Chapter 30

chapter

thirty

OWEN

"This patient suffered from a left temporal hemorrhage and started speaking with an accent. It's called Foreign Accent Syndrome," Laurel says as she sets the bowl of salad in the middle of my dining table.

"That's what happens to me after three tequila shots." Whitney snorts as she shifts Huck onto her shoulder and pats his back to burp him.

"French, right?" I ask Whit as I set silverware on either side of every placemat.

"How did you know?"

"You used it on me a few years ago, although you were too young to drink then, which makes me wonder…" I narrow my eyes.

But she shrugs, humming along to her own rhythm.

"Why do I bother? You guys don't get it." Laurel huffs as she stalks back into the kitchen to help Mom with more dishes.

"Relax," Whit calls out. "It's family dinner. We're just trying to have some fun."

The front door shuts, and Lottie whisks into the dining room. "What did I miss? I saw Laurel's car outside. Is she already into it with y'all for not listening on the edge of your seats to her riveting tales of medical crises?"

"How did you know?" Whit's eyes widen in awe.

"We spend too much time together, don't we?" I muse.

"Nah." Lottie waves with her free hand, a covered dish in the other. "It's just that Laurel's too predictable."

"You say it like it's an insult," my third sister returns with a platter of stuffed mushrooms and a basket of breadsticks.

"It's not a compliment," Lottie teases. "I'm surprised you're even helping set the table. Isn't that beneath you, Doctor Conrad?"

"As the oldest daughter, it's my responsibility to help." Laurel raises her chin with pride.

"You're older than me by a minute!" Lottie bursts.

Huck burps, pulling all of our attention toward him as if he just knew he needed to break the impending explosion.

Even from this young of an age, it's clear the kid possesses a talent for being the funny guy, just like his favorite uncle.

I'm the first to chuckle, and the rest of the girls follow suit.

"It's great to finally hear you all laughing." Mom rushes into the dining room, an apron tied around her waist and oven mitts over both hands. In her grasp is the world's greatest smelling lasagna.

The cheese still bubbles on the top—she obviously just pulled it from the oven.

I inhale another hungry whiff, and as I finish setting out the napkins and silverware, the doorbell rings.

"That's probably your father," Mom says and pats my shoulder. "He said he'd be running a little behind."

"He never rings the doorbell, though." I leave a question hanging in the air, but all I get in response are a bunch of shrugs.

Lottie does nothing but swipe a stuffed mushroom, and Laurel slaps her hand. She really takes her role as a-whole-minute-older sister so seriously.

I make my way toward the front door, and my cautious confusion comes to a screeching halt as I swing it open.

Shoulders grazing her ears, Addie steps off the top step when I join her on the porch. "Where are you sneaking off to?" I lean against the doorframe.

She spins on her heel to face me, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I thought you might be busy. There are a lot of cars in your driveway. Or are they all yours? Do you like cars? I didn't know this about you."

A pair of headlights flash us as my father pulls into the spot behind Lottie. "I have no real attachment to cars, no."

"Interesting," she chirps, but it sounds forced. She's nervous, and it makes me so deliriously fucking happy that I affect her so much.

"Those are my family's cars. They're all here for dinner."

She blanches underneath the porch lights. "Oh my God. I knew this was a mistake, but I was trying to be spontaneous and fun. And I'm even wearing slutty lingerie. I don't know what I was thinking."

My cock twitches at the image of the kind of lingerie she might be referring to, and I'll be damned if I don't find out for myself. "Stay," I urge as Dad saunters up the path toward us.

Addie's eyes bug out of her head. "I can't meet your family," she hisses.

"Hey, son." Dad climbs the steps and claps my back. "Who's this?"

"I'm his co-worker," Addie sputters. "I just came by to… to… let him know I had a change in my schedule and will need him to take his classes outside tomorrow."

"Forecast says it's going to rain, though." I fold my arms over my chest.

"Is it? I didn't, um, see that." She fumbles down the porch steps. "I'll go back to my original plan, then. Okay. Take care."

As Addie marches back toward the driveway, I squeeze my dad's shoulder and say, "We'll meet you inside."

Addie's short strides are no match for my long ones, no matter how quickly and purposefully she makes them, and I catch up to her before she reaches her car at the end of my driveway.

I lurch in front of her and cut off her path. "You're not naked under there, are you?" I point to her peacoat. It's buttoned down all the way to her upper thighs, which are bare. Her lean muscles blink as she shifts from one boot to the other.

"No!" she hisses, but her outrage is instantly replaced with hesitation. "Why? Would that have been sexier?"

I hook my finger under her chin and tip her head back. "Everything you do is sexy." My growl is mixed with a raspy chuckle. "I'm just happy you're here. How did you know where I live?"

"Same way you got my address."

"Austin," I muse, but something hits me. "What did you tell him you needed it for?"

"He didn't actually ask, and I don't suspect he cares at all about why I needed it." She shrugs. "But I told him you left your hat at school, and I just wanted to drop it off in your mailbox."

"Sounds about right." I slide my fingers up her cheek and into her short wavy strands, untucking the locks she had hidden behind one ear. "Hey, Lockhart?"

"Hmm?" She bites her sinfully red lip and peers up at me, her eyes sparkling like the stars in the evening sky.

"Can I kiss you already?"

"You better."

She barely completes her smartass response before I crush my lips to hers. She tastes extra sweet tonight.

Maybe it's because she's been torturing me from afar all week, showing up to work in heeled boots and leggings. She always looks professional, but I've suddenly been distracted by all the ways her outfits are sexy.

Mainly, I imagine it's midnight, and I fling each article of clothing across the gym floor, then have me a taste with her sprawled across the free-throw line.

We've survived four days of classes and secret glances from across the gym.

It's obvious she's been tortured too. Why else would she surprise me at my house tonight? God, this fucking woman will be the end of me.

She moans in my mouth, and my mind drifts into dangerous territory, filling itself with filthy images of spreading her across the porch steps and having my way with her. My neighbors are far enough away, given my house sits on fifteen acres. There'd be no witnesses other than the fireflies and fish in the creek cutting through my property.

But a burst of laughter from inside rattles my brain and reminds me we are not actually alone right now.

"Come on," I whisper, my voice hoarse.

She slips her hand into mine and squeezes, but our connection breaks when she starts toward her car, and I walk toward my house. "What are you doing?" she asks.

I take her hand in mine again and nudge her back down the pathway toward the porch. "You're joining us for dinner. Knowing you, there's zero chance you've eaten tonight."

"I mean, you're right, but I can't come inside!" She digs her heels into the cement path, but she's no match for my strength—or determination. "Unhand me right this second!"

"I've already met your mom, and now, I'm returning the gesture."

"That was an accident," she argues. "Trust me, if she hadn't shown up to the chili dinner, you wouldn't have met her for a very long time, if ever."

"We're having lasagna tonight. You like lasagna, right? And breadsticks. They're the garlic kind." My mouth salivates, and my stomach growls as I bring her along. "Then we'll play some Jenga, and after everyone leaves, you'll show me this elusive lingerie."

"You're out of your freaking mind," she whisper-screams as I drag her up the steps. "I'm not going in there to meet your whole family. That's insane!"

"What would be insane is allowing you to drive all the way out here and letting you leave with an empty stomach." I pause with my foot on the last step. "Letting you leave unsatisfied would be a terrible disservice."

"You're off the hook. I don't need to be satisfied in any sense." She attempts to free her delicate hand from my wolfish grip yet again, but it's no use.

"Then why did you come here?"

"To get my fill of the countryside," she deadpans.

It makes me chuckle, and her gaze follows the rise and fall of my chest before I spin back around, my hand still holding onto hers as I tug her the rest of the way toward the door.

"Owen Sylvester Conrad!" she bursts.

My laugh tears out of me with gusto, and the echo scares the birds from the trees in my front yard. "My middle name is not Sylvester." I pause again right next to the door—so fucking close.

With my guard down, she yanks her hand free. "Well, I don't know what it is."

"And your best guess is Sylvester?"

"You look like a Sylvester." A small smile dances on her lips.

"What are you afraid of, angel?"

"A lot of things—spiders, seaweed touching my leg in the ocean, and my woven blankets unraveling. Oh, and right now, I'm afraid of how totally casual you are about introducing me to your entire family." She folds her arms over her chest and shrinks. "It's very serious, and you don't seem to realize that."

"I do realize it."

"And you don't care?"

"I do care. As a matter of fact, I care a lot. It's why I want to hold your hand, walk inside, and eat together with my family."

"What happened to keeping us a secret?"

"My family doesn't count."

"They are people with eyes and ears—they freaking count."

With a sigh, I twist the knob and head inside, leaving the door open for her to make a choice. I've said my piece, and the rest is up to her.

"Where are you going?" Her voice carries down the narrow entryway and over me.

"I'm going to eat—I'm starving," I say over my shoulder.