He pouts, then draws his fingers to his mouth and sucks.
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
“I could well be yet,” he says.
I clench my jaw and shake my head slowly. And just like that, we are back to reality.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I want a minute to really answer that question and unpack what just happened, because that isn’t something I’m used to.
This isn’t something I’m used to.
The emotion.
I break things, I don’t break down. But all I can think about is that gravity has kicked in, and the fun we’ve had is making its way out of me and will either A, drop on the carpet, or B, drop down my leg.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t run, Cookie.”
“I’m not running, but your come is running right out of me. I’ll be right back.” I reach down and grab my leggings and thong that Owen discarded on the floor, and head to the ensuite.
I’m never really sure how we end up in the situations we do. Fucking that is. Not the whole death by assassination element.
I take a breath and clean up.
What are you doing, Lucy?I ask my reflection. Maybe she knows what the fuck I’m doing, because right now I don’t. Nota Scooby Doo. I told Andrews this was a bad idea. I told him I couldn’t do it. And here I am, cleaning up after fucking Owen…again.
Having not cleared the air, having not come up with a plan, still being as completely distracted as I have been since accepting this sodding job.
I’m going to end up getting shot again, or he will.
Okay.
I’ve got this.
Totally.
I exhale and roll my eyes at my stupidity. I so donothave this.
I push off the countertop and head back into the bedroom where Owen is now sitting in a pair of jeans, bare feet and bare chested.
What is it with men in just jeans?
Actually, scrap that. I think Owen could make a bin bag look magnificent. I stand by the doorway, hands shifting at my side as a wave of self-doubt crashes over me.
“Lucy.” Owen stands and collects me from the door. “You’re being ridiculous. You know you did this exact thing the first time we slept with each other.”
“That’s because I was an awkward teenager.”
“Well, you’re not an awkward teenager anymore, so stop being weird,” he says, dragging me to the bed. “Get comfortable. I’m going to get us a drink.”
“Whiskey, in the library, with Andrews.”
“Why did that sound like a Cluedo guess?”
“Shut up and get me a drink. I’m being a weirdo and need the courage for whatever this chat is. I’m on a fucking rollercoaster with you, I swear.” I mumble the last part as he disappears to find the alcohol.
