We took the Clipper down the Thames to Greenwich, the expanse of the river soaking away my worries and stresses about work, and, for the first time in forever, I lived in the moment. We laughed and teased, taking tons of photos, some artistic and others simply stupid with the sounds of the city surrounding us. I found out Owen could actually sing, when he started humming on the journey back his version of Tom Walker’sLeave A Light On. I told him about how I would write stories when I couldn’t sleep and that I’d never shown them to anyone. He asked to see them and I said he’d have to see my bare boobs first. His response was silence until he assured me he’d have no problem with that.
He didn’t ask me on another date. There were touches; he put his arm around me, placed his hand on the small of my back and occasionally took my hand to change our route as we took a self-guided tour around the East End where Jack the Ripper had tormented London, using Google as an assistant.
“There’s so much history here. Every step on the pavements has already been taken so many times before,” I said, sipping a beer. We’d paused for a drink before heading back to my apartment so I could pick up a change of clothes. Owen lived near to The Oystermen so I’d get changed there.
He scratched the stubble around his jaw. “That’s very deep for this time on a Thursday after a couple of cocktails and beers.”
I laughed. “I clearly need alcohol to be deep and meaningful.”
He didn’t laugh back. “I disagree and please don’t put yourself down like that.” It wasn’t a reprimand, instead it was a polite request. “You say lots of things that make me think and consider stuff I haven’t thought of before, that’s why I like spending time with you.”
“You’re very honest,” I said, unsure as to how to deal with his compliments.
“Yes,” he said. “Drink up. Let’s go get your outfit. I have a spare room if you want to stay over. If you don’t, that’s fine—I’ll make sure you get back okay,” he said, downing the rest of his beer.
“I’m fine at getting across London on my own. I’ve been doing it long enough,” I said, smiling. I knew my limits; I knew where was safe and where wasn’t.
“I’m not saying you don’t, but you’re doing me a favour and I’ll be happier knowing that you’re home okay or staying with me. I promise I won’t try anything,” he said, one side of his mouth curving into a smile.
Maybe I want you to.“I’ll take a change to stay at yours. Any funny business and I’ll call my brothers.”
He laughed. “Don’t rely on them. They’ve got me playing Sunday morning for their rugby team. Seph offered to put a good word in for me with you.”
I held my head in my hands. “I’m being pimped out so they have more players for the team. Brilliant!”
He walked around to my chair and offered a hand to help me up. “Just to me,” he said and I saw something in his expression that I hadn’t caught before.
Chapter Eight
Owen
I was a bastard.
My forehead rested against the floor to ceiling window that looked out towards Covent Garden and I waited for the bolt of lightning to hit me, or at the very least, my mother’s voice to come booming through the walls. Payton was getting ready in the bathroom, having grabbed her girly toiletries and whatever else she needed and now my apartment was flooded with the scent of her and the sound of her singing, which was nothing like what I’d heard this morning when she was in the shower. I was pretty sure what I’d heard this morning had been moaning, the sort of moaning I wanted to cause.
I promised her I wouldn’t ask her on a date, that I understood she wasn’t interested in dating, but that was what I’d spent the day doing: dating her, just covertly. Of course it was a fucking date, and it had been fucking perfect so far. I knew that she wasn’t going to end up in my bed by the end of the night, and I could live with that because I wanted her there badly enough and more than once to make sure I didn’t rush this. It had been a long time since I’d felt this strongly about a woman, in fact, I wasn’t sure I had ever felt this strongly this quickly. Even with Amber it had been more of a slow burn with sex being the main driver and her becoming a good habit. We’d worked well together until we hadn’t.
“Hey,” Payton said. “You trying to listen to that window’s secrets or something?”
“Or something,” I said, turning round. She had a towel wrapped round her, hair damp around her face. Her face was bare of any make-up and she looked beautiful. I figured she probably wasn’t wearing anything under the towel and tried not to focus on that.
She smiled. “I could do with some water. And no more alcohol tonight. I think I’ve had enough.”
I went to the fridge and passed her a bottle of mineral water. “You feel buzzed?”
“Sleepy,” she said. “Nap-like.” It was punctuated with a yawn.
“Why don’t you grab thirty minutes while I get a shower?” I said, taking a water for myself. “The bed’s made up. I’ll wake you up. How much time do you need to get ready?”
Her eyes were sleeping, making me think of how she’d look waking up next to me. My jeans felt tight, I just hoped she wouldn’t look down. “About half an hour, but I need a good twenty minutes to come around.”
“Go grab a nap,” I said. “I’m going to shower and check my emails so don’t worry about being a good houseguest.” I grinned at her. “I’ll wake you up in an hour.”
“Thanks. I guess everything’s catching up with me and it’s been a busy day.” The sleepy smile was still there.
“If you’re not up for The Oystermen…” I said, pushing a hand through my hair. I did need to go as I didn’t trust that idiot with my mum for half a second, but I knew Payton needed to relax too.
“I’m really looking forward to going,” she said and headed towards me, the towel wrapped around her coming to just below her arse, leaving most of her legs on display and her shoulders bare.
