“Tell me,” I say, a little more aggressively than I intended.
She looks up, surprised, and her eyes narrow as she looks at me.
“Please.”
She visibly swallows, and I can tell she doesn’t want to share, but she does anyway. “She asked if you were Owen Adler.”
“Oh? What did you say?”
“I said ‘Okay.’”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, ’cause I didn’t want to confirm your identity.”
“Oh. Well, thanks, but that wouldn’t upset you. What else was said?”
Her eyes burn into mine. She hesitates, and then in a lower voice, she says, “She asked if you were my brother, and I said no. Then asked if we were together. Once more, I said no, that we were friends, and she walked away. When she got back to the table, though, she told her friends, ‘I knew he wouldn’t be here with someone like her.’”
I’m confused. “Someone like you? What does that mean?”
She sits up, moving her hand up and down her body. “I’m not sample size.”
I blink. “Huh?”
Exasperatedly, she says, “I’m fat.”
I don’t know why, but none of this makes sense. It’s all absurd to me. I look back at the girls, who keep looking at me and batting their lashes, and then back at Angie. Yes, the girls are beautiful and have super-fit bodies. Some of their pieces may be plastic, but it doesn’t matter; they aren’t who I want. “That’s absolute bullshit. You don’t believe that, do you?”
Angie’s eyes plead with mine. “Please don’t say anything. I’m already so embarrassed.”
Oh, the pettiness in me is real, and I want to make them feel embarrassed for doing that to her. But I won’t give them the time of day.
“Their opinions don’t matter,” I say, and her eyes soften a bit. Before she can disagree with me or tell me they’re right or whatever else she might say, I take her by the back of the neck and bring her toward me, almost pulling her off the stool. Her eyes widen, but I’ve got her with my knee, holding her stool in place as I go for her mouth.
When I touch my lips to hers, I’m a goner.
Every fiber of my being explodes. My blood runs like lava, and my cock basically turns to stone. My heart rocks in my chest, but all I want is to taste her. Her lips are so soft and full. I run my tongue along her lips, and to my delight, she opens her mouth and kisses me back. She brings her hand up, cupping my jaw, and I devour her sweet mouth with nothing or no one holding me back. I can feel her pulse where my thumb lays against her throat, and it’s just as out of control as mine. I don’t know if this was a good idea, but one thing is for sure, she wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss her.
When we part, I don’t let her go far as her eyes flutter open to meet mine. Her lips are parted, her eyes are wide with surprise, and I know I match her.
I never realized how much I wanted to kiss her until now, and I sure as hell don’t want to stop.
Chapter Ten
Angie
* * *
I’m not dehydrated. I’ve drunk almost a gallon of water today.
Nor am I drunk. Two watered-down vodka Sprite Zeros won’t do that.
I’m for sure not dreaming because this is way too real for a dream.
Yet Owen Adler’s lips are on mine.
I feel completely unsteady, my thighs are quivering, and between them, it’s a flood zone. Even if I could breathe at this moment, I know I wouldn’t be able to. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to taste him, to feel his lips on mine, but not even my wildest dreams could have prepared me for this. He smells like freshly cut wood and spice. With my hand on his jaw, I find he isn’t as hard as I assumed he was. He’s soft. His lips are thick and feel like marshmallows against mine. His hand is rough against my neck, and the way he holds me tells me I’m not the first girl he’s held like this. I knew before that he was someone to stay away from. But now, it’s damn obvious I need to run.
Once I’m done with this kiss.
His tongue moves along my lips, and I open for him, because apparently, I don’t have control over my body. Our tongues touch, and I moan ever so softly into his mouth. He slides his hand up my thigh, his thumb moving along the outside, sending pure fire up my leg. Our tongues tangle and play in a slow but needy way. I’ve never in my life wanted to keep kissing a person. Usually, I don’t like kissing for long. I don’t like not being able to breathe, but I could pass out right now and be okay with it.
He pulls back first, thankfully, because I’m about to have a heart attack. My heart is truly about to come out of my chest, and I realize once my eyes flutter open that he hasn’t moved away from me. Owen’s lips are almost touching mine. His eyes are half-lidded, dark as storm clouds, and his lips are swollen from our kiss. He looks as if he wants more, but I know that can’t be the case. I feel people staring at us, and between the bartender and the women at the table, that was bound to happen. Needless to say, he’s made his point.
And made me explode in my panties.
No big deal.
“Thanks,” I mutter, searching his eyes. He moves in, but I stop him with my hand. “It’s okay. You are incredibly sweet to do that, but you don’t have to do it again.”
It’s almost as if he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. He stares at me, his eyes slowly narrowing before he asks, “I don’t have to do it again?”
“No, it’s okay. You showed them, thank you,” I say, leaning back and crossing my legs to put space between us. His arms drop to his sides as he stares at me, his lips parting a bit. The same lips I want to drown in. Fuck me, he can kiss. I force a chuckle as I down the rest of my drink. I side-eye him and laugh. “Stop staring at me.”
He glares. “What just happened here?”
I don’t look at him as I pop a cauliflower floret into my mouth. I hate that my heart is still beating out of control. I despise that I want to kiss him again. I’m only setting myself up for failure. “What do you mean?”
“No, what do you mean?” He’s basically staring a hole in the side of my head.
“I don’t know what you mean by that, but I was just saying thanks for being nice.”
“Being nice?”
“Yeah, to show them that…I don’t know, that I could sit with you or something.” The realization of that hurts me to the pit of my stomach. I wish he hadn’t kissed me; it would have been easier. Now I feel like it was a pity kiss. “We both know they’re right.”
I chance a glance and regret it instantly. He feels bad. He was trying to help, and instead, he knows I’m embarrassed. “Actually, no. I don’t know that.”
I bring in my brows, still unable to fully look at him because I don’t want the sympathy. I feel so pathetic as it is. “It’s okay, Owen. You don’t have to keep up the act.”
“I’m not acting,” he insists, so I laugh to keep from crying. “I kissed you because I’ve wanted to since we were younger.”
“Yeah, okay,” I jeer.
“Angie, look at me.”