Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Meadow
I never thought I would wish for a cold, gloomy Chicago morning until now.
I never knew that the sun could be so unforgiving.
I groan, rolling onto my stomach and shoving my face into the pillow to avoid the blinding rays flooding in through the windows. Throbbing pain pounds against my skull as the world spins behind my closed eyes.
I swallow dryly, tasting traces of humiliation and rum from the night before.
Ugh.
What the hell was I thinking?
Then do it. Do it, Owen.
He was hesitant about kissing me. And like a foolish, desperate idiot, I dared him. I basically begged him to kiss me—to take me back to his room and fuck me.
Stupid, stupid girl.
In reality, what did I think was going to happen? Owen was going to sweep me off my feet, carry me back to the room, and confess his undying love for me?
How could I have been so na?ve and reckless?
Maybe I really was that drunk. Except I don’t feel drunk in the memories.
I actually remember feeling somewhat sober at the club. Horny and carefree? Yes. But not drunk.
Now I feel the complete opposite. Embarrassed and ashamed.
He pulled away.
Owen was the one who stopped things from going any further between us. He made the smart, level-headed decision, while I showed my ass and spilled my delusional heart all over the sandy dancefloor.
A pit forms low in my stomach.
Our friendship will never be the same after last night.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve ruined everything. Not only did I distort the lines of our relationship, but I’ve also destroyed any chances of ever having anything more with Owen.
But who am I kidding? That was never going to happen anyway…
I think back to when we were devouring each other's lips, and I could’ve sworn he was into it. I felt the way his body responded to mine—the way he pulled me closer as his obvious erection dug into my belly.
I remember how he tangled his fingers in my hair and tilted my head to get a deeper angle.
But maybe that was all just a reaction. Purely physical. His anatomy responding to mine with nothing deeper behind it.
What if he thought I came on too strong and didn’t know how to say no?
Oh God.
I feel like I’m going to be sick, and not from my hangover. My heart rate spikes and my stomach drops as a flood of panic rushes from my head to my toes.
Calm down.
Breathe.
This will pass.
The hangover anxiety mixed with my overwhelming guilt is only making it worse.
The last thing I need right now is to have a massive panic attack on top of everything else.
I roll over onto my back and slowly inhale a choppy breath before reaching for my phone, hoping that mindlessly scrolling will distract me.
Before I open my apps, I check a few text messages that I got this morning.
Gosh, how is it almost noon?
I must have been in high school the last time I slept in this late.
My stomach drops when I notice that I have no missed calls or texts from Owen. I definitely didn’t expect him to come and knock on my door, but I thought that he might at least send a text.
A simple, “You awake?”
“You good?”
“Alive?”
He’s probably just asleep or giving me space.
Or maybe he just hates you now and is doing his best to forget last night ever happened.
Ugh… the silence is worse than my thoughts.
Just as I’m contemplating dragging myself out of bed and walking over to Owen’s room to get this over with, a light knock sounds from my door.
Every muscle in my body freezes.
A louder, second knock comes next.
Dressed in nothing but a pair of skimpy panties and an oversized t-shirt, I reach down and quickly pull the comforter up my bare legs.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to tame the tangled mess and rub beneath my eyes to wipe away the leftover mascara that I’m sure is smeared all over my face.
I don’t need a mirror to know that I look like a complete wreck right now.
My shoulders jump when the third knock comes.
Knowing Owen, he will come in here eventually, whether I answer or not.
I sit up against the headboard and clear my throat.
“Come in,” I call out, my voice raspy.
My pulse pounds against my neck as the handle turns and the door creaks open.
The second I see Owen, my lungs draw in a breath of fresh air. Even though I’m so pent up with anxiety, the sight of him manages to calm my bones.
Dang, he looks good.
How does he look this good?
After all the drinking we did yesterday, I feel like I got hit by a truck and then dragged behind it for miles. But Owen? He looks freaking flawless. Like a Disney prince.
His honey-brown hair is pushed back, slightly messy from the ocean breeze.
He’s clearly been outside today. He’s wearing a faded blue t-shirt that clings to his tan arms, his sunglasses hooked casually into the collar.
Board shorts hang low on his waist—hips that I got way too comfortable with last night.
He looks like a ray of sunshine. He fits in so perfectly here.
If we weren’t from Chicago, I’d swear I’d think he was some local surfer dude who’s spent his whole childhood on the waves.
My gaze lowers to his hands, and my chest constricts.
He’s holding a large bottle of water in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.
“Morning, sunshine,” Owen says, a hint of humor threading through his voice.
My eyes snap back to his.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, embarrassment swirling low in my stomach. I can only imagine how horrifying I look right now.
“Morning,” I mumble back. “Or… afternoon, I guess. I can’t believe I slept this late.”
He grins and steps inside.
“Well, after the day we had yesterday,” he responds, quietly laughing under his breath, “I’m not surprised.”
He’s smiling and laughing. Acting like everything is normal.
That’s a good sign… right?
“Yeah,” I snort, shaking my head.
Owen walks to the edge of the bed and gently sets the bag and water down on the comforter.
“Brought you an emergency hangover kit.”
My chest relaxes as I let out a pent-up breath I didn't realize I was holding in. Here I was, convinced Owen was avoiding me and pretending last night never happened. Meanwhile, he was out picking stuff up for me .
He went out of his way to take care of me.
God, I’m so dramatic.
“I figured I’d get you water instead of coffee,” he adds. “You need to hydrate.”
He points to the bag. “I stopped by the café too. Grabbed you a breakfast burrito, some toast, and crackers. I wasn’t really sure what you’d want, so I just got a little bit of everything.”
He pauses, running through a mental checklist. “Oh, and there’s a bottle of Tylenol in there, too. In case your head’s killing you.”
Be still, my heart.
All I can do is blink at him.
He thought of everything . Every little detail.
I’m so used to taking care of myself… I could almost cry at how sweet this all is.
“Thank you,” I breathe. “You didn’t have to do that, Owen. This is… so nice.”
“I wanted to,” he replies without missing a beat.
I wanted to.
Not I had to, or I felt like I should .
I wanted to.
Those three words sink into my chest, settling themselves into the space that Owen seems to fill completely.
“Can I sit?” he asks, glancing toward the edge of the bed.
“Yeah, of course,” I reply quickly, offering a small smile.
The mattress dips as he sits near the end, leaving a safe amount of space between us.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
I press my palms against my forehead before running my fingers through my hair.
“Honestly?” I wince. “Like hell. That Tylenol you brought is definitely going to come in handy. My head is pounding .”
His brows pinch together, like he hates the thought of me being in pain.
“Damn,” he sighs, sympathy filling his tone. “I’m sorry.”
He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I don’t really get headaches when I’m hungover,” he continues. “I just get sick to my stomach. Thankfully, I emptied my guts out this morning, and now I feel a million times better.”
Hold on… What?
“Wait… you got sick this morning?”
“Yup,” he says, tone casual.
“What?” I sit up a little straighter. “I didn’t even hear you.”
“I didn’t come in here,” he clarifies. “Didn’t want to wake you.”
My jaw hangs open as I stare at him.
The same man who had me pinned up against the wall last night didn’t want to bother waking me… How is it possible for him to be so dominant, then heart-achingly tender, all within twelve hours?
“Oh my God, Owen,” I mutter, feeling terrible. “Where did you go?”
“It’s no big deal,” he continues with a shrug. “I threw up in the trash a couple times, took it out so the suite wouldn’t smell like death, then jumped in the pool and went for a swim in place of my morning shower. The water was surprisingly cold—it was nice.”
I blink in shock, my brows lifted as I listen to the eventful play-by-play of his morning.
“And then I went to grab food,” he finishes with a handsome grin. “And now I’m here.”
I can’t help the laugh that slips past my mouth.
“Wow,” I finally respond, shaking my head. “Sounds like you’ve had a very productive morning.”
He chuckles and nods.
“I guess you're feeling better now, though?”
“Oh yeah,” he replies with a smirk. “I feel like a brand new person.”
Trust me, I can tell.
You look even better than you feel right now.
“Must be nice,” I mutter, instead of telling him how hot he looks right now.
He flashes me a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll start feeling better once you drink some water and eat.”
“God, I hope so,” I groan, glancing down at the white comforter.
A heavy, unavoidable silence falls between us as I pick at a loose thread on the blanket, my heart beating faster by the second.
Neither one of us has brought up last night. Our first kiss… And maybe our last. We can’t avoid talking about it because, whether we want to admit it or not, everything changed the second his lips touched mine.
Without looking up, I can feel Owen’s eyes on me—probably thinking the same thoughts as me.
I swallow and clear my throat, the words catching in my chest.