All the Way Read online

  “A well-deserved high. The whole office was buzzing about it. You should’ve seen the marketing department go nuts making GIFs of you blocking that shot.”

  Owen throws his head back in a laugh. “Oh, so I’m a GIF now, huh? That’s fuckin’ legendary.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re already cocky enough.” I purse my lips, fighting off a smile.

  The corner of his mouth quirks up as he gives me a devilish look. “Yeah, I’ve been told I got a lot to be cocky about.”

  When he lifts one eyebrow in a look that’s almost a challenge, I’m torn between A) melting into a puddle in the back of this limo, or B) knocking him upside the head. Instead, I opt for option C) try to hide the redness spreading across my cheeks with an exaggerated eye roll.

  Why am I suddenly bashful around him? The sex jokes never used to do anything but annoy me before.

  “Save the dirty jokes for the guys, you jackass,” I say with a laugh. Only I know he’s not joking. The man has quite an impressive reputation.

  When we reach my place, I try to read the look in his eyes, which have shifted to a sultry shade of smoky blue. His eyes have always changed color to reflect his mood—bright blue when he’s happy or excited, closer to gray when he’s serious. But this in-between hue is rare, and I’m hoping it means he wants to come inside with me.

  Feeling a little bold, I think I’m ready to take the next step in conquering my fears. If I can figure out how to initiate that step, or what exactly it might entail. And Owen looks so goddamn delicious in that tux.

  “You want to join me for a bit?” I ask, hoping he’ll read between the lines at what I’m suggesting. Luckily, my vague offer gets the response I want.

  “If that’s what you want.” A smile tugs at Owen’s mouth as the door swings open. “We’ll both be getting out here,” he tells the driver as he helps me out, then slides a fifty out of his wallet and into the driver’s hand before following me up the front steps.

  Inside, I take off my heels and head straight for the fridge to grab a couple of waters. There had to be at least three servers with champagne trays for every one person at that gala, but finding a glass of water was borderline impossible. And I need to flush out some of the sugar from the sweet drink I had.

  “Want something to eat?” I ask, tossing a water bottle Owen’s way.

  He catches it and shakes his head. “I’m good with water. I think I ate enough of that . . . what do you call them? The little tiny toasts with the tomato on it?” His face twists as he tries to come up with the term. He looks like he’s trying to solve the world’s hardest math problem. It’s oddly adorable.

  “You mean bruschetta?” I manage to say through a muffled giggle.

  He snaps his fingers. “Bingo. Bruschetta. I had, like, fifty of those things. I’m good.”

  After twisting open the seal on his water bottle, Owen glugs the whole thing in two giant swallows, then shoots the empty bottle like it’s a three-pointer right into the recycling bin. Not bad aim for a man who’s made a career out of blocking shots, not making them.

  “Impressive,” I say between sips. “Maybe you’ve got a basketball career ahead of you if you ever get sick of hockey.”

  Owen chuckles. “Yeah. Like I’d ever get sick of hockey.”

  I recap my water, holding up a finger in protest. “Or if you ever decide that the impending doom of a concussion isn’t appealing to you.”

  Owen groans as he joins me in leaning against the counter. “Let’s skip the safety lecture tonight, Becs. I get it . . . I play a dangerous sport.”

  I scoff. He’s such a typical guy. Testy about the stupidest things. “You know I love hockey as much as you do. But I can enjoy something and still acknowledge that it’s dangerous.”

  A smirk crosses his lips as he weaves one hand around my waist, pulling me against him until my hip is pressed into his thigh. “Kinda like you in that dress,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Equal parts enjoyable and dangerous.”

  Goose bumps go racing up my spine at record speed. Did my best friend just use a line on me? And did I kind of like it? Based on the way my heart hammers against my ribs, that’s a giant yes.

  Before I can form a coherent response, Owen tugs me a little closer against him. My lips part as I gaze up at him, lost in those hazy blue eyes.

  “Owen,” I say, but I don’t get a chance to get another word in before he shuts me up the best way he knows how—with a tender yet demanding kiss that leaves me spinning.

  My mouth falls open in shock at first, then stays open to accommodate his tongue, which gently strokes mine. Holy shit, kissing him is just as mind blowing as I remember, if not better.

  With his abundance of enthusiasm and bulky size, I almost expected Owen to be a rush-to-finish kind of guy. But based on the way he kisses—with total gentleness and a surprising amount of slow affection—I think I’m about to have everything I thought I knew about him be tested.

  His lips are warm and soft, and the deep, drugging kisses he teases me with are heating me up from the inside out. I fight off a shiver as his tongue sucks on mine, and everything turns molten all at once. His mouth descends, kissing a wet, warm path along my throat while his fingertips skim over the bare skin on my arms.

  As I steady myself on his shoulders, Owen’s hands slide from my waist to my backside. I let out a small hum of approval to signify that yes, he has my permission to keep his hands there, and he tightens his grip in response. Even through the silk of my dress, I can feel the calluses of his fingers as he acquaints himself with the curve of my ass.

  Holy crap! My entire body floods with endorphins, and I struggle for breath.

  Since the attack, I’ve lived with the constant fear that I’d never feel like this again. I lived thinking fear would always win. But now as Owen holds me in his arms and kisses me breathless, I realize that maybe fear won’t win, and hope will come out victorious.

  “You okay?” he asks, pulling back just a fraction. His voice is deep and husky, his eyes filled with desire, but his meaning is crystal clear—this won’t go any further unless it’s what I want.

  “Very,” I say, bringing my hands underneath the lapels of his jacket to touch his firm chest.

  His stormy gaze penetrates straight through me. Yes, he’s intense and masculine and a tiny bit overwhelming with all that bulky muscle, but he’s also Owen. I trust him completely, and I know he’d never hurt me or move at a pace I didn’t agree to.

  “Let’s take this to your bedroom?” he whispers, his breath hot and tantalizing against my ear. It’s a statement, but he poses it as a question.

  “Okay,” I say on a breathy sigh.

  I can feel him smiling against my neck. “Lead the way.”

  And I do.

  Gladly.

  Weaving his fingers with mine, I lead Owen down the hall and through my bedroom door. Over the course of our four years of friendship, he’s only been in here a grand total of maybe four times, but by the way he pulls me onto my bed, you’d think we had been in this exact position hundreds of times. There’s something so natural about the way we move together, collapsing onto my fluffy white comforter and tangling ourselves in each other.

  The scruff of his stubble scratches pleasantly against my skin as he kisses down my throat to my collarbone. I wait for panic to grip me, for my fears to overwhelm me, but it doesn’t happen.

  With one sweep of his thumb across my breast, he expertly finds my nipple through the layer of silk, pinching and tugging gently at first, then a bit rougher, pulling a heady moan from my lips that I can’t control. I lift my hips in pleasure as a needy buzz builds in the space between my thighs. I want him, no, need him to touch me there.

  Owen pulls away momentarily to ditch his tuxedo jacket, giving me a prime view of those deliciously broad shoulders. I’ve seen him shirtless dozens of times during summer trips to the beach, but it’s always been strictly “look, don’t touch.”


  As he climbs on top of me, I can’t resist reaching out and running my fingers underneath his now untucked shirt and along his chiseled eight-pack. I crane my neck forward, hungry for another kiss, but instead, he plants his arms firmly on either side of my head and squints down at me like I’m a riddle he’s trying to solve.

  “We should talk things through first.”

  I frown, staring up at him. “Talk what through?”

  “We need to talk about boundary lines before we kick things up a notch.”

  Haven’t we already kicked things up a notch? Last time we got physical, he gave me a quick kiss and then said good night. Now he’s straddling me in my bed, and I’m eager for more.

  “What kind of boundary lines?”

  “Like, what’s okay and what’s not okay with you. What are some things that might trigger a flashback? Is there anything that takes you back to that moment? I don’t want to take things too far, or say or do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

  My heart squeezes at his thoughtfulness and need to protect me. “You’re not going to make me uncomfortable, Owen. I trust you. And if you do for some reason, I’ll just tell you to stop. Is that what you meant?”

  He nods while climbing off of me and plopping down by my side. I guess this conversation isn’t over.

  “It’s a good start. But like, what if I were to, I don’t know, pin you down to the bed? Or like, bite your neck or something? Or talk dirty? Would that freak you out?”

  My nose scrunches as I weigh his words and let them sink in. “I don’t think so.” When he doesn’t look convinced, I try again, placing my hand against his firm bicep. “I’m comfortable with you. I feel safe. You don’t need to worry because I know you’ll never hurt me, and I know you’ll stop if I say no.”

  Maybe it’s crazy, but it’s the absolute truth. I’m not sure there’s anything he could do that would freak me out.

  His body relaxes a bit, but the storm in his eyes hasn’t calmed much. “That’s damn good to hear. But I’m still trying to be careful about this, you know? We’re in some uncharted territory here.”

  My mouth quirks up. I love seeing this careful, gentle side of Owen. I’ve never seen him like this before, and if he weren’t sitting right in front of me, I might not recognize this version of him.

  “Can we just feel it out and see what happens? I mean, sheesh, you haven’t even taken my dress off yet and you’re asking me about pinning me down,” I say lightly, joking to lighten the heaviness that has entered my bedroom.

  A mischievous look flickers in his eyes. “That’s an excellent point.”

  With careful fingers, he slowly lowers the zipper on the side of my dress all the way down, then goes for my straps and slides the whole thing off of me. And just like that, I’m lying in front of my best friend wearing nothing but a strappy black thong and a matching push-up bra.

  “Jesus, Becca.” He wets his lower lip as his eyes take me in. “You’re stunning.”

  My face goes hot, and I’m not sure whether to thank him or cover myself up. Luckily, I don’t have to give it much thought.

  In an instant, Owen is lying beside me again, placing one of those big, calloused hands directly over my belly, letting it linger there. It’s disorienting in the best possible way to have his hands on my skin. He’s hot, but tender, with a simmering passion that bubbles just under the surface like it’s all waiting to erupt. And I am here for it.

  His lips meet mine again, and I can’t resist rocking my hips against his thigh when he moves closer. The hard ridge tenting his dress pants presses against my hip, but he ignores it completely. My core heats with something hot and urgent. It’s not supposed to feel like this between us, but it does. It just does.

  “Mmm.” I hum in pleasure, reaching for the belt of his pants. But the second I touch his buckle, his hand moves as if by instinct, snatching my wrist and pinning it to the bed above my head.

  Apparently, I’m not the only one surprised by this. Owen’s eyes widen, and he yanks his hand away from my body so fast that I let out a little gasp.

  “Owen?” I ask softly, still breathing heavily, but scrambling to understand what’s happened. But with one look into his eyes, I know that our night is over.

  His entire muscular frame has gone rigid, and his hands are curled into fists at his sides. The fun-loving Owen with the gentle touch has fled, and in his place is a man who can barely look at me.

  “I should get out of here. It’s late.”

  As desperately as I want to make him stay, I know his mind is already made up. And once Owen knows what he wants, he doesn’t change his mind.

  • • •

  “So he just left?!”

  The looks on Bailey and Sara’s faces as they try not to spit out their lattes is totally priceless. Nothing offers a fresh perspective on a situation like a shot of espresso and some advice from your best friends. Bailey is a med student and a total sweetheart. Sara is whip-smart and known for shooting people straight. I knew both would offer me sound advice.

  After Owen scrambled out of my apartment and into an Uber last night, I texted Sara and Bailey immediately, telling them I had a boy problem to discuss. As always, they were there for me in a heartbeat, confirming a coffee date for the next day.

  But when we met up this morning at our favorite coffee shop and they realized that Elise didn’t get the invite, it took them all of a microsecond to put the pieces together. This wasn’t just a boy problem. This was an Owen problem. And for the time being, I’d like to keep it off of his sister’s radar, even if she is one of my besties.

  “So he left, as in he left the room?” Sara asks, her forehead creasing. “Or he left left, like he left altogether?”

  “Left left.” I sigh. “I haven’t heard from him since.”

  It took me a while to recount the story of last night on top of the details of the deal Owen and I agreed to, but Sara and Bailey listened intently through the whole thing, biting at their straws in suspense. Bailey, ever the drama queen, always has the best reactions, and Sara, forever our group’s voice of reason, offers top-notch practical advice.

  “I cannot believe he did that.” Bailey slams her empty cup down on the table and folds her arms over her chest. “What an asshat. Do you want me to egg his car?”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow your roll, Speedy Gonzales,” Sara says calmly. “Maybe she should try talking to him first.”

  “You don’t think it’s too soon?” I fiddle nervously with my straw. “I don’t want to suddenly make this whole thing weird and ruin our friendship.”

  “You’re not ruining your friendship. You’re just communicating,” Sara points out. “But if you don’t communicate with him, you can wave buh-bye to your friendship altogether. Because then you’re just leaving this weird thing that happened totally unacknowledged, and it will hang between you forever.”

  Oh God, what if she’s right?

  Bailey uncrosses her arms and nods along. “Yeah, that’s true. You’re gonna go crazy if you don’t get closure on the whole thing. Especially since it was your first sexual encounter since, well, you know. College.”

  “College” is my friends’ way of referring to what happened to me during freshman year. It’s easier than saying “that time you were sexually assaulted.”

  God, I hate that the word college is so tainted.

  “Fine,” I say on a groan, “but you guys have to help me craft this text to him.”

  Bailey scoots her chair closer to mine and rubs her hands together. “Yesss,” she hisses. “My specialty.”

  With Bailey and Sara leaning over my shoulders, I craft a message that’s the perfect balance of serious and casual, asking him to meet up later to talk. Within seconds, those three bubbles pop up on the screen, and in a minute, I have a response that says he’ll stop by my place in a bit.

  “Shit!” I spring to my feet. “He’s on his way. I’ve got to get home.”

  “Perfect. Glad you guys are going to talk
,” Sara says. “Let us know how it goes.”

  After quick hugs and thank-yous, I rush to my car and book it back to my place. I’ve barely hung up my coat when the doorbell rings. Thank God I left the coffee shop in a hurry.

  I swing open my front door to reveal a sweaty Owen rocking a pair of athletic joggers and a backward baseball hat.

  “Sorry for the getup,” he says. “I just came from a team skate.”

  I shrug and step aside. “I don’t mind. Come on in.”

  Owen rubs the back of his neck with one hand as he looks down at his sneakers. “Nah, I better not. We need to call this deal off, Bec.”

  My stomach lurches and I grip the doorknob to steady myself. “What? Why?”

  For what might be the first time in our four years of friendship, it’s silent between the two of us. Dead air. But I’m not closing this door until Owen gives me some kind of explanation. I watch as his gaze shifts from his feet to the stairwell, back to his feet, and finally to me.

  “It’s just that . . . I think what I’m used to is, well, a little less vanilla than you’re probably expecting. I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

  I scrunch my nose. “Vanilla? What do you—”

  “Listen, I gotta go.” He jabs his thumb in the direction of the stairwell. “I know you can do this without me fucking it all up and making the situation even worse. No hard feelings, okay?”

  Without another word, he takes a step back, and for the second time in twelve hours, I’m preparing myself to watch him leave.

  What the actual fuck?

  9

  * * *

  The Cherry on Top

  Owen

  When I left Becca’s place last night after the benefit, part of me wanted to use one of the women from my contact list to erase Becca and all of her many issues from my brain. The rest of me knew that wouldn’t be possible because she’s officially lodged herself so far into my thoughts, nothing or no one could erase her.