Chapter 29

chapter

twenty-nine

ADDIE

Owen rocks a gray Henley and dark jeans, and over his wavy strands, his hat rests backward, just as he promised.

Goose bumps erupt on my arms beneath my long sleeves. The hem of my flowered sweater sways across my waist as I follow Maren toward the bar, my high-waisted jeans loose around my thighs.

The dull ache in my legs reminds me of the way I unabashedly rode Owen to the moon and back the night before last, and I've craved that feeling ever since.

It was just two nights ago, but it feels like ages, especially now that I'm nearing him.

His gaze travels over me, following my every move as I maneuver through the crowd. I barely even register what song the karaoke star sings. It could be country, but it very well could be opera.

My heavy breaths muffle most of the noise in here until I'm standing right in front of Owen.

I blink. He blinks back.

Next to my leg, my fingers twitch with the electric need to touch him, and when he shifts on his stool, his knee meets my upper thigh.

My legs feel like noodles. How is it possible to be turned on from such minimal contact?

"What're you doing in town again?"

I jolt in place and realize Maren's the one who asks the question, and she's talking to Nate.

"I was shooting nearby in a small Florida town, so I swung back by here to finalize a few things for the house and make sure Teagan's enrollment at the elementary school is set up."

My friend makes a noncommittal sound and waves for Cole's attention. "Can I get a Jack and Coke please?" She flicks her gaze to Nate, then adds, "Make it a double."

"That kind of night, huh?" Cole lifts a brow as he grabs a tall glass.

Next to us, Nate chuckles. "Pace yourself, Maren. You'll be seeing a lot of me soon."

"That reminds me." She sarcastically snaps her fingers, her fingernails painted black and deadly. It's like she's just waiting for an excuse to sink them into some pour soul, and Nate's the easiest target. "I saw plenty of For Sale signs on the other side of town. Maybe you'd be more comfortable there, and your parents can just keep being my neighbors for the rest of eternity. They're much better."

"I'd have to agree. My mom and dad are much better company." Nate folds his arms across his chest, and his lip twitches. He's clearly stifling a smile.

"I'll say," Maren grumbles as Cole slides her drink toward us. "Do you even know how to play Bridge? Because your mom and I are an unbeatable team. We have quite the competition going against the Hendersons from across the street, and if your mom quits, I'll have to suffer under the wrath of their smug smiles every week."

Nate's amused expression slips, and a frown replaces his earlier smirk. "You hang out with my mom?"

Maren shifts, her lips parted. "Sometimes. She makes the best scones around. I think she's the reason Mrs. Goodwin stopped selling them at Bready or Knot." The laugh my friend releases doesn't sound like hers. It's too high-pitched and fake.

She needs a rescue.

I turn again to face Owen, who's knee still rests along my upper thigh. "How was Lottie's—" I gulp back the rest of my question. I was just going to ask about Lottie's brunch event, but I shouldn't be asking him such pleasant things.

Secret. He and I are supposed to be secret .

"I mean, how did you ever see well enough to catch a baseball? Doesn't the fact that one eye is so much bigger than the other make it impossible?" I place both hands on my hips and practically lurch backward in order to break our physical connection.

A deep crease forms between his brows.

And I glare.

His eyes widen with understanding. "Look at you and your new haircut. Finally decided to live a little, huh?" he tosses back.

"I'd love it if you tried shutting up, but you just love the sound of your own voice, don't you?" I snap.

"No one loves the sound of their own voice more than you." Owen narrows his eyes.

"I was wondering when you'd start in on each other," Nate says.

Maren points at her Apple watch. "We were here a whole three minutes without you speaking a word. Must be a record."

Nate finishes his beer and slides off the stool. With a wave of his arm, he offers, "Take a seat, ladies. We'll get out of your hair." He pins Maren under his intense gaze and adds, "There's enough room here for all of us."

And I have a feeling he's not just talking about The Tipsy Tap.

"What a gentleman," I say sarcastically, then tell Owen, "Why am I not surprised you didn't think to give up your seat for a lady?"

Owen rises to his full height. In the process, he leans in until his nose grazes my hair, and he whispers, "You weren't a lady the other night."

"Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes," I whisper back, then jam my elbow into his side. "Have you ever heard of personal space?" I burst.

After I settle onto the empty stool and order a drink, I catch Owen's gaze as more and more people occupy the space between us.

His arousal is undeniable. Dark shades of desire lurk in his eyes, and I could practically melt onto the floor under his heated expression.

It's risky asking him to meet me in the bathroom, but I have to get him alone. I can't stand this charade, and it's only day freaking one.

But I can do this. My job and reputation are at stake. I'm more than equipped to do whatever it takes to meet my professional goals, even if it means secretly making out with my co-worker in a bar bathroom.

Which is what I want right now more than any delicious cocktail.

Of course, it's more than my professional life at stake, isn't it? But that's not something I can face right now. It's karaoke night.

Another singer takes the stage, and I immediately recognize her voice.

"I'll be singing one of my favorites tonight," she says.

Daphne. She hardly ever comes to karaoke night, let alone volunteers to sing, but when she does, it's truly something special. Her voice was made for the stage, although her taste in fashion does wonders at her boutique as well.

God just gave some women countless gifts.

The bouncy notes of "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" echo across the room, and Daphne dives right into the verse, without even looking at the screen for the lyrics.

Maren and I toss our hands up to cheer as loudly as possible—Daphne deserves the praise.

Many women open a space in the middle of the crowd in front of the stage. They grab their friends and dance to the fast-paced song, shaking their arms in the air and bumping their asses against one another.

"Should we?" I ask, hooking my thumb over my shoulder.

"Not even if I'd had three of these," Maren deadpans and holds her glass up.

"Fine. I'll just dance right here." I shift from side to side on my stool, bopping my head along to the fun beat and sipping my drink.

On the other side of the dance floor, Owen and Nate laugh with a few women I strain to recognize from my seat.

I nearly slip off my stool in order to get a better look at their faces, and Maren catches my arm. "Dancing a little too hard, don't you think?"

"Yes. Dancing. I was definitely not spying." My laugh trembles out of me as I toy with the straw in my drink.

Maren nods toward Owen. "How is it going with him?"

"Going? Pfft ." I shake my head. "Nothing's going on with him. We share a classroom, and that's all, unless you count the fact that a student sent a volleyball flying right at my head last week. That was super fun."

"Right," she draws out. "You totally knew what I meant, though."

I swallow around the lump in my throat.

She sweeps her long locks over her shoulder, leans in, and whispers, "Any more kisses with the enemy?"

Why did I have to tell her I kissed him? Lying to her now would be so much easier if she had no clue about us.

But how can I lie at all? Maren's one of my best friends in the world. She was the one who saved me when I started my period while at school. I started several months before she and Caroline did, so none of us were prepared.

But Maren jumped into action. She discreetly asked the nurse for a pad, which she snuck underneath the bathroom stall door, and she waited for me to come out so I wouldn't be alone.

She didn't tell anyone. Not like Yvonne, who wouldn't shut up about another girl in our class and the red stain on her ass. The monster told everyone she came into contact with.

A bump on my shoulder distracts us, and when I lift my eyes, I find Owen. "Sorry. Didn't see you there, Lockhart."

"How could you? When all you seem to notice are beer and tramps," I shoot back.

He cocks a brow and nods his head toward the bathroom. I study Maren to make sure it's a subtle gesture, but her attention is on something over my shoulder.

If I had to guess, I'd say she's spying on Nate.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I blurt, and a few heads swivel our way. Guess I said it louder than necessary. "Be right back," I say at a lower volume and scurry toward the back, where Owen just disappeared.

I catch him just in time before he enters the one on the right.

His timing couldn't be better, as he definitely rescued me from having to lie to Maren about us. Evading is totally not the same as lying.

Daphne draws out the final note long after the music ends, and the crowd goes wild with hoots and hollers. Many of them chant, "Encore!" before she's even taken a breath.

With most of the bar preoccupied, I quietly slip into the bathroom, where two strong hands and a chiseled body press me against the back of the door.

Owen locks it, and with the echo of the click drifting over us, he covers my mouth with his. "We've been here for all of thirteen minutes, and I haven't gotten to kiss you. It should be a crime," he mutters between kisses as his fingers skate up my arms.

As he buries his hands in my hair and pulls on the strands, he kisses me harder, stealing my breath with each swipe of his tongue.

He hardens against me.

And right as I trace the buckle of his belt with my fingertip, fully prepared to yank it off, he lunges backward. "I can't. Not here." He swipes at his mouth. "Too many people out there."

I hold my hands up as if to show him I'm unarmed. "You're right. That would be reckless." I nod as the noises of reality quickly filter back into my foggy brain. A slow song begins, the melody soft and barely audible in here. The voice is loud enough, though, and as Owen and I face each other from two feet apart, it feels like the singer is serenading us. "What should we do then?" I whisper.

"If we were out there, I'd dance with you." Owen removes the distance between us with a single stride and sweeps me into his arms, one around my waist and the other tugging on my hand. "I've always wanted to dance with the prettiest girl in the room."

I fight a smile. "I'd be a lot more flattered if I had more than a toilet to compare myself to."

He nuzzles his nose into my neck.

And as we dance next to said toilet, it's the most fun I've ever had at a karaoke night at the Tap.

"So, tramps, huh?" I feel his smile spread against my shoulder, where my sleeve has drifted over it.

"Not the best word choice for those women you were talking to." I wince, thankful he can't see me or any insecurities written on my face. "I'm sure they were perfectly pleasant women."

His chuckle washes over me with warmth. "If you must know, they were my sisters' friends. They just wanted to tell me how much they enjoyed Lottie's brunch yesterday and how good it was to see Whitney, who ended up attending too."

"Oh. I'm sure that's all they wanted." I roll my eyes.

"Are you jealous?" He pulls back a fraction to peer into my eyes.

My mouth flounders open and closed. "I don't get jealous, especially not over hot young things with skintight clothes and heels."

"But if you were jealous, I'd say…" He dips his head until his lips reach my burning ears. "I like it."

Lust fogs my brain again, rolling in to distract me from seeing clearly. "I, um…" I lick my lips. "Of course, you like it," I croak. Then I shake myself out of the trance and add, "Your ego can't survive without a continuous stroke of compliments."

"That's not it at all." His sober expression reaches deep inside my chest as he says, "I just know jealousy means you care. It means you want me, and I like the idea of you claiming me. Because, angel…"

"Hmm?" My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I hang on to his next word.

A knock on the door breaks us apart.

"What were you going to say?" I urge.

A smile appears on his face, but it's not one I've seen before. It's almost shy. That can't be right. Owen Conrad is never shy.

Another knock sounds.

He gives me one more kiss that leaves my head spinning and rasps, "To be continued."

"I've never been a fan of cliffhangers in books, and they're even worse in real life."

"Real life awaits, baby."

I blow out a frustrated breath, glance toward the door, then back at Owen. "I'll distract them while you sneak out behind me."

I inch the door open, and through the sliver, I find Iris's niece on the other side. "Hey, Cheyenne!" I slip into the hall and loop my arm through hers. "I've been meaning to call you about the messages I've gotten about the dance costumes. I'm sure you've gotten them too."

"Oh, tons of messages." She squeezes my hand. "Aunt Iris had to start taking medication for her high blood pressure, and I'm not sure it wasn't because of the dance moms—God bless them."

As I lead her away from the bathroom, I glance over my shoulder and catch Owen peeking through the sliver of the cracked door, his eyes locked on mine.

He winks, and tiny supernovas explode in my chest.

Keeping him a secret might be the hardest thing I'll ever have to do.