Page 109 of Breakaway Hearts

Me

Checking on Owen at Ivy House. Shouldn’t be too long.

I text Jason just as the door opens.

“Madison.” Owen smiles when he sees me, his hair wet from a shower, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, wincing slightly as he throws on a Wynchester Wolves t-shirt.

I would roll my eyes at the predictability, but I’m trying to come up with a coherent thought that doesn’t relate to his abs or how hot he looks in grey sweatpants.

In everything, really.

“I…um…I heard you got hurt.” I rally.

“Wanted to make sure I’m okay?”

“Something like that,” I play it off, but as soon as Jay got home from practice and told me what happened, all I wanted to do was come see him.

“You have nothing to worry about, Mads, it’s just a little bruise,” Owen assures me like I should be good to go, but also like he really doesn’t want me to. And, honestly, I don’t either, but I feel ridiculous standing on his porch, nodding, terrified of what could happen if I step over the threshold.

Emotionally, that is, because I don’t think he’d hurt me. Then again, that’s always been my problem, hasn’t it?

“I was just about to make some food. The guys all went to Slapshots and promised to bring me back something, but it’s Trivia night, and the Ivy Boys are on a winning streak.”

I file that information for later. I always wanted to do trivia nights when I was younger, but I don’t want to talk about his roommates right now.

Owen opens the door wide, inviting me in without words, which is either to not spook me, or to avoid being rejected.

“Owen Brooks cooking? This I’ve gotta see.”

I put on a brave face and walk through the doorway, telling myself it’s the same house as the party, nothing has changed, but not having Jason with me makes it infinitely scarier, and the quiet from the lack of roommates makes the moment feel charged.

“Is that all you wanna see?” Owen asks, looking at me like I’m way more appealing than whatever he was going to make, and it’s really hard to resist him, especially in grey fucking sweatpants, when he’s injured and looks so vulnerable.

I tell myself that’s why I let him kiss me, not because I want him to. He presses me into the fridge, his warm body covering mine, and I don’t even try to turn us around, or get his mouth on my body instead of my lips. I need to feel him, to hold him close and know he’s okay. But he’s hard and ready, and I want him as badly as I want to stay here in his arms. Plus, sex sells the whole, ‘this isn’t a relationship, it’s just sex’ thing.

My hands venture to his stomach, but just as my fingers land, Owen tries to lift me and winces.

Not like my fingers are cold, but like I’ve stabbed him.

“Fuck,” he says, pulling away from me and sort of doubling over, clutching his side. He breathes out like he’s gathering himself, then tries to resume the kiss.

“You’re hurt,” I stop him.

“It’s fine,” he argues, but his shirt is riding up, revealing a patch of purple skin.

“Oh my God, is this—” He winces when I get close, in anticipation, so I carefully lift his shirt without touching the bruise.

“It looks way worse than it feels.”

“I fucking hope so.”

He smiles, and I think it’s at the concern I’m showing. I would try to bury it where he could never use it against me, I think a little concern is valid.

“I’m not causing you pain. Or making it worse,” I argue when he tries to kiss me again.

“I can rally, I promise.” Owen winks, like the cocky bastard he is, which would send me out the door, but I see something in his eyes. I might be totally off base, but he’s looking at me like he doesn’t want me to leave, like he will fight through the pain if that’s what it takes for me to stay. Because my rules are very clear on the sex, then leave, with nothing else.

“I won’t be held responsible for taking out Wyn U’s star player,” I argue, seeing what looks like the makings of a grilled cheese beside the stove. “Go sit and relax, I’ll finish this.”