Yeah, this isn’t weird at all.
We eat in silence and watch the game. When the bartender brings my drink back, Owen asks me, “Did you order dinner?”
I nod. “I did.”
He puts in an order then, and once the bartender walks away, he looks over at me. “I ate at Amelia’s, but I’m still hungry.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I stuff my mouth with another pickle, distracting myself so I don’t stare at him. He’s so large and, ugh, yummy. I hate how attracted I am to him. I hate how worried I am about him. As much as I don’t want to, I ask, “How are you?”
He nods. “I’m all right.”
“How’s Evan?”
“He’s good. He’s starting classes at Bellevue this summer.”
“That’s awesome,” I say, happy for him.
“Yeah, that’s what everyone says. I think it would be awesome for him to be here.”
“I know. I’m sure it’s been hard without him.”
“Yup, sucks ass.” He looks over at me. “I was at Amelia’s with all our friends, and I had to get out of there. Things are off.”
“It’ll all level out. It’s just a lot right now.”
He doesn’t seem convinced by that. “I saw your mom last week.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, at Shelli’s gender reveal. She asked about you.”
I blink. “I just got off the phone with her.”
“Good. She told me to convince you to answer the phone,” he says, and then he side-eyes me. “What’s that about? You’ve always been close to your mom, so I find it odd you aren’t talking to her.”
I didn’t realize she was telling people I wasn’t talking to her. Thanks, Mom. “Just dealing with some personal shit.”
He eyes me. “Like what? ’Cause to me, you look as if you’re doing awesome.”
“Looks are deceiving,” I throw back at him, and his lip kicks up at the side.
“Well, I told her you look great, I see you at the gym a lot, and you’re killing it. Then you go to school and work—not that I know much about that.”
I raise a brow. “You see me at the gym?”
He nods. “Yeah. I’m usually working out.”
I bring in my brows. “Wait, what? When?”
He looks at me then, full force, those blue eyes ready to take me out. “Yeah. I wore a black hoodie this morning when I was squatting.”
Son of a bitch. No way. There is never anyone there. When there is, I don’t pay them any mind, and they sure as hell don’t pay me any. This morning, though, I was watching Owen’s ass like it was a TV. I couldn’t see his face because of his hoodie and hat. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because if I did,” he says, grinning from ear to ear, “you would have done everything in your power not to look at my butt.”
Of course, I start to choke on my pickle. His laughter is taunting as I wheeze for breath, trying to get my bearings. “I was not looking at your butt,” I lie, and we both know I was.
“Okay, Paxy.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You were,” he says, so confident and, damn it, adorable. “It’s totally fine. I checked out your biceps.”
I blink. Any other female would feel like he’s coming on to them, but I know better. Owen Adler doesn’t find girls like me worth coming on to. “Whatever.”
“You know you can do the thirty-fives.”
I close my eyes. He was watching me. “Shut up.”
He chuckles beside me, and I want to push him off his stool. I don’t, though. His grin is too cute. It’s all boyish and charming. I should not be attracted to him. I’m setting myself up for failure, yet I ask, “Not that I was looking, but what is the tattoo behind your knee?”
He smirks. “It’s a number six, for my dad and me.”
I don’t react or even seem to care, though, I do. “Cool.”
“Yeah. So why are you here alone?”
I glance over at him. “Why are you?”
Our food comes then, and neither of us answers as we start to eat. His plate looks way different from mine. Since I’d already ordered the fried pickles, I got veggies and chicken. Meanwhile, Owen got pasta with an extra serving of pasta sauce and sirloin and chicken on top. His plate—and him, if I’m honest—looks downright sinful, especially when he drowns everything in Alfredo sauce.
“Want some?” he asks, offering some of his extra sauce, but I shake my head.
“I had fried pickles.”
“And?” he asks, his brow going up into the cap.
“Too many carbs.”
He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, who fucking cares? If you’re hungry, eat. You only live once.”
“Okay, good sir, with your perfect body.”
He jeers. “I’m fluffy.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Sure you are.”
“I am, honestly. Pretty sure I have the same thyroid thing my mom and Posey have, but I don’t want that restriction in my life, so I ignore it.”
“That’s incredibly healthy.”
“I think so.” He grins. “Are you drinking vodka with Sprite Zero?”
“I am.”
“You don’t need to. Do you drink all the time?”
“Not at all.”
“Then you can indulge every once in a while.”
I eye him. “Excuse me, but can you even drink?”
“Legally, no. But illegally, yes, and I look so cool with a beer.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” I say sarcastically. “But thanks. You drink your beer, and I’ll drink my vodka Sprite Zero. I know what’s best for my body.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he says quickly, his eyebrows waggling at me. “But I hate to see someone restrict themselves when they don’t have to. Enjoy life. We only get one.” Slowly, my lips curve up as he continues. “Like, my mom made us eat super clean, and I hated life. All I wanted was some fucking chips or a piece of pie, something. But nope, she’s convinced sugar is killing all of us. That is the only good thing about being away. I can eat whatever the hell I want, and I promote it. We should be happy. There is so much shit going on and so much pain that can be caused. So, if I want to drown my pasta in sauce, I will. And if you want to swim in my sauce and pasta, I’d welcome it. Whatever floats your boat, ya know?”
I want to swim…in all his sauces. Ignore the temptation, Angela! Instead, I focus on his way of thinking, and man, I love it. It’s so freeing but also terrifying. I don’t feel like I got this body by enjoying life; I got it from hating life. Maybe if I change to his thought process, things would be easier?
Who am I kidding? I’m just horny and not thinking clearly.
“Not all of us can eat and not gain weight.”
He shrugs. “But as long as there is balance, then maybe the weight you’ve gained is the weight that you needed?”
I squint at him. “Can that be up for discussion?”
“Hell yeah.” Before he digs in, to his food and our discussion, he stops. “Shit, I forgot to wash my hands. Be right back.” He pauses from getting off the stool. “I’ll know if you lick my sauce.”