could hear them ordering each other around.
Walter shook Simon’s hand, patted the girls’ heads as they whizzed by him, and seated himself in front of the TV.
Owen and Simon were chatting when my mom entered the living room, and her face lit up.
In a pair of real vintage mom jeans and a pretty white camisole instead of her usual tour tees from bands half the table wouldn’t recognize, she looked younger than her years.I always wondered if she dated. She never spoke about it or brought someone for us to meet.
“Oh, hi. Take these, Rio.” She placed a stack of plates in my hands and rushed to Owen. “Owen! Look at you, so handsome as ever.” She cupped his face like she had raised him right alongside us. “Still breaking hearts, hmm?”
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes as Owen chuckled, stepping into her embrace.
