Chapter 13 Liv
Liv
I wake surrounded by a cozy nest of crisp sheets and Owen’s arms. It was, hands down, the best sleep of my life, even if there wasn’t much of it.
We dozed after that first incredible round and then woke in the dark stillness of the night.
Owen’s hands mapped every curve of my naked body, then he retraced his path with his mouth until I unraveled while he watched from the v between my legs.
Now, I want to curl back into his side and drift off again, or, if I’m being honest, I want to crawl down his body and wake him up with my mouth.
I checked the bedside clock. Shit. They are expecting me in the RootDown offices soon.
I should have gotten more work done yesterday.
I can’t skimp today with the launch so close.
Owen stirs and bands his arms around me, tucking me into his big spoon, his erection presses against my bare ass as his sleepy hand comes up to squeeze my breast and he peppers my neck with kisses.
“I have to go,” I whisper, but I also arch back into him.
“Then don’t do that.” His teeth graze my shoulder blade. “Or I’m going to need at least another hour between your thighs.”
His hand trails down between my legs, and it does dangerous things to my ability to think straight. “I can’t.” I reluctantly push away from him and sit up.
“Okay,” he rolls onto his back and smiles at me like I’m already the best part of his day. “I think you accidentally wore my sweatshirt home.”
I look down at my naked breasts. A tiny mouth-shaped bruise blooms like a souvenir from the way he roughly but reverently handled me last night.
“I don’t think I’m wearing a sweatshirt right now.”
“Then wear it home and give it back to me when I see you tonight,” he says, propping himself on an elbow while I shimmy back into my jeans.
“I’m seeing you tonight?” I raise my eyebrow at him, but I already know I am.
“Please, it’s my last night in town. I have to go to DC early tomorrow.”
We haven’t talked about what that means, but I don’t want to think about him leaving yet.
His sweatshirt smells like bourbon and campfire and contentment as I pull it over my head.
The moment I lean down to kiss him, his arms circle my waist, rolling me back onto the tangle of sheets with him.
He kisses me slow and deliberate, his hands splayed across my ribcage under his sweatshirt.
His phone bursts into “We Are Family,” and I pull back, laughing.
“I hate my sisters right now,” he groans, throwing his arms over his face, while I climb off the bed and slip into my shoes.
“You talk to them now. I have to go.” I bend down and kiss him quickly. “Pick me up at six.”
He grabs my hand and places a kiss on the inside of my wrist. “I can’t wait.”
I slip out of the hotel room and hear a chorus of “Uncle Owen!” as I shut the door.
It’s still early when I exit onto the street. The weather is perfect. It feels like the sun came out just for me.
I’d spent years convincing myself I didn’t want anything real.
Real always seemed like something I had to earn.
But being with Owen feels easy. Like I don’t have to try so hard or be “on” all the time.
Maybe that’s what real actually is. Maybe I’m finally ready to believe that someone could want me exactly as I am, no fixing required.
Santa Barbara is only a five-hour drive and barely an hour flight. We both work from home. After this launch, I’ll have more time. And his biggest client lives in my building, so surely we can make something work.
I’m halfway down the street when I pat my pocket, checking for the Princess Peach figurine Owen won me with his hard-earned arcade tickets last night.
Standing in her power pose, she’s destined for a prime spot on my desk, right next to Zelda—a tiny reminder to survive this launch, see Owen again tonight, and maybe even admit I want to keep seeing him… whatever that might mean.
But my pocket’s empty. I pat my hips, check the back pockets—nothing.
She must’ve slipped out when my pants hit the floor in last night’s whirlwind.
Owen’s checking out in a few hours, and it’s not like he’d think to look for her.
That stupid little princess already means more to me than I want to admit.
I could text him…but it’ll be faster to run back upstairs and look for myself.
Owen’s hotel room door is ajar as I approach. I must not have shut it all the way when I left.
“It’s not like that, Kelc,” Owen says, still on FaceTime as I pause outside his door.
“Owen, come on.” His sister’s voice carries through the speaker. “You always do this—you find a girl who needs saving, and suddenly you’re all in. It’s your thing. You’re like a golden retriever puppy with a savior complex.”
“This isn’t like that. Liv’s not—”
“Not like Melanie, who cried on your couch for three weeks until she went back to her boyfriend? Or Isla, who was madly in love with you but was really using you for connections?”
Owen sighs. “Yeah, but this feels different.”
“You’re a good guy, Owen. I know you think this is different.
But you like a project. Hell, look at Eli!
You think you can fix people, you take a risk, and they let you down.
” It’s quiet for a long moment before she speaks again.
“This one needed a fake date, and you stepped up…is this another girl who needs a little too much and makes you feel important?”
No. Owen told me I didn’t have to pretend. He said he wanted me exactly as I am. And he’s right—this feels different for me, too.
I can’t hear what he’s saying to his sister anymore, so I take a step closer, nudging the door open a little wider.
He’s taken her off speaker now. He’s pulled on a pair of sweats and is standing near the window, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear.
His head dips as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You’re not wrong about my past,” he says, almost too quiet for me to catch. “And maybe it was just a fake date.”
My fingers curl into a fist as I take a step back. Of course. That’s what this is. I’m the mess. The project. The girl who needs too much. And he’s just another guy who thinks loving me is some kind of rescue mission.
I don’t need to hear another word. I turn and walk away.