Chapter 22

chapter

twenty-two

OWEN

Her eyes sparkle, and it's not just because of the candlelight reflecting in them.

She's enjoying herself. Addie Lockhart is having fun with me, and the more I get to know this side of her, the harder I fall.

I'm royally fucked when it comes to her, in ways I never saw coming, and I have no doubt she has feelings for me too, even if she won't admit it.

But the night is young.

"I am sorry about flaking, though." I frown. "I might've been helping my family, but I shouldn't have abandoned you. You had a lot more to do than I ever realized, and I was unfair to you."

Addie blinks at me over her fresh plate as I sip my surprisingly tasty drink. Yet another thing she's right about. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have assumed the worst in you."

We stare at each other like we're unsure about this new territory we're entering. I know I'm confused over what to do next. She and I just apologized to each other—and meant it.

And the sky outside is still clear. No Hell freezing over or pigs flying.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" Addie shifts in her seat, breaking the silence and our staring contest. "I hate eating alone," she says softly.

"Weren't you planning on doing just that before I crashed your evening?"

She rolls her eyes. "I hate being the only one at the table who's eating."

"Fine." I lift a finger toward our server, who happens to buzz by. "Can I please put in an order for mozzarella sticks with strawberry jam?" I ask her.

She nods, and with her departure, Addie squirms across from me. "You didn't have to do that."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because you hate eating alone. You kind of made me order food."

"It's not—you are so—why did you even sit down?"

"I like annoying you."

She narrows her eyes, and I fight a grin. "Sorry to disappoint you, but my annoyance quota has already been met for the day by my mother and her unruly acquaintances."

"Sounds like the beginning of a really good story, but before you continue, I have one request." I drop my eyes to her untouched plate. "Eat."

"I'm waiting for your food. It's the polite thing to do."

"As I'm sure you've noticed, Lockhart, I don't care too much about politeness."

Her eyes darken, and the mystery swirling in them beg me to solve it. What is she thinking? Does she like the thought of me being impolite in private? I sure fucking hope so.

"You may continue," I say, my voice suddenly hoarse.

Between bites, she relays the story of her mother's whirlwind intrusion. She stabs a triangle-shaped waffle and jabs a piece of fried chicken onto the end, then shoves the whole thing into her mouth.

Impressive .

I stare at her lips as she talks, her free hand waving to the side with every new detail of some guy named Kin and what Addie refers to as his "asinine anti-negativity dance."

"I'm glad I left." She nods and pierces another piece of chicken with her fork with the intensity of what she'd likely enjoy doing to Kin's sage. "I much prefer the cozy room at the Riverview Inn and Suites. They have free Wi-Fi."

"That's hardly an amenity anymore. I'm sure Forsyth Park has free Wi-Fi now."

Her head bounces from side to side as she chews, and I take it as an agreement.

"They just took over your house, though?" I lift a brow.

"It's what Rain does—barrels into town like a storm and leaves all the evidence behind." Grimacing, she reaches around her half-eaten plate for her water and sips.

Our server arrives with my mozzarella sticks and a pitcher of water, which she uses to top off our glasses.

"It was a house she gave me, after all, and I'm so unappreciative any time I suggest she and her friends clean up after themselves," she clips, obviously repeating Rain's words. "Does she think I like finding wicker sandals in the garbage disposal? No. I really don't."

"Adding that to my list of things not to do to you, although I didn't know wicker sandals were a thing."

"Me neither, until I fished them out piece by piece, along with a picture of a black cat."

"Another asinine ritual, perhaps?"

"I didn't ask." She sighs. "I've thought about moving so many times, but I just can't bring myself to sell that house."

"Why not?"

"It's the house I grew up in, but it's more than that. It's…" She traces her bottom lip with her teeth. "I guess I just want to make sure my mom always has a place to come home to, and that's home for the both of us."

Her voice is thick with vulnerability, and my throat constricts.

"How do you do that?" She leans back in her chair.

I pause with my hand hovering over my plate. "Do what?"

"You make me say things. You're like a conversational ninja."

"It's a gift." I bring a mozzarella stick to my mouth and practically eat the whole thing in one bite. I would have, anyway, had Addie not lurched forward, her hand outstretched and eyes wide.

"It's too hot," she warns. "Are you okay?"

I chew, which proves difficult with the large smile spreading across my face.

"You probably have third degree burns on your tongue." She sits back, and I glimpse a dab of syrup on her chest.

When she leaned forward, her shirt must've dipped into the syrup on her plate, and now a stain the size of a quarter sets over her breast.

Instantly, filthy images of licking the sweet and sticky condiment off her naked tit slam into me like a punch to the gut.

I know what she tastes like, but I didn't get to explore the rest of her body the other night. My muscles have never been so tight. My entire body is so hard I'm in pain.

The rest of my fried cheese does not go down easily as I use every ounce of strength to purge the thoughts from my mind.

She drives me crazy.

"You did burn your tongue, didn't you? You're so red." She bunches a napkin in her hand and dabs the end of it in her water glass, then scurries around to my side.

I'm assaulted with her sweet scent as she brings the cool tip of the napkin to my cheek. "It's cute when you worry about me," I rasp.

"Someone has to," she jokes, and it's clear she has no idea how hard her seemingly innocent statement hits home.

"You should know…" I dip my gaze to her lips. "It's not the food that's hot."

"What is it?" She retreats, but she doesn't return to her side of the table yet.

I'm rewarded a few seconds longer with her close proximity, so I inhale extra whiffs of her perfume while I can. "It's the syrup on your shirt."

Addie glances down, but her expression is obstructed from my view by her short and wavy strands drawing a curtain around her face. "Great," she mumbles and slowly steps back to her seat, swiping furiously at the spot with the wet end of the napkin she just used on my cheek.

And the scene—for whatever unholy, pathetic reason—turns me on even more. She's gripping her breast, for fuck's sake.

I'm a mere pitiful mortal.

I clear my throat and shift, wincing as the pain from my stiffy jolts me. "Please stop. You're killing me," I manage.

"I have to get it out before it sets. Then again, it's syrup. It's going to take a lot more than water to clean it. I need dish soap or some?—"

"I'll buy you a new shirt. Please just stop."

She finally glances up and idly sets the napkin down.

"You have no idea, do you?"

"About how to get a stain out? Of course, I do."

I shake my head, and the movement feels like it happens in slow motion, as if I'm moving through quicksand. "You have no idea what you do to me, Lockhart."