Chapter Twenty-Three
After Halle and I obliterated Owen and Luke two out of three, I slid the cue back into the rack, fighting off a yawn and the warm buzz of cheap beer.
Owen was at my side like he’d been there the whole time.
“Want to dance?” he asked. His voice slid over me smooth as silk.
And immediately my cheeks flushed. “Oh—”
“One dance,” he said, already taking my hand. “Then I’ll walk you to your car.”
Such a gentleman. It was hard for me to resist. I conceded.
“One dance, McAllister. Then I’m done for the night.”
As we stepped onto the dance floor, George Strait crooned about crossing his heart and promising to give it his all.
Which felt far too fitting for the man who was putting his hand on my waist and holding the other against his chest. I was acutely aware of the slow, steady beat of his heart.
And something else… something that seemed to recognize me.
Magic. His. Humming under the surface curling toward me.
It was such a heady feeling that dizziness swept through me.
But I filed it away with everything else I wasn’t ready to unpack. Because I wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or if it was a thing that happened.
His head bent low next to mine, his breath warm at my temple. And for that one suspended moment, there was no one else in Neon Cowboy except him and me and George Strait.
He said nothing. I said nothing. We held onto each other as the words hit me like he was saying them to me himself. Which did something to me. Made my throat tighten and my eyes burn.
I didn’t want to wait anymore. My high school crush was a man, and he was holding me in his arms making me feel safe and warm and cherished. Even Mr. Evans thought we’d end up together.
And now that I was home, now that he was still here, maybe it was time to stop fighting those feelings and lean into them.
“Owen?”
“Yes?” His voice was soft in my ear.
The song was ending and I knew it was now or never.
“Will you drive me home?” And before I lost my nerve, I added, “And stay?”
He pulled back, those gray eyes landing on me with question and a hint of uncertainty. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Yes, Owen. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
And as I said that, AC/DC’s Thunderstruck detonated from the jukebox.
Like it was planned.
Owen’s mouth curved like the universe had decided to heckle us. I laughed—half-mortified, half-exhilarated—and he leaned in close, one hand still on my waist.
“Sure you don’t want another dance?” His breath was warm on my cheek.
Another laugh bubbled out of me. “With AC/DC? I don’t think so.”
His other hand was still clutching mine. “Then let’s go.”
He led me off the dance floor. At the bar, Halle and Luke were sitting side by side, their heads together like they were sharing a secret. For half a second, I thought I should tell her I was leaving—then Luke kissed her, and Halle slid an arm around him like she’d been waiting all night.
Well. That solved that.
Owen sensed my hesitation and glanced at the bar. “That’s new,” he said.
My head snapped to him. “I thought—”
“No.” He shook his head. “He’s been chasing her for years. At least he waited until the divorce was final.”
“Divorce?” I blinked. “His or hers?”
“His,” he said.
There was still so much I didn’t know about this town.
Outside in the balmy night, he led me to the oversized Cadillac.
“Want me to drive?” he asked.
I was already handing him the keys.
He took them without a word, opened the passenger side for me, then slid behind the wheel. The radio was on low, playing some old classic rock tune from my youth I’d forgotten I liked. He left it on—didn’t even adjust the seat or mirrors—just settled into the driver’s seat like he was born to it.
Then we were off, heading down the dark two-lane highway back to my house.
My heart pounded hard, my pulse erratic, and I wasn’t sure I remembered how to breathe.
When we were sixteen, I’d dreamed about kissing him. He never gave me a sideways glance. I guess that’s why I was determined to beat him at everything—grade point average, pool, and whatever else I could do to get his attention.
Now that I’d kissed him as a full-grown adult, that fantasy turned into something less sweet.
I glanced his way. His focus was on the road ahead, one hand on the wheel like this was a casual date. While I was coming apart at the seams, he seemed perfectly calm.
Which was annoying.
He caught me staring.
“What?” A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“In high school…” I started, then stopped. Pressed my lip together and shook my head. “Never mind.”
“What about it?” He sounded half amused.
“I thought you didn’t like me.”
He cut me a glance. “I told you. I’ve always liked you, Piper.”
Since kindergarten. Yes, I remembered.
“But you never—”
“Things were different then,” he said. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You made it clear you were leaving town.”
Oh.
I chewed on my lower lip. But what he didn’t say—because maybe he didn’t want to remember—was that he was dating Gretchen. The brainiac with the perfect GPA like him.
“And you had a girlfriend.”
“Not exactly. She liked me more than I did her. And I didn’t know how to say no.”
“You went to senior prom together.” Why did I sound bitter?
He cut me a glance. “I didn’t think you’d go.”
His voice softened, like it mattered. Like he’d wanted to ask me… and didn’t.
That caught me off guard.
And I didn’t go. I stayed home because no one asked and I played it off like it was my choice.
I said nothing else as I stared through the windshield like I could will myself into composure.
But something settled deep inside me—quiet and certain. This wasn’t casual. It was going to mean something. Maybe not to him. But definitely to me, because suddenly I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it.
And that was a staggering—no, sobering—thought.
“Are you changing your mind about tonight?” he asked, voice quiet in the car.
“No, I’m…” My words trailed off. I wasn’t ready to share those intimate thoughts with him yet.
“What?”
I swallowed hard. “I like you, Owen.”
Four simple words that held more meaning than he could ever know.
He reached for my hand across the console and laced our fingers. “That’s good to know.”
Then he lifted my knuckles to his mouth and kissed them. A little sizzle went straight through me, right into my heart.
He kept my hand in his for the rest of the way.
When we pulled into the drive, Owen cut the engine.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. We sat there staring at the house—the porch light glowing yellow, washing the steps in soft, familiar gold.
June bugs and moths dive-bombing the light like the deranged insects they were.
It looked so normal. So quiet. Like nothing strange or magical or downright unhinged could possibly be waiting inside.
Then I pushed open the door and stepped out into the night.
Owen followed, keys in hand, and together we climbed the steps. A minute later we were inside, the front door clicking shut behind him.
And there, sprawled on my sofa like she paid taxes here, was the Red Queen eating Cheez-Its out of the box while watching QVC.
Willow was perched on the arm of the nearest chair, her golden eyes peering at us with boredom.
We both halted and stared, then exchanged a stunned look. It had completely ruined the moment.
I didn’t even know what to say.
“What are you doing?” Finally, I found my voice. And was deeply relieved she hadn’t found my hidden credit cards.
The queen glanced up, one hand still buried in the box. “I was hungry. And this woman is selling an emerald bracelet the size of a pigeon egg. I need it.”
“You don’t,” I snapped, clutching the strap of my handbag tighter.
Owen made a strangled sound that was a laugh. I shot him a look. He straightened his face, but was still actively trying to keep it together.
I pressed a hand against my head. “It’s late,” I said. “Do not summon anyone from Wonderland to redecorate or help you buy anything off television.”
She shrugged. “I make no promises.” Then she shooed us away. “Be gone. The host is about to demonstrate the versatility of this handbag. I must watch.”
“Fine,” I said. “Stay here. Watch your show but do not touch anything that sparkles or hums.”
“Do not command me, or off with your head.”
I sighed. “That doesn’t work in this realm, Red.”
She gave a dismissive wave and reached for a another handful of crackers. Clearly we’d been dismissed.
Owen’s hand landed on the small of my back, warm and steady, and guided me toward the stairs. I let him. Away from cheddar dust, QVC, and the absurdity that the Red Queen was making herself at home in my living room.
He took my hand and lead me up the stairs. My legs felt like rubber and for one strange moment I felt like this was a dream—that any second, I’d wake up alone in my bed.
But his hand stayed tight on mine as we went up, then to my bedroom, still in darkness.
He pushed the door closed with a soft click and pulled me against him again—hands on my waist, mouth on mine.
When we broke, his hands came up, cupping my face, his thumb sweeping across my cheek. The intensity in his gaze was too much. A breath shuddered out of me.
“I told you before,” he said softly, “I wanted you. And I meant that. But I want you to be sure it’s what you want, too.”
I pressed a hand against his chest and felt the wild thumping of his heart.
He was… nervous.
Like me.
“I want you,” I whispered.
Then he kissed me.
He’d kissed me before, but this was different. Calmer. Surer. Sweeter—until the underlying need turned the edges of it dangerous. I leaned into him, my mouth yielding to his. He tasted faintly of cheap beer and peanuts and yearning.
Heat swept through me, threads of desire pulling taut.
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. One. Then two. Enough to graze the warm skin beneath. The tips of my fingers found the hollow of his throat. A soft touch. A reverent touch.
He made a low, appreciative sound as his hands slid into my hair. His mouth left mine for my cheek, then my neck—right over my hammering pulse. This time, there was no careful distance. Only choice. Only this. Only us.
He deepened the kiss. Slow. Methodical. No hurry at all.
It unraveled me.
And for the first time, I opened myself to this, to him. Let myself feel everything. Let myself hold on. Let myself have this one perfect moment where there were no monsters or flower shops or Crossroads demanding my attention.
Him and me and the dark.
I awoke cocooned in warmth—the steady hum of the air conditioning through the vent, and the soft snore of the man holding me like he’d never let go.
My head was still on his chest, right where I’d fallen asleep.
He hadn’t moved. I hadn’t moved. Still tangled together without so much as a breath between us.
I didn’t want to move, and for the longest moment, I didn’t. I lay there and listened to his rhythmic breathing, the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, and the certainty settling deep in my bones—
this wasn’t casual.
This wasn’t some temporary comfort or a no-strings distraction.
This was something more. Something real. More real than anything I’d had with that guy in Manhattan—who would henceforth be known as that guy because he had nothing on Owen McAllister.
That guy had been handsome. Sure.
But he wasn’t steady. He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t here, wrapped around me like I mattered.
And the worst part was… it was deep. Deeper than I wanted to acknowledge at this early stage of whatever it was we were doing.
Which, frankly, was terrifying.
I shifted. Enough that he noticed and moved, his arms tightening a fraction around me.
“Not yet.” His voice was thick with sleep.
“Owen—”
“Let me have this.” One hand slipped through the short locks of my hair. “Five more minutes.”
I stopped breathing. Then whispered, “Okay.”
All the tension bled out of me.
“That’s better,” he said, sounding smug.
Like he was waiting for me to relax.
“You fit here,” he said. “I knew you would.”
Everything inside me stilled. Every nerve ending sizzled. He said it—me, fitting against the hard planes of his body—like he’d been thinking about it a long time.
Why did he have to say something so wrecking when I was already in a weakened state? I didn’t know what to say. I kept telling myself not to break the moment.
So, of course, I broke the moment.
“We meet Mrs. Rollins today,” I said.
“I know.”
“Shouldn’t we get going?”
“I have three more minutes, missy.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“Three minutes and then what?” I asked, pushing.
“Then I make you breakfast.”
“You want to cook for me?”
“Yes.”
“In my house?”
“Yes.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t even know if I have pots and pans.”
“You have a coffeemaker.”
“I do.”
“And you do have pots and pans,” he said.
“How do you know?” I lifted my head to look at him. And his dove-gray eyes were lit with amusement. “Have you been snooping in my kitchen, McAllister?”
He hauled me closer, his mouth a breath away from mine. “I love it when you call me that.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I am.”
He kissed me before I could retort. A kiss that made me melt against him and forget we were supposed to be doing things outside of the bedroom. I pulled away, tried to disentangle myself from him. But he held on tight.
“Time’s up,” I said and my voice came out breathy. Then, because I wanted to tempt fate, “McAllister.”
“You’re bad,” he growled.
He tried to hold onto me, but I squirmed free and slid out of the bed with less dignity than I envisioned. My feet hit the floor, my gaze landing where there was a trail of clothes. I found his shirt first, snatched it up and tugged it on. Then bounced out of the bed and headed for the bathroom.
“You’re trying to emotionally destroy me, woman,” he called.
My response was to flash him a grin over my shoulder before I closed the door.
And now that I was sealed behind the door, I leaned against the bathroom counter trying to catch my breath.
I looked at the woman in the mirror—the girl with the short-cropped hair who thought her life would be New York City glam—and I realized something. I wasn’t that girl anymore.
I was just a small town girl falling for her high school crush.