All the Way Read online

What? Just because I have sexual PTSD doesn’t mean I’m blind to the opposite sex. I know when someone is attractive, and Owen most definitely is.

  His SUV is huge and black, with fancy wheels and upgraded . . . well, everything. But he’s never flashed or flaunted his money, though he does generally insist on paying wherever we go. As much as I like to treat my friends and be generous, I usually let him pay because my job is the furthest thing from glamourous you can get. I barely make enough to afford my own place plus groceries.

  “You cold?” he asks as he pulls onto the highway.

  “I’m good,” I say, wrapping my arms around my middle.

  Owen heads north, and since all our usual hangouts are located in the other direction, I raise my eyebrows.

  “Where exactly is this field trip?” I’m still not convinced he’s actually taking me to the infamous massage parlor everyone teases him about. He wouldn’t, would he?

  He grins, his gaze not straying from the road. “You’ll see.”

  When we pull into a strip mall just off the highway, I survey the signs on the surrounding shops until I see one that mentions massage.

  “Number One Foot?” I ask with skepticism.

  Owen laughs. “Yeah. Come on. You’re going to love it.”

  I guess that answers that.

  We climb out of the car and head toward the neon-lit signs. I place one hand on Owen’s firm forearm, stopping him before we reach the door. He turns his head to meet my eyes.

  “Everyone’s kidding about this place, right?”

  “Oh, you’ll get a happy ending. I can promise you that.” Owen winks and pulls open the door, which signals a series of chimes that play on a happy loop.

  An older Asian woman appears from around the corner and joins us in the deserted lobby.

  “My favorite customer.” She smiles when she sees Owen, motioning with her hands for him to come in for a hug, which he does.

  Grinning, he pulls back from her embrace and gestures toward me. “This is my friend Becca. She’s getting a massage today too.”

  Briefly, I wonder if he made us both appointments since he only invited me yesterday. Then again, this place looks mostly deserted, and the sign out front said walk-ins are welcome.

  “Good, good. You come back.” She motions for us to follow her and disappears around the corner.

  Owen meets my eyes. “After you.”

  With a deep inhale, I follow. Here goes nothing. The room she leads us into is wide and dimly lit. A row of half a dozen low massage tables are spaced evenly throughout the room.

  Okay, this is weird. The few times I’ve gotten a massage in the past, it’s in a private room where I disrobe and wait for the therapist under a sheet.

  Here, everything is out in the open. And while there’s no one here now, there’s nothing to stop another customer from joining us in this little massage adventure. Not to mention I have no idea if I’m supposed to wear my clothes or where to change.

  “Right here.”

  The woman pats the first table for me, while Owen sits down on the one beside me. He begins removing his shoes and socks, so I do the same. The woman leaves the room, and I hear her call out in what I think is Vietnamese to someone else.

  “What do I do?” I whisper-hiss in his direction.

  Owen pulls his sweatshirt off over his head and lies back. “Get comfortable.”

  The tables we’re on are only about a foot off the floor, and they’re short so they only fit the upper half of your body. When Owen lies down, his knees are bent and his feet are flat on the floor.

  “You okay?” he asks, gazing over at me.

  I nod and lie back, my feet dangling off the end of the bed. I give my toes a wiggle.

  The older woman returns, but this time with a younger coworker. The young woman has black hair that hangs over her shoulders in a thick curtain. She looks appreciatively at Owen before the older woman says something to her in a stern tone.

  They both set basins of steaming water in the space at the end of the table. Owen places his feet right in, while the younger woman comes over to help me roll up my pants.

  What follows is the most interesting, and honestly one of the best massages I’ve ever had. While my feet are submerged in hot water, my arms, hands, and scalp are massaged. And when hot stones are pressed into the soles of my feet—wow. I can see why Owen comes here.

  I hear a grunt from beside me and turn my head, blinking open hazy eyes as I try to make out what I’m seeing. Owen is now lying on his stomach, and the older woman is standing on top of his back. Metal rungs are mounted into the ceiling, and she’s holding on to them as she walks across his spine.

  Okay, this is officially weird.

  But I’m enjoying myself, and since Owen seems to be too, I roll with it. Also, foot reflexology is pretty awesome, because I swear I can feel it in different parts of my body when the pressure points on my feet are pressed.

  After what feels like an eternity, they announce we’re done. I leisurely stretch, opening my eyes.

  Owen grunts again and rolls over, slowly rising from the table. “You good?”

  I smile at him. “You were right about this having a happy ending. I feel freaking amazing.”

  He grins. “I know, right?”

  As we put on our shoes, I look over at him. “Why do you keep this place a secret? And let everyone tease you?”

  He just shrugs. “Eh. That’s just what the guys do.”

  That’s probably true. They’re constantly inventing new ways to give each other shit.

  Out in the lobby, Owen hands the woman his credit card, and we’re each given a tiny bottle of water. Owen downs his with one gulp while I take a small sip.

  I still feel a little out of it—thanks to my state of total and complete relaxation—as we make our way to his car.

  “I’ve been coming here every week that I’m in town for two years. And you’re the first person to ever come with me.”

  I feel oddly special, knowing he shared his secret massage place with me.

  “You wanna get some food?” he asks, pulling into traffic.

  “Sure, that sounds great.”

  On the way back to his place, we swing by a sushi place Owen promises is awesome. And when we arrive, carrying our bags of takeout, all the eyes in the living room swing over toward us.

  “You’re back,” Elise says, picking up the remove to press PAUSE. “We just started the movie. And we have pizza on the way. You guys want to join us?”

  “That’s okay. We picked up our own dinner,” Owen says, holding up the takeout bags.

  I smile at Elise. “Thanks, though.”

  “So . . . how was it?” Teddy asks, waggling his eyebrows seductively.

  “It was amazing.”

  Owen’s gray gaze meets mine. “You were a good sport.”

  A tingle races down my spine at the appreciative look he’s giving me.

  “I’m starving. Come on.”

  Just as quickly as that little moment started, it’s gone. Owen’s stomach is apparently calling the shots. He’s always starving, though, so that’s nothing new.

  The movie in the living room is restarted, and Owen heads to the kitchen to grab two plates and a stack of napkins. “You want a beer? A glass of wine?” he asks, pausing in front of the fridge.

  I shake my head. “I’ve given up alcohol for a little while.”

  He cocks his head to the side but doesn’t question me. A silent understanding passes over his face—at least, that’s what I think it is.

  Owen grabs two bottles of water from the fridge, and we venture down the hall into the media room where a flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall. He grabs the remote and turns it on. It’s the perfect TV room, so I have no idea why the gang isn’t watching their movie in here, except, I guess there’s more seating in the living room. There’s only one couch in here, which we both settle on.

  We load up our plates with spicy tuna, smoked salmon, and shrimp tempura
rolls, splitting everything. Owen must have severely overestimated my appetite, because he serves me almost as much as he serves himself. We’re having quite an Asian-inspired date between the foot reflexology and our dinner entrees.

  Thankfully, I catch myself before the words leave my mouth—because what? This is so not a date. Owen doesn’t date.

  I stuff a bite of sushi into my mouth and chew.

  “So, you gave up drinking?” Owen asks around a mouthful of sushi. “That have anything to do with the other night?”

  I swallow and give him a sly look. “What do you think? I made a complete ass of myself.”

  He shrugs and picks up another piece of sushi with his chopsticks. “We survived.”

  “And so did our friendship, thank God.”

  He chuckles as he chews. “Of course it did. It’ll take a lot more than a little junk grab to break us up, Bec.”

  He nudges the remote control closer to me, telling me to turn on whatever I want. I’m still focused on his choice of phrasing. If memory serves, it was a lot more than a little junk grab.

  After we finish eating, I’m about to ask how and when our little experiment will begin, when he shifts, leaning back on the couch and placing his arm on the cushion behind me.

  I burst into laughter.

  “What?” Owen gives me a confused look but doesn’t remove his arm.

  “That’s your move?” I chuckle, raising my brow in question.

  “If I was making a move, angel, you’d know it. Trust me.” His gaze lands on mine, and a hot shiver runs through me. His fingertips brush my shoulder, and his eyes smolder on mine.

  It occurs to me he has a house full of players and friends. Maybe nothing will happen tonight. But then again, Owen is looking at me like he wants to eat me for dessert.

  Holy hell. My stomach erupts into butterflies, but I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. I may be a little nervous, but I’m a whole lot intrigued.

  “Come on,” he says, rising from the couch.

  Owen grabs our plates and discarded containers and brings everything to the kitchen. “I have something I want to show you. Come with me.”

  We head into his bedroom, and he closes the door. “Sit down.” He gestures to the bed.

  I do while he fishes something out of his dresser drawer.

  “You see this puck?” he asks, handing it to me.

  I nod and turn it over in my hands. It looks like a regular hockey puck.

  “This is the puck from my first national league game.” He sits down next to me.

  “Wow. Pretty cool.” I turn it over in my hands. “Why’d you want to show me this?”

  “I’d been playing hockey for sixteen years by the time I got called up to the pros. I knew how to play, knew what I needed to do, everything. But knowing what to do and actually doing it—I learned those were two very different things. I was terrified that first game. I thought I was going to puke in my helmet, sure I was going to fuck everything up. I imagined everyone thinking I was a total fraud.”

  “You?” I gasp in disbelief. “But you’re always so chill, so relaxed about everything. Nothing bothers you.”

  He nods. “I am now. But my point is, it takes time. And it’s totally okay to be nervous, even scared about this, Becca.”

  I give him a grateful look, weighing his words.

  “It took me months to find my stride, to feel like I fit in on the team, and even longer not to almost pass out from nerves on every game day.”

  I think I know what he’s saying. This is my moment. My being called up to the pros moment. I’m thankful that he’s taken the elephant in the room and addressed it so directly. I’m also thankful he’s being so kind and careful with me.

  But I honestly wouldn’t have expected anything less from this man.

  Setting the puck down on the bed, I touch his stubbled cheek. “Thank you for telling me that.”

  His eyes meet mine. “No matter what happens next—hell, even if nothing more happens—just know that you’re awesome for facing your fears. I think it’s pretty fucking amazing.”

  He wraps me in a hug, bringing his strong arms around me and holding me close. It feels so good to be comforted by him, just to be held.

  His words sink in slowly. Even if nothing more happens, knowing Owen is proud of me feels pretty freaking sensational. He also smells divine—like clean cotton and something spicy and masculine.

  I consider his offer for a moment. Do I want anything more to happen? Yes, I decide immediately. I wouldn’t be satisfied if we stopped now before anything happened.

  I lean into his embrace, and when I turn my head, his lips find mine. And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Owen is kissing me.

  He starts off slow, tentative, in a way I never imagined he’d be. Owen doesn’t do anything slow. He plays hockey with such fierce determination and is so aggressive on the ice, I never imagined him being so tender. But he is. His hand cups my jaw and he tilts my head, carefully deepening our kiss.

  The first wet touch of his tongue to mine sends shock waves coursing through my body. It’s by far the best kiss I’ve ever experienced. But just as my heart begins to gallop and my lower half pleasantly tingles, Owen pulls back, breaking our kiss.

  “You okay?” he asks, looking at me quizzically. His voice is deep and husky, and I wonder if that kiss had the same effect on him as it did on me.

  Breathless, I nod. Is he testing me? Testing the waters? Why is the idea of that so adorable? “I’m okay. Why’d you stop?”

  “Things have gotten pretty quiet out there.”

  He tips his head toward the door, and I realize he’s right. It’s completely silent on the other side of that door. Their movie must be over, and they’ll probably get curious about what Owen and I are up to, maybe even come looking for us. I wouldn’t put it past Elise. Since we haven’t told anyone about this yet, I appreciate Owen for realizing it might be wise to call a time-out.

  “I guess I should probably get going soon. I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

  He nods. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

  We rise from the bed, but before Owen opens the door, he stops and turns to face me. He’d stripped off his sweatshirt when we got home, and his white T-shirt stretches alluringly across his broad shoulders. I force my eyes up to his.

  “You sure tonight was okay with you?” he asks, tucking a lock of stray hair behind my ear.

  I nod and rest my hand flat on his firm chest. “It was very okay. I felt completely comfortable and at ease with you.” It was one of the most enjoyable nights I’ve had in a long time, actually. “Next time, maybe you won’t be such a chicken and we’ll progress past first base.”

  Owen’s gaze turns serious for a second. “I’m not chickening out. I just didn’t want to push you. I figured we’d start with a kiss to see if we had chemistry and go from there.”

  “And?” I ask, wondering if he felt the same intensity I did from that kiss.

  “I’d say if we had any more chemistry, I’d be in big trouble.” He grins at me.

  Jeez, that damn dimple. I have the strangest urge to kiss him again. Instead, I clear my throat and wait for him to open the door.

  We head into the living room and survey the damage. Elise and Justin are cuddling on the couch, and everyone else is gone. Several pizza boxes and a few empty beer bottles are still on the coffee table.

  No wonder it’s so quiet. I didn’t realize Owen and I were in his bedroom that long.

  “I’m going to head out,” I announce to Elise.

  She lifts her head from Justin’s sculpted chest and gives me a half wave. “’Bye, Becs. See you this week for dinner?”

  “Definitely,” I say. As two single girls in our twenties, Elise and I often made dinner plans together midweek. Now that she’s dating Justin, she’s made it a point to continue our tradition. Which this single lady very much appreciates.

  “See you at work tomorrow?” Owen asks while I linger b
y the door.

  I nod. The team has a nine a.m. ice time, so I’m sure I’ll see the guys then. If I make it out from behind my desk, that is.

  I half expect Owen to pull me in for a hug or say something flirty before I head out, but instead he leans against the door frame, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

  Our eyes meet, and something inside me sizzles. I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot more complicated.

  7

  * * *

  The Face-off

  Owen

  “You were on fire tonight,” Justin says, raising his pint glass to mine.

  I grin and clink my glass to his before taking a long drink. “Thanks, man. I felt good out there.”

  We’re in New York for a midweek game, and I’m not going to deny how good it feels to get a win tonight.

  Teddy signals the waitress as he polishes off the last of his beer. “That last shot was like a bullet. I didn’t think you were going to stop it.”

  Catching that shot was a surprise to me too. I felt the puck hit my glove, but still had to look down in disbelief to actually see that it was in my hand.

  “Christoff has a wicked slap shot, that’s for sure,” I say, trying to downplay my heroic save, but it’s hard to hide my smile when the guys are singing my praises. And the truth is, I know I did damn good on the ice tonight.

  I hope that performance is enough to show Coach that nothing has changed with me, and that my supposed lady troubles aren’t going to be any trouble at all.

  Agreeing to help Becca certainly doesn’t feel like trouble. So far, all we’ve shared is one kiss, but it was a damn good kiss, one I haven’t been able to stop thinking about in the two days since it happened.

  Speaking of Becca, I glance down at my phone to see if she’s replied to my text. Nothing yet.

  Sometimes her position allows her to travel with the team, though those occasions are rare, usually reserved for playoffs when all the team’s leadership travels with us too. She’s in Seattle tonight, and I have no idea what she’s up to because my phone screen is still blank. We exchanged a few texts earlier, when she wished me luck at the game, and being the cocky bastard I am, I told her that I don’t need luck. Now, radio silence.