"Why do you think it keeps coming back?" I’ve not yet crossed this boundary with Owen, the one where I ask him doctorly things, but I can’t help it since he’s brought up my mother’s case.
"There's no way to tell. It's not like she's been a smoker all her life and now she has lung cancer. This was random, as most cancers are. It's not as if cancer looks at your moral constitution and decides if you're a good or bad enough person to multiply within. Sometimes I wonder if it's an arrow being shot into the dark."
"And a little drunk demon has the bow."
Owen chuckles. "But the demon lives inside you. That's the thing about cancer. It's a cell gone rogue. Simple as that." Owen's posture changes, his happiness evaporating like spilled water on a hot sidewalk. "You know I'm doing my very best to save her, right?" Desperation outlines the fervor in his tone.
"I know, Owen. I know." It's all I can say to reassure him. Until now I hadn't considered the pressure on him, the pressure he feels to save the life of not just someone he loves, but someone I love too.
Silence sets in, and it's a good break from the macabre tone that overtook us.
We sip from our beers, until Owen breaks the silence. "You were, uh … something else last night. And this morning." His gaze flashes up to me. "Different than before."
A grin breaks out on my lips. Now it’s my turn to feel reluctant pride. "We were young. Still figuring things out. And I wasn't confident in my body.”
One side of Owen's mouth pulls up into a grin. "Do you remember our first time?"
My head shakes and I laugh quietly. "Yes," I say reluctantly.
Owen pretends to be offended. "Was it that bad?"
"No," I hurry to say, "but it wasn't amazing either."
Owen's head moves back and forth as his chin drops to his chest. "Poor sixteen-year-old Owen. I wish I could go back in time and teach him what to do."
I reach over, patting his thigh. "Honestly, I'm just happy it was with someone I loved. I've heard some horror stories."
Owen grows serious. "Loved?"
My eyebrows draw together in confusion. "We were in love, Owen. You know that."
"I guess it's the past tense part that I'm talking about." His cheeks grow red and I shift uncomfortably.
Oh. Got it.
Before I can reply, Owen's hand snakes over the cushion between us, his fingers starting at the ankle I have propped up on the seat. He charts a course up my leg, and I understand what he's doing. I'm grateful he's letting me off the hook for now, not expecting a response when I don't have one to give.
“You wore this skirt to torture me, didn’t you?” He eyes my outfit, causing a grin to pull at my lips.
"My mom could be at the window," I murmur, keeping my eyes on his fingers as they trail up to my knee, cascading higher up my thigh.
He looks at the house. "She's sleeping."
Goosebumps rise on my legs at his touch. My breathing gets shallow, causing my heartbeat to pick up pace. "The food will be ready in fifteen minutes."
Everything about Owen’s touch turns me on, and it’s been that way since we were teenagers. After Owen and I went off to college and broke up, I dated a few guys, but none of them I was so passionately attracted to.
"Sounds to me like we have approximately fourteen minutes." His fingers brush between my legs and I’m already sold on whatever he’s offering.
"For what?" I ask, pretending my mind hasn't traveled to the carnal place alongside his.
"Let me show you," he answers, standing and pulling me up with him.
We hurry through the house to my bedroom, quiet as we can be, and I thank the heavens when we don't encounter my mom along the way.
I close my bedroom door as quietly as this morning when I snuck in, and Owen stops me before I can turn to face him, pinning me against the wall beside my door, pressing kisses against the heated skin of my upper back.
"You taste so good, Autumn," he mumbles against me.
