Chapter 9

chapter

nine

OWEN

"I think I'm going to ask out Addie."

I snap my head in the direction of the light, yet very serious, voice. Bond is staring—more like leering —at Lockhart, who's on the other side of the room.

"Why? Why would you do that?" I sputter.

"Why wouldn't I? She's as smart as she is fucking hot, especially in those jeans. She's the whole package."

"I know."

Bond turns to me and lifts a brow.

My mouth opens and closes like a flapping door in strong winds. "I mean, she is most definitely smart. Smart as a chimp, that one."

"Did you just call her a chimp?"

"No! Pfft . Of course not. She's… fine." Heat erupts at the base of my neck and spreads across my skin like wildfire.

My old friend's face contorts as he studies me, and something like jealousy clenches my stomach. "Are you okay?"

"I've never been okayer ," I say, punctuating the non-word with a grunt.

Then I walk away before I do or say anything else embarrassing.

There's also the fact that Lockhart would have my balls if she heard me making up words. This bad habit of mine gives the English teacher hives, which she's made clear to me on many occasions.

And Bond wants to ask her out.

The chili I just devoured wants to make its way up my throat, and it's not because I don't want my friend hooking up with the woman who hates me. If this were the case, my uncomfortable feelings would be a lot easier to navigate, that's for sure.

My heart thunders, and the vibrations echo in my head as I put distance between me, Bond, and my sudden nausea. The last time I felt like this was when I suffered from food poisoning, and I might even prefer it if that were the case.

Unfortunately for me, it has nothing to do with the contents of my stomach and everything to do with the idea of Lockhart on a date with Bond.

They're both single and have every right to go out. I'd go so far as to say the tightly wound woman could use a night out, too. The word around the teacher's lounge is that she hasn't been with a guy since Pangea exploded. Not in so many words, but that's the gist I gathered one afternoon.

I wasn't listening out of curiosity, either. It just so happened I was pouring myself a cup of coffee while Justine and Gemma were gossiping—very loudly.

In any case, it would do the rest of us a huge kindness for Lockhart to enjoy some relief of the romantic variety. It seems she takes her frustration out on the rest of us, and that's not healthy.

But that just makes Bond asking her out so much worse for me, for some godforsaken reason I can't make sense of.

The thought of Addie must bring me straight to her, as I come to a stop next to her and a large pot of chili.

She blinks up at me, and for the first time, I notice a smattering of freckles across her nose. They're fewer and farther in between one another across her cheeks, until they completely fade underneath the corners of her deep blue eyes.

The tip of her nose raises higher as she squares her shoulders, and memories of high school slam into me.

Some of the kids used to compare her to the residents of Whoville because of this nose, but I always found it endearing.

In truth, I always thought she was cute, but since I moved back, that word isn't right for her. It doesn't encompass the entirety of the woman in front of me.

"Don't even think about stealing my chili," she clips and waves with her free hand over the spread next to us. "There's plenty to go around, so get your own."

She sidesteps me and makes a beeline for an empty seat at a table, where Maren sets her stuff down. But before Addie reaches her friend, I practically leap in front of her.

And my gaze lands on her sexy-as-hell denim-clad legs.

Jesus—I've never seen such a simple material look so damn good.

This is a bad fucking idea, but the words roll off my tongue like a golf ball racing downhill and right into a bunker.

"You and Bond, huh?" I force a wiggle of my brow, but the movement doesn't feel natural.

Her own eyes widen with horror. "What? Where did you hear that?"

"He told me he asked you out…" I search her expression, but the only thing residing there is confusion—and more horror. "You two will make the cutest darn?—"

She cuts me off with an exasperated exhale and sets her bowl down. With a murderous glare, she shoves me backward. "Come with me," she demands and drags me out of the cafeteria, her fingernails digging into my forearm as she leads us into the hallway.

She doesn't stop until she pushes me into a supply closet and shuts the door with more force than seems necessary.

The private room muffles the sounds of the chili dinner and—did I hear a harmonica somewhere? The darkness hides what rests in here, but there's no covering the foul smell of mop water. It singes my nostrils.

I'm still reeling from the surprising strength on such a small person, but Addie is definitely no delicate flower. I shouldn't be caught off guard by her physical strength—it tracks with the rest of her.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

She flicks the light switch on and jabs a finger into my chest. "What are you doing? You can't spew rumors about my personal life in front of half the town, especially not with our bosses present."

"I thought—wait. Rumor?"

Oh, fuck . Bond said he's going to ask her out, didn't he? As in, he has not yet done so, and I have made a complete ass of myself.

What is wrong with me tonight?

My skin crawls like she dumped a bottle of whatever chemicals are in here on me. I shift, as if it's possible to escape the feeling, and my shoulder bumps into a shelf. When I shift again, I nudge a mop from its resting place by the door. It nearly falls, and we reach for it at the same time.

Our hands are clasped around each other.

Our eyes lock, and my face does that weird fucking heating thing again akin to blushing.

Her hand is soft over mine.

If I turned it over, gluing our palms together, my hand would engulf hers like a baseball in a mitt. I have the faintest thought that she'd even appreciate the safety of my firm hold, but that would be insane. As a matter of fact, it would be crazier than a bear and a kangaroo sharing a beer.

Addie's made it clear she doesn't like me in any sense of the word.

She's the first to break our eye contact, with a strangled clearing of her throat.

I stiffen, careful not to knock over anything else, but it's hard not to when the space is so cramped. I'm too large for this closet. "Did you bring me in here to kill me?" I ask her, and I'm only halfway kidding.

"I brought you in here for the same reason politicians take great measures to hide their personal lives from the public—to ensure their reputations are free of scandals before they win elections."

"You're running for president? I didn't know. That's amazing. You've got my vote." I smack her shoulder and give it a squeeze. "My life will be so much easier once you move to the White House. Huzzah !"

Her sigh of exasperation echoes between us like she's using a megaphone, and I glimpse the adorable lip twitch.

Until she shrugs me off and snaps, "I want to be principal someday, you buffoon. And I can't risk a stain on my impeccable reputation, which includes dating random guys who live in Atlanta."

A wave of confusion washes over me, and I'm officially lost on this train to Looneyville. What the hell is she talking about?

As if she reads my mind, she explains, "Dating someone from out of town implies I might leave Sapphire Creek, and that'll never happen. I can't risk a rumor floating around that it might be the case, which it isn't."

"Okay?" I blink.

"No scandals."

"I'm going to stop you right there because dating Bond Nicholas would not be scandalous. It would be as boring as watching grass grow."

"Bond is perfectly nice and wholesome and respectful. If he lived in town, I might even consider him, if he were to even ask me out."

I stick my finger in my open mouth and make a gagging sound.

"Of course, such sentiments are lost on oafs like yourself."

I drop my hands as annoyance pinches my nerves. "You know what? You and Bond would be great together. You can compete for the title of the world's most boring people. Congratu—fucking—lations ."

"Boring is better than being irresponsible and careless."

I lean in until her heaving chest brushes against mine. "Guess it wouldn't bode well for your reputation to be caught in a supply closet with your buffoon-ish co-worker, then, would it?"

I'm sure a haughty comeback is on the tip of her tongue, but I don't get to hear it.

Her full and pouty lips fall into the shape of an O , and her eyes clear as if my loaded question doused the fire in them.

But she doesn't move. Instead of fleeing from here and away from me, she stands tall with her mouth zipped into a firm line. Our labored breaths fall into sync, and thick tension fills the empty crevices around us, making my fucking head spin.

As I peer down at Addie, her lean body nearly flush against mine, I do something I should've done years ago. "Why do you hate me so much?" I whisper, and as I wait for her answer, my damn stomach churns.

I might as well be standing at the edge of a plane's open door, ready to freefall without a parachute.

Addie licks her lips, and my gaze drops to them. I witness the tip of her tongue sliding across her plump bottom lip in slow motion, and my throat dries.

She's still a little tan from the summer. Spending afternoons at the river with her friends, where the sun's rays gently kissed her skin, did her a lot of good.

But it did nothing to curb this hostility she aims at me day in and day out.

"You dated Evil Emmy in high school. She terrorized me for four years, and you dated her of your own free will. That says everything about your judgment and character," Addie finally says, but her voice is hesitant and unsteady.

My chest sinks. "I didn't know. I'm sorry she treated you so badly."

She dips her head, her mumbling incoherent.

"But that was a thousand years ago, when I was sixteen and dumb, and we only dated for about five minutes. I broke up with her when she tried to get her hairdresser fired for getting loose hair in her eye during a trim."

"She hasn't changed much, either. Last week, she scolded Mrs. Goodwin at Bready or Knot for her lemon raspberry muffins being too lemony and raspberry-y ."

"You can still hate her if you want, but it's hardly enough to hate me too all these years later. Unless you hold the record for the most severe grudge in history. What's the real reason?" I insist, although I don't know why. Nothing good will come of this, but something inside me screams to unearth the truth.

"Where do I begin?" Addie narrows her eyes until the blue in them turns gray, and her nostrils flare as some of the fire from before sets her body ablaze again. The rage buzzes off the surface of her skin. "Aside from being irresponsible and careless, your total disregard for other people is as astounding as it is infuriating. You're praised and complimented for merely breathing. You're completely ridiculous, and I hate your hair."

"Is that all?" I deadpan, and while the insults should hurt worse than a punch to my gut, I can't help the chuckle swirling in my chest, ready to explode.

I mean, my hair? She hates my fucking hair ? How am I supposed to not laugh at that?

"Most of all, I hate that you just do whatever you want whenever you want. You are selfish, Owen."

"And you're jealous of that."

"Exactly." Addie pales. "Wait—no. That's not what I meant."

"I think you meant it. You can't stand those things about me because you wish you were like me. Spoiler alert, angel—you can be."

"I can't."

"It's not easy, of course, but I could definitely help you loosen up." I smirk.

"Not in a million years." She folds her arms over her chest, and her hands brush against my abs in the process.

My muscles tighten from the small contact, and my blood boils.

Her smart mouth drives me wild, and it's mere inches from mine. I could kiss some sense into her… or it would just give her yet another reason to despise me.

"What about a million and one years?" I venture, dropping most of my amusement. "I'm a patient guy."

Her head is angled upward, her eyes on mine, but it doesn't feel like she's actually looking at me. Her expression sinks into one of sadness. "I don't get to be reckless. We already have one of those women in my family, and the last thing I want is to be like her."

The dark shadow passing over her smooth features pierces my chest, and the urge to dissect every piece of her fucking rips at me.

So many questions bounce against one another in a tornado of curiosity in my head, but she doesn't give me a chance to voice them before she yanks the door open.

Instead of disappearing through it, though, she twists around again. "Do you really help your sister with her new business? Or do you show up just to drink all her wine?" She tilts her head to the side, her skepticism loud and clear.

My eyebrows draw together. "I actually help. I take care of the books, and the other day, I even fixed her bathroom."

The only thing she offers in return is a hum. It's not a sarcastic or a mocking sort of hum, either. It's almost as if she's… surprised. Dare I say, impressed, even.

The soft sound lingers long after she's disappeared, like a sweet scent on a pillow.