Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(50)
Author: Monica Murphy

Yay! I’m proud of you. Whores unite!

Laughing, I start texting her back when a big hand covers my eyes, rendering me still. I recognize the familiar hint of autumn and pine scent, but I go along with it.

“Guess who?” Owen’s deep, sexy voice washes over me and I shiver.

“Hmm, I don’t know.”

He chuckles. “Did you just call yourself a whore in your text to Kari?”

“Ohmygod, you weren’t supposed to read that.” I try to jerk out of his hold but he won’t let go. He’s got the back of my head pressed against his chest, and he’s so warm and hard. I try to be angry but I’m not. “Come on, Owen.”

“I have a surprise for you. Ready?” His hand is still over my eyes, blocking my vision completely, and I cross my arms in front of my chest, slightly irritated. I’ve never really liked games like this. They always make me uncomfortable.

“I’m ready,” I say, slightly exasperated.

“Keep your eyes closed until I say you can open them, okay?”

“They’re already closed.” I straighten my shoulders and clutch my phone in my hand, facedown. I so didn’t want Owen to read that text, but I guess he kind of couldn’t help it.

So embarrassing.

He removes his hand from my eyes and I hear a gentle rustling, then something is placed in front of me on the table. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

I glance down to find a pretty pink rose lying on the table, its petals tightly furled, the flower not quite ready to bloom. I pick it up, careful to avoid the thorns, and bring it to my nose, inhaling the rich scent. Even in its budding state, it smells wonderful. “It’s beautiful,” I say, twirling the stem between my fingers.

He sits down across from me, his mouth curved into a small smile. “You like it?”

“I do.” No boy has ever given me flowers before. “I love it.”

“It reminded me of you.” His smile grows and he looks downright wicked. “The pink is the same color as your—”

“Don’t say it.” I lunge across the table and slap my hand over his mouth to keep him from saying God knows what.

I will die of mortification if he says something dirty, I swear to God. I’m still having a hard time facing him right now. We haven’t seen each other since we came home from our football game trip and I’m feeling a little shy.

He rolls his eyes at me and I drop my hand from his face, settling back down in my chair, sending him a warning look.

“I was going to say your lips.” He stresses the last word. “What the hell did you think I was going to say?”

“You know.” I wave a hand, my cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I was hoping we could get through this session without talking about what happened.”

“Really? That’s a damn shame, Chels. I was hoping to spend the entire hour talking about what happened. Reliving it a little. Maybe I could kiss you and convince you to come back to my place later tonight? Like after you’re done with your shift at the diner?”

“You’d really want me to come by when I finish at two in the morning?” I’m shocked.

“Any time I can see you, I want to see you.” He reaches across the table and grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers, pressing our palms together. “I already told you that, remember?”

I set the rose on the table and study it, smooth my fingers over the velvety-soft petals. “Owen. What were you really going to say about the rose?”

“I already told you. The color reminds me of your lips.”

“Really?” I lift my head, our gazes meeting.

He smiles. “Yeah. Well, and your ni**les. Since they’re both the same shade of pink.”

“Oh my God.” I try to jerk my hand from his but he won’t let me go. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“You asked.” He shrugs, squeezing my hand in his. “So what do you say? Will you come over tonight? I don’t care what time. I’ll stay up and wait for you.”

I’m sort of in shock at how easy he’s acting around me. Like it’s perfectly normal for him to invite me over at all hours of the night. That he’d speak so casually of lips and ni**les, hold my hand, smile that secret smile of his at me.

All I can think is that he’s had his hands all over my body. Inside of me. I’ve had my hands all over his body. I’ve touched him in the most intimate of places, witnessed one of the most intimate acts that can happen between two people, and here we sit like it’s no big deal. Talking about work and school and ni**les.

“I went into the diner yesterday morning and spoke with my boss.” I take a deep breath, curl my fingers around Owen’s. “I’m not working that late shift anymore.”

“Well, thank God. I hated that you were out that late.”

“I always had a ride from one of the waitresses who worked with me.” I shrug, secretly pleased he was so concerned about my safety.

“Still. It wasn’t safe.” His eyes go soft, reminding me of the color of grass on a warm summer day. “So you can come over earlier, then.”

“Don’t you have practice?”

“Only till six. I don’t work either tonight. I decided not to work as much as I originally thought I wanted. I’ll add more hours at The District once the football season is over.”

“Well, that sounds good.” That sounds perfect. His schedule is so jam-packed, I’ve been afraid I’d never get to see him.

“I have something else I want to show you.” He reaches down and pulls out a folder from his backpack and then sets it in between us on the table. “It’s my creative writing portfolio.”

“Okay.” I slowly flip it open and see a nice, neat stack of Owen’s writing samples. The list of assignments is stapled on the left side of the folder, check marks by the ones he’d completed. “It looks like you’re pretty much caught up.”

“I am.” He pulls the folder closer to him and rifles through the papers until he finally finds what he wants and pulls it out. “Read this one.”

I take the paper from him, notice the typed words but don’t really see them. “What’s it about?”

“You.”

“Oh.” I’m at a loss for words. He’s being so tender, so sweet. I don’t know what’s happened to make him change.

Disengaging my hand from his, I grab the paper and pull it directly in front of me so I can read it.