Owen’s house is big enough for two adults. A few beer cans sit on the oak coffee table in the living room, and there’s a faint smell of the microwavable pizza he likes to have for breakfast. For a critic who specializes in gourmet restaurants, he starts his day with the most frat-boy food imaginable.
A jacket hangs carelessly over the back of the couch, with Owen sprawled under it, stubble covering his jaw. A limp white T-shirt hangs on his lanky frame, and he’s in his favorite Batman boxer shorts. Batman is his number one superhero because he’s a normal human fighting crime and protecting the innocent. Now that I think about it, he probably identifies with Bruce Wayne, although he spends his nights watching movies and eating out rather than catching criminals. I never saw him do anything else in the three months we were living under the same roof.
“What are you doing here?” Owen says. His eyes are slightly bloodshot. He sits up, then looks at Nicholas standing next to me. He sizes Nicholas up again, but this time with more insolence. “And what’shedoing here?”
“He’s here to help me move.”
“And why are you dressed like a ho—?”
“Excuseme?” I straighten my spine to stand as tall as possible. I hate it that I’m barely five-five. Why couldn’t I be one of those gorgeous six-foot women?
He looks at Nicholas and flinches. “I was about to sayhomeless person. You’re in some…T-shirt. Where did you find it? A dumpster?”
“In my closet.” Nicholas’s voice is like a well-sharpened blade.
Owen shuts up.
“I’m wearing it because I want everyone to know I’m with Nicholas now.” I paste on a fuck-you smile.
“Oh my God, so juvenile,” he says. “I should’ve known you were going to show up like…like that! I saw your ridiculous comment, too.”
He must be talking about what Nicholas posted. His petulant gaze is directed at me with all the skepticism in the world. He can’t believe it was Nicholas who posted the picture, not me. As far as he’s concerned, I’m not the kind of girl who inspires that sort of strong affection and protectiveness.
“He’s just doing it out of pity,” Owen continues. “You aren’t even that good in bed.”
He adds the last part quietly, but I hear it. From the way Nicholas stiffens, he does, too.
Humiliation burns my face. Owen never complained about sex. I always let him have as much as he wanted, even though he didn’t always hold me afterward like I wanted him to. He preferred to just roll over and fall asleep on his back when he was finished. It was me who turned until I could put my hand over his torso and wrap myself around him. Sometimes he’d pat my back. But now I’m beginning to suspect it was more out of reflex than some intentional effort to show appreciation or affection.
More proof that all his I-love-yous were just empty talk. He doesn’t love me—he never loved me. Actually, he probably isn’t capable of loving anyone but himself…and maybe the Ferrari parked outside.
Nicholas steps closer and puts an arm around my shoulders.I’ve got you. “Owen, gotta hand it to you, man. If you weren’t both blindandstupid, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to convince this absolute gem of a woman to finally give me a chance.”
Owen’s jaw slackens. In his world, people don’t talk to him like this.
Even though Nicholas is just saying it to spare my ego, that delicious, fluttery feeling comes back to my belly.
“And it’s good to knowyou’re awful in bed.” Nicholas’s tone is so polite and pleasant, it takes a second before the meaning sinks into my brain. “I mean, I assumed. But nice to have it confirmed.”
From the belated reddening of Owen’s face, it’s taken him a moment to process, too.
Nicholas continues in the same dulcet voice but takes a step forward. “However, my gratitude just expired. Next time you talk to my girl with disrespect, I’m going to force-feed you a course in manners.”
I gasp. I’m not into violence—the idea of people throwing punches at each other is horrible—but Nicholas vowing to protect me is hot as hell.
Owen jumps to his feet. “You wouldn’t dare…!”
“Try me.” Nicholas spreads his arms in invitation. “Go ahead. I’ll let you throw the first punch.”
My ex is shaking, but he’s too scared to challenge Nicholas, who brims with such confidence that he seems untouchable.
But Owen refuses to sit back down. That would be admitting defeat. So he huffs and glares at me. “I’ll give you an hour. Pack your shit, take everything and don’t come back. I’m changing the locks!”
He storms out and slams the door.
Nicholas’s eyes narrow. Rage burns in their depths, and I put a hand over his arm. There’s no point in escalating things any further. “You weren’t really going to fight Owen, were you?” My tone’s half teasing, to calm Nicholas’s temper.
“I’ll do what’s necessary to protect what’s mine, Molly.”
