It’s notnotwhy I broke up with him. I’m close to falling into the hypnotizing allure of Owen’s worried baby blues. The look he’s giving me right now is like a truth serum—I gulp down happily, every time—that almost pushes me far too close to spilling secrets that are better left buried.
“You’re worried about nothing.” I flick his nose with my free hand, but those athletic reflexes of his are too fast and he grabs my other wrist, locking both arms between us. Taking a quick glance around the room, I’m grateful everyone seems to be occupied with clients, because there’s no way Owen’s sexy smolder would go unmentioned by the women all too happy to openly gossip over the nuances of our relationship.
And even when we don’t have an audience, I’m forced to exercise some well-practiced boundaries that ensure the spark of… something… that’s always just below the surface between us, doesn’t burst into flames, only to eventually die out.
When he leans down, nearly nose-to-nose, I remind myself that those carefully laid boundaries are the reason I can trust Owen so fully.
He’s mine. My guy. My best friend. And as long as I continue to protect what we’ve built between us, it’ll last.
“I’m always worried about you, Brooke. Doesn’t matter whichAidenyou’re dating.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “You’re gonna do the thing you do when you say you’re fine, though we both know you aren’t, but we brush it off, because you’re at work and—”
“You have a game,” I say quietly, matching his volume. We’re in our own, perfect, little world here. One that Owen and I, alone, understand.
It’s my favorite.
I smile, quirking my lips to the side and ignoring the rhythmic swipe of his thumb across the sensitive side of my wrist.
“And I have a game.” He nods, putting a slight space between us, without letting me go, and searching my face as if I might change my mind. “But tonight, we’ll talk, okay? About the timing and… everything.”
“Okay, Babe.”
He releases a sigh, like he was expecting a bigger argument. “Okay, Ruth.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, lingering long enough for me to smell the sunscreen moisturizer I insist he wear since he’s in the sun all day. It hints of sunshine and something entirely Owen.
I give him a good squeeze for luck and repeat the same phrase we’ve said before every game since Owen started playing college ball, “Now, go play in the dirt.”
He winks and backs up a step, his usual levity returned. “Only if you’re smiling in the stands.”
“I’ll be there.”
He heads towards the door but turns just before exiting. “You’re giving me the next cut, Brooke. If you could cut Wolverine’s hair, you can cut mine.”
And even though it drives him crazy—and I know all the girls drooling over my best friend every minute he’s been in here will chastise me for it later—I yell, “Never!”
Because, for me, cutting Owen’s hair is a forever thing. And I know, better than most, forever has an end date.
2
MYSTICAL MAGICAL
BENSON BOONE
OWEN
Never.
Brooke’s holleredgoodbyewhen I exit the salon leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. One that has me rushing down the street to my brother’s flower shop, Petals, rather than marching right back into Bless Your Hair and showing my best friend exactly what I think of the finality of that word. With action and much less talking.
Now, with every step I take down Main Street,neverclangs around my brain like cymbals slamming into each other again and again, leaving a resounding echo in their wake.
You’ll never get into college.
You’ll never play in the Major Leagues.
Your brother may never be the same.
I’ve battledneverfor a while now, but Brooke’s stings far more than the others. Because, though I did have to fight tooth and nail to get there, I have a college degree. While I'm still nota pro, I’ll keep working my tail off to make it to the Majors. And after his accident, my brother, Jack, isn’t the same, but he is healing. Every day—every conversation—I feel like I get another piece of my brother back in a way I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
So many absolutes I’ve faced head-on with a confidence born of pure determination and unwavering faith. But that same self-assuredness is all false bravado in the face of the woman I’ve loved quietly for the last ten years. Who, for that same amount of time, has given no indication that she wants anything more with me than friendship—outside of one incident that led to the “No Haircut”rule.
