Chapter 10

chapter

ten

Daisy

“Owen, you are the most politely perfect date ever!”

I don’t realize why he’s chuckling at everything I say, but I’m excited that he’s accepted my invitation to come inside for a few minutes.

Maybe tonight’s the night I’ll get lucky after…how many years has it been? Ugh, let’s not think about that.

Funny, I’m usually nervous before sex, but tonight I am as mellow as a cucumber.

I am cracking myself up.

“First things first,” I say, unbuttoning my jeans once we reach the bedroom.

“Oh crap,” he says.

When I turn to look at him over my shoulder, Owen is blocking the view of my pink thong and averting his gaze.

“Daisy, what are you doing?”

“These jeans are uncomfortable!” I declare, bending over and hopping toward the bed so I can sit down and peel them off my shins. It’s not the sexiest move, but we’re all grownups here.

“Oh no,” I say, looking down forlornly at my feet. “I forgot to take my boots off first.”

More chuckling comes from Owen as I collapse backward on the bed.

“I’m done. This is as far as I go.”

“Come on, Daisy,” he says softly. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“I’m good. You can go if you want.”

He rumbles, “I can’t just leave you like this.”

Before I can wonder why he’s kneeling on the floor in front of me, I feel his hand cup my ankle while the other hand slowly unzips one of my ankle boots.

I make a more-than-satisfied moan as he removes my boots carefully, one at a time. I feel so much better that I let my eyes close.

“Sweetheart, roll over a little so I can help you take off your jacket.”

I grumble and flop over on my side, giving him room to do whatever he wants. With some minor adjustments, Owen is able to remove my jacket completely, and I hear him toss it into my hamper in the corner.

“I’m doing my best to avoid staring, but I’m gonna help you get these jeans off, OK?”

“Sure thing,” I say. I’ll feel embarrassed about this tomorrow, but for now, I’m in the moment. Owen is here, undressing me like a baby. Or like the drunk idiot I am.

I settle under the duvet in nothing but my tee shirt and thong, and everything feels perfect.

Until it doesn’t.

“Oh god,” I moan. “The room is spinning.”

“Put one foot on the floor,” Owen tells me.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Doc, but it helps. Didn’t they teach you that in medical school?”

“I must have been sick that day,” I groan, adjusting myself until I’m able to thump one foot to the carpet. After a minute, I say, “It’s helping a little. Can you shut off the light?”

With a groan, Owen reaches over me and clicks the switch on my bedside lamp.

“How’s that?”

His big arm is still positioned over me when he asks this, which is a recipe for danger. And drunk Daisy is all about danger. Drunk Daisy is all about that unexpected kiss in front of those two stuffed shirts at the party. Without thinking twice, I hook both of my arms around his shoulders.

“I don’t know why, but holding onto you helps slow the spinning,” I tell him.

“It is?”

“Yes,” I say truthfully. “So now you can’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he tells me in soft tones.

Of course, he should go. It’s wrong for him to stay. It’s wrong for anyone to see me like this.

But Drunk Daisy is also very needy, it seems.

And just before I slip into unconsciousness, I feel his lips on my forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere, Daisy.”