All the Way Page 17
While he grabs his jeans off the floor and begins tugging them on, my heart is heavy already, missing him before he’s even left. In the kitchen, I toast him a bagel, and he takes a giant bite while putting on his shoes.
After about a dozen good-bye kisses, Owen is out the door, and I lace up my gym shoes for a quick morning run. Running always helps clear my head, and I need to give some serious thought as to what I’m going to say to Elise.
Somewhere around mile two, it clicks. This conversation should be about Elise’s feelings and our friendship. Because no matter what happens, that’s something I don’t want to lose.
After an easy three miles, I hop in the shower, then zip off to the café to meet with Elise. When I arrive, she’s already standing at the counter, placing her order.
Despite her four-exclamation-point-level night of drinking last night, she looks surprisingly put together, her hair styled into loose waves that tumble over the shoulders of her slouchy pink sweater. When she spots me, I hear her tack on a second almond-milk latte to her order. The girl knows me too well.
Once we’re settled in at a corner table, I hardly have a chance to take a sip of my latte before Elise broaches the subject we both know we came here to discuss.
“So. You and my brother, huh?” She raises one eyebrow at me in a way that’s far more curious than upset. Maybe she’s not as ticked off about this whole thing as I thought she’d be.
“It’s new.” I shrug. I’ll spare her the details of the situation for now. What’s important is that we get our friendship sorted out. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“Oh my God, Becca. Of course not,” she blurts, then creases her brow in thought. “Well, I am a little bummed that you didn’t tell me. But I totally get it. I wouldn’t have told me either if I were in your shoes.”
A wave of cool relief washes over me. I can deal with Elise being “a little bummed” as long as she’s not angry. After all, Owen and I never would have been friends if not for Elise and me being besties first, and I’d never want anything to come between us. Especially not a guy. Even if that guy happens to be her brother.
“That being said,” she says, setting her latte down on the table, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried. You and I both know that Owen doesn’t exactly have a stellar track record when it comes to women. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
I wipe latte foam from my upper lip. “I totally understand. And I appreciate you looking out for me. But things are good.”
“That’s good to hear,” she says with a nod. “Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy for you. I just don’t want you to get your heart broken by how casual Owen likes to keep things.”
That nervous knot in my stomach that never showed up earlier this morning? Yeah, I think it just arrived.
I chew nervously on my lower lip, searching for the right words. “Um, I’m not really sure if it’s casual, Elise.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, really? Are you sure?”
My stomach twists, and suddenly, I’m doubting what I heard Owen say last night.
What were his words, exactly? That he didn’t know how to be a good boyfriend? I took that as him wanting to try, but maybe I misread him. Maybe he meant that he just wasn’t boyfriend material and wasn’t looking for that. Two innocent shots of tequila after a solid month off of alcohol can really cloud a girl’s perception.
Elise is right. Anyone who knows Owen Parrish knows that he’s the King of Casual. And that’s so not me. I don’t want to get hurt, and I know that when I got Owen, I got all the history and reputation that comes with him.
But I have to believe that I’m different. What I have with Owen is something I’ve never had before. When he pulls me into his arms, it feels like finding something I didn’t know I lost. Like coming back home again. And with the way he looks at me, I have to believe that he feels the same.
“I’m not sure about any of it,” I say, my lips curling into a soft smile. “But I know one thing for sure. That I’m going to see it through.”
And just hope that my heart remains in one piece.
21
* * *
Confidence Galore
Owen
Becca is perched on one of the stools in my kitchen, watching me cook for her. Tonight, I’m making us chicken piccata. She’d wanted to help, but I enjoy being the one to feed her, so the only task I’ve given her is slicing lemons, which she made quick work of.
“Thanks, angel,” I say, grabbing the cutting board and lemons from her.
“Did you mean all that? Everything you said in your truck?”
I give her a quizzical look. “Of course I did.”
She smiles. “I had coffee with Elise, and ...” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey.” I cross the kitchen to stand before her and brush my thumb across her cheek. “It matters to me.”
She licks her lips, toying with a loose string on the hem of her shirt. “She told me to be careful.”
Shit. I should have expected as much. My sister doesn’t exactly have the highest opinion of my ability to be a decent human being. Although I’ve gotta say, I didn’t expect her to try and warn Becca away from me. “She doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
Becca nods. “Yeah. Something like that.”
I touch my lips to hers. “Then she and I are on the exact same page.”
She smiles and kisses me once more. “How long till dinner’s ready?” she asks, giving me a heated look.
I glance at the timer I’d set on the microwave. “Twenty-eight minutes. Why?”
Without answering, Becca hops up from the stool and grabs my hand, tugging me along with her toward my bedroom.
Barely thirty seconds later, she’s naked and in my lap, rubbing those beautiful curves all over my chest, and making me groan with anticipation.
From the bedside table, I grab a condom and suit up. Her tongue traces a line down my throat while she teases me, moving her hips up and down over my straining dick.
Some unexpected emotion wells up inside me, and my eyes sink closed. This girl—our connection—it’s been so unexpected, but now I can’t imagine my life without her.
“Want you inside me,” she murmurs, lifting onto her knees to find the right angle.
I help her out, positioning myself as she begins to slowly sink down.
Heaven.
This is what heaven feels like.
She moans loudly, a desperate sound that makes my balls ache.
“Angel,” I groan, skimming my hands over her breasts as they bounce.
Becca experiments moving her hips, finding a rhythm that makes her happy. I hear the sound of ragged breathing and it takes me a second to realize that it’s mine. Gone is the timid girl who needed my help, and in her place is an irresistible woman I can’t get enough of.
“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” I pant.
Her wide eyes meet mine as she stills. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re going to fucking kill me.” That’s what’s wrong.
A lazy smile tugs at her lips, and she leans down to kiss me, her long hair brushing against my chest. “I think you can handle it, don’t you?”
I grip her hips in my hands and let out a slow breath. “Just don’t move for a sec.”
Becca laughs, the sound low and sultry. Damn, when did she turn into such a sex kitten? I feel like I’ve created a monster. A sexy, tempting monster who’s going to give me a heart attack if she keeps riding me like that, but a monster all the same.
Cupping the back of her neck, I bring her lips to mine, and we kiss deeply for several minutes while I try to cool down. The last thing I want to do is embarrass myself by coming in under two minutes. Jesus. Get it together, Parrish.
Becca eases up before slowly lowering herself back down on my aching cock. She plants her hands firmly against my chest and starts to move again.
A choked gasp escapes me, and my entire body shivers.
&n
bsp; Watching her fuck my cock is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
Folding my hands behind my head, I lean back to enjoy the view, and all the sensations that go with it. My hips shift up off the mattress, and I give her more of what she wants.
“God, I fucking rock at this boyfriend thing.”
Becca laughs and the sound is so perfect that my heart actually squeezes. Wait. Did I say that out loud?
“You really do,” she pants, angling her hips closer.
Then she bites her lip and gets back to the job at hand—that job being making me lose my damn mind.
22
* * *
All the Way
Owen
I’d wanted to plan a sweet, elaborate date for Becca today. God knows she deserves it. She’s been a saint for putting up with me over the past month.
The truth is, I had no idea how to be a good boyfriend—hell, even a bad boyfriend, for that matter. But by some miracle, sweet and sexy Becca was willing to let me practice with her.
I even consulted Teddy, because he’s the only one with relationship experience in our group other than Justin, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to go to my sister’s boyfriend for advice. Teddy gave me a few ideas—like a nice dinner out for her favorite kinds of foods, maybe the symphony or an art gallery. But in the end, he (wisely) advised me to ask Becca what she’d like to do today.
As it turns out, that was a very good idea. Because what Becca wanted to do was have me join her on her run and then go out for sub sandwiches after. Who knew?
I told her we could do anything in the world, any fancy or elaborate thing she wanted, but she was firm. She wanted to run today. I told her not to expect much from me, that I’m an athlete but not a runner, but she insisted I could do it, that I was in better shape than anyone she knew.
“Thanks for doing this,” she says as she pants beside me. “I really needed a running buddy to motivate me to tackle this today.”
The thing we’re tackling together? A ten-mile run. Jesus.
My chest heaves, and I push my legs to keep up with her. I should have stretched better before we started. My hamstrings are tight and my calves are already cramping, and we’re only at mile three.
“You know I’m not a runner, right? This shit is really fucking hard,” I pant out, already breathless.
She nods beside me. “The first three miles are the hardest. By mile four, you’ll be warmed up, and then it will get easier.”
I doubt that it’s going to get easier the farther we go, yet somehow that’s exactly what happens. Miles four through seven are a breeze, but by mile eight, I’m more than ready to be done.
But Becca is totally in her element—a look of determination painted across her features, and the glow of sweat on her forehead and chest. I have to force myself not to notice how good she looks in her tiny black running shorts and bright pink tank top. Otherwise, I’ll have a whole other set of problems to deal with on this run.
Almost two hours from when we started, we finally cross ten miles, and I stop, hands on my knees as I suck in deep lungfuls of air. Becca just laughs at me and keeps walking, enjoying her cooldown.
“Never again,” I call out breathlessly after her.
She only laughs. “It becomes addicting. You’ll see.”
I highly doubt that. I work out hard enough—I don’t need to add running to the mix. I only did this for her. And based on the look of pride and satisfaction on her face, I would say she’s pretty happy about that.
Becca circles back to where I’m now sitting in the grass, stretching my abused hamstrings, and leans down to press a quick kiss to my lips. “Thank you for doing that. I’ve never run that far before. I’ve always wanted to, but that distance was . . . I don’t know . . . intimidating, I guess.”
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I look up at her. “I’m starting to believe you can do anything you set your mind to.”
She smiles and offers me a hand. I almost end up toppling her over on top of me when she tries to help all two-hundred-plus pounds of me up off the ground, but somehow she maintains her balance.
“I’m fucking starving and ready to eat my weight in whatever’s closest,” I say as my stomach gives off a monstrous groan.
Becca chuckles, shaking her head. “Then let’s feed you. I’d say you earned it.”
“First, give me your phone,” I say, holding out my hand.
Becca’s eyes narrow, but she hands it over. “What are you doing?” she asks as I begin punching in a string of numbers.
“Programming my new number into your phone. I had it changed so I won’t be getting any more weird texts.”
Her mouth drops open in surprise, and then she smiles at me like this is the best news she’s heard all day.
• • •
After eating at a sandwich shop on the walk home, we go back to my place and head straight for the shower.
“You want to go first?” I ask as we step into the bathroom connected to my room. I turn on the water and test it with my hand. I normally like it hot enough to melt my skin, but I’m guessing Becca might not appreciate that.
She gives me a look, appraising me for a moment before she speaks. “Or we could shower together.”
Hello, best idea ever.
I grin back. “Or we could do that. I’m starting to think running together has its advantages.”
Becca just smirks, and with a shimmy of her ass, looks over toward me and says, “Told ya.”
We’ve never showered together before, and I’m suddenly wondering why the hell not. “That’s one of the best suggestions I’ve heard all day.”
She laughs again, tugging her tank top off over her head. In seconds, she’s out of her damp clothes, sighing when she steps under the spray of water.
“This shower is amazing,” she murmurs.
The shower is huge—it’s one of the things that sold me on this apartment. It could easily fit six people and has three showerheads.
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” I say as I drop my shorts and tug my T-shirt off over my head.
“Get in here, Parrish.”
There’s a playful tone to her voice, and I’m grinning as I step into the glass-enclosed space with her.
She reaches for the bodywash, and my gaze dips down, traveling over the length of her. She’s incredible, with a body that can run ten miles, but still has all the soft curves a woman’s body should have. I’m constantly amazed by her.
Becca squeezes some of the mint-scented bodywash into her hands and rubs them together, then lathers the soapy bubbles all over her stomach and breasts.
“Goodness . . . someone’s a little excited.” Her eyes widen as she notices a certain part of my anatomy that’s eagerly straining toward her.
I shrug. “You. Naked. Wet. Soapy . . . that’s all it takes.”
She rolls her eyes and squeezes more bodywash into her palm.
“Here, let me.” There’s no way I’m missing the opportunity to have my hands all over her.
She turns, presenting me with her back, and I work the lather into her overworked muscles, taking my time to massage each one.
“Ahhh . . .” Her sigh of pleasure is immediate. “That’s so good.”
My throat is dry, and my body goes impossibly stiffer. Everywhere.
I plant a slow kiss on the back of her neck as my hands drift to her front, cupping her round breasts and massaging them. She leans back against me, and my hand slides down her stomach and between her legs. As she arches against me, parting her legs, I run my fingertips over her smooth center.
Moaning when I touch her, she reaches up, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of my neck. “Owen.”
My name on her lips thaws the last bit of my heart. I love that I’m the man who gets to do this for her, the one to pleasure her and take care of her.
I sink one finger slowly inside her slick warmth, and Becca trembles.
“Oh . . . Owen,” she says, moaning again.
It doesn’t take long for her to completely come apart, trembling in my arms as she cries out my name. And then she turns toward me, her lips finding mine, and her hand curls around my length. I let out a slow, shaky exhale as she works her wet hand up and down over me. It feels so fucking good.
“Bedroom,” I pant. It’s not that I don’t want to take her here, of course I do, but I don’t have any condoms nearby—so my bed wins by default.
She shuts off the water as I grab two towels, draping the first one around her shoulders, and then I tie the second in a knot around my waist. We’re still damp from the shower by the time we make it to my bed a few feet away, and we fall into the center of it, tossing the towels to the floor.
As we lie together on my bed, our limbs entwined and my heart so full, for some strange reason, a memory pops into my head. And once it’s there, it refuses to fade.
Over the holidays a few years ago, I went to church with my mom, and something the pastor said in his sermon stuck with me. He said that sex is like a Post-It note. The more you stick it, the less sticky it becomes. If you fill your life with casual sex, later it will be hard to have meaningful intimacy with just one person because you’ve trained yourself to expect the opposite. At the time, I wrote it off as nonsense, but I guess it’s stuck with me for a reason. And deep down, I know there’s some truth to what he said.
Before Becca, I’d become so numb to sex. So blasé about everything that it hardly felt important or special anymore. Now I’m learning that with her, there’s nothing casual or ordinary about the way we are together. The way she trusts me so completely, gazing up at me with those big soul-filled eyes. The way she gives herself so freely, even when she’s scared. These simple moments with her mean more to me than all the hookups in the world.
That’s when I know. I’m totally and completely head over heels for this girl.
“I need you,” she says, breathing hard into my neck as the warmth of her hand closes around me, stroking.
I reach for the bedside table for a condom, but Becca’s hand on my shoulder stops me.