Page 62 of The Big Fix

“How do you know what—”

“There has to be something keeping you out of my bed.”

Charging over to the opposite wall, I braced myself there so I wouldn’t fall down.

“It’s gotta be that you’re torturing yourself about being older than me, combined with the fact that you saved me not once, but twice in my life from horrible fates. You hold on to those things and think of me as…I don’t know, but I’m guessing young and stupid and—”

“I never think of you as stupid or not capable or—”

“So young it is, then,” he said bitterly. “Big surprise.”

“You—”

“But really, I was twenty-four when I moved in with you, and that’s not exactly jailbait, if you know what I mean,” he teased me.

“You’re being awfully glib about—”

“I don’t care. No one I know would care. You’re the only one who thinks that either one of those things—age or the fact that you saved me—mean anything now.”

He had no idea of the war raging in me over these exact things. I’d been his savior, I was old enough to be his father, and every single day, I thought about the reasons for not reaching for him.

“But you know what, Jared? Having this all out in the open is amazing. I was so scared we’d never even get to the point of a discussion. I’ve been terrified I’d never have the balls to tell you what I wanted, and that you’d just take what you wanted to the grave.”

“Owen—”

“I was afraid to say something in case you tried to do what you thought was best and just left me.”

I looked at him. “I told you before, I would never leave you.”

He smiled sadly. “But those trips of yours keep getting longer and longer, don’t they?”

They did. There was no denying that.

“And since you’re trying to do what’s best for me”—he shot me a scathing look—“or more precisely, what you think is best for me, you’ve decided that staying away is best.”

“Look, I—”

“But it’s not. Keeping yourself from me is the worst idea ever.”

I nodded, unable to find my voice. Because he was right. I never wanted to be away from him. It was physically painful every time I left.

Owen chuckled. “You look like you’d rather talk about anything but this, but I’d rather have this discussion with you than have you not even see me as someone you could have sex with.”

“Oh God,” I groaned, turning and leaning back against the wall.

“For the record, I really want to go to bed with you.”

I shook my head. “Why would you pick now to—”

“Because we have no idea what’s going to happen,” he answered solemnly. “And if I’m about to die, I want you to know that when I look at you, every time I look at you, I don’t see a man who’s too old for me. All I see is you and your heart.”

Jesus.

“And of course that you’re beautiful and sexy and I want to put my hands all over you.”

The only reason I couldn’t die right there was because I would not, ever, leave Owen alone. He was mine. He belonged to me and—

“But we’re gonna table this,” he said gravely, “because I need to ask what you think the chances are of us actually getting out of here.”