CHAPTER 20
Liam
The drink at the bar unnerved me, but I refused to let it derail the rest of the night.
If Owen had truly wanted my attention, he could’ve approached me himself.
He could’ve said something. He could’ve done something more than sending an elaborate cocktail from the shadows like some kind of maddeningly attractive stalker.
Well… technically, he had done something.
The Red Rose still lingered in the back of my mind long after I’d finished it, right alongside the image of the empty crowd as I searched for him. But that was exactly the problem: I didn’t want mysterious gestures and unending confusion.
I wanted more.
And Nathan was more. He was present in a way that Owen wasn’t.
He was easy to talk to and laugh with. There was no uncertainty with him.
There were no complicated rules or carefully crafted fantasies to get lost in.
He was just a handsome man that I could enjoy sharing stories with over drinks while music played in the background.
It should’ve been enough. Honestly, a part of me wanted it to be, which was why I stayed.
The night stretched on comfortably between us.
We migrated from the bar to a table and right back to the bar as the staff started closing everything down.
Nathan made me laugh hard enough that I couldn’t breathe, and somewhere along the way, my nerves loosened up enough for me to genuinely enjoy myself again.
Or at least mostly enjoy myself. Every once in a while, my attention drifted toward the entrance as the idea of what-if drifted to the forefront of my mind. What if it were Owen who walked through the door every time it opened? What if he was just there waiting for me?
By the time we made our way out to the parking lot, the air had gone cold.
Nathan walked me to my car with his hands shoved into his pockets.
What should’ve been an easy goodbye turned into an awkward one as he expected a first kiss, and I couldn’t give it to him.
My heart wasn’t in it in the way he deserved.
That thought stuck with me as I drove home and went inside. Was I an idiot for letting the idea of someone ruin what could have been more? With a frustrated sigh, I dropped my keys on the counter. As I did, the living room light flicked on. I whirled fast, my heart kicking up violently in my chest.
What I didn’t anticipate was Owen sitting in my living room chair.
A startled sound caught in my throat as I stumbled half a step, my back hitting the bartop on the half wall.
To say his presence was unexpected was an understatement.
He sat there as if he belonged in my apartment, calm and composed.
One ankle rested over his knee while the low light cast shadows across his body.
The effect did dangerous things to his unbelievably handsome face.
Jesus Christ. I flattened a hand to my chest, feeling how my heart galloped erratically with the sudden fear. My mind raced through every logical reaction I should’ve been having.
Owen had broken into my apartment. Again.
A sane person would’ve been terrified.
Instead, relief crashed through me so fast it was almost humiliating.
He was here. It wasn’t a late-night dream or lingering hope to see him again. It wasn’t a silly daydream to get me through the day. He was actually sitting in my living room.
Warmth unfurled in my chest at that realization, even as my nerves continued to misfire violently under my skin. It felt impossibly wrong that the sight of the man illegally sitting in my living room somehow comforted me.
It shouldn’t have. One fantasy of a night didn’t constitute a real anything. It was irrational to think that he wanted more like I did. I straightened quickly and forced my expression into something far more annoyed than relieved while my heart continued trying to beat right out of my chest.
“Owen,” I said when my throat would let me. “Do you make it a habit of breaking—”
“How was your date?” Owen asked, cutting me off. The curt tone in his voice was off-putting and set me on edge.
“It was… good,” I replied.
“It was good,” he repeated slowly. His jaw ticked as he considered me—considered my words. Was that a hint of disappointment in his eyes? I could only hope. “And will there be a second date?”
I took my time answering. Maybe I wanted to know what he’d do or what he’d do if I didn’t say anything right away. Maybe I wanted to know if he hated the idea—if he wanted me not to want another date.
“Liam.” He unfolded from the chair and got to his feet with the kind of grace I could only envy and admire.
The way he moved was sinfully seductive without trying to be.
I hung on his every step until his hands braced on the bar behind me.
The simple move caged me in. My breath hitched, and my lips parted slightly.
Owen leaned in just enough for his presence to consume me. The aroma of his expensive cologne washed over me, familiar enough to make my pulse stumble. Oh, how I’d missed that scent, as ridiculous as it sounded. Every rational instinct told me to hold my ground or push back.
Unfortunately, every other instinct wanted to melt right into him. To be whatever he wanted me to be. To say whatever he wanted me to say.
The tension between us thickened almost painfully as his gaze raked slowly over my face.
His eyes lingered on my mouth for half a second too long before lifting back to mine once more.
The heat of his breath fanned over my face, and the intensity in his expression made my nerves tingle head-to-toe with anticipation.
All of him was intoxicating—terrifyingly so—like a fantasy come to life. Except this time, it wasn’t some controlled environment. It was my apartment, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
One of his hands shifted slightly against the counter behind him and slid close enough that the movement brushed against my hip. As quickly as his hand was there, it was gone. I instantly missed the contact.
“Liam,” Owen repeated.
“Yes?” I managed to get out.
“Are you going on a second date with him?”
The question felt pointed in a way that was difficult to read, as was the composed expression on his face. I should’ve expected that, considering how I’d met him. That didn’t stop me from wanting to know why he cared. Was he jealous?
Some little part of me wanted him to be jealous—so jealous that he’d sent me a cocktail to derail my night and broken into my apartment while the date ended.
That had to be why… didn’t it?
“No,” I told him. “I won’t be.”
Something subtle shifted in his expression, and satisfaction flickered briefly across his face. Or maybe I was imagining it.
“Good. Now that you’ve had two weeks to clear your head,” he began, “do you still like me?”
My breath caught embarrassingly fast while my thoughts scattered wildly. That was why he was here? Did he care whether or not I liked him?
And if he cared… did that mean there was a chance this could become something more outside of the fantasy experience?
“I do still like you,” I said quietly. The admission felt vulnerable when I couldn’t picture Owen outside of the rampant fantasies I had of him.
Outside of the one night spent with him.
Hell, I didn’t know a single thing about him other than his penchant for breaking into my apartment and how my pulse spiked around him.
“But…” Owen prompted softly, catching the hesitation I couldn’t quite hide. I swallowed hard.
Liking him wasn’t the problem. It was all the other things.
“I don’t even know you,” I admitted. “I don’t know anything about you.”
His expression softened, and a small smile curled the corners of his mouth, drawing my attention downward.
“Eyes up here, baby,” he instructed, his tone gentle but unforgiving. My gaze snapped right back to meet his. “Ask me anything.”
And just like that, I forgot every question I’d ever asked to get to know someone as I stared into his dark eyes. They held me, patient and full of genuine interest. It was as if he was waiting to hang onto every word that came out of my mouth.
Heat coiled through my core when he took one step closer, and the line of his body pressed lightly to mine.
Damn it. He was so distracting.
“I’m waiting, Liam.” His lips brushed against my cheek, and my knees went weak.
“It’s hard… to think when you… when you’re doing that,” I let out breathlessly.
“Should I stop?” he asked as he started to pull back. My hand flew up and caught in the front of his shirt to keep him close. The action made him chuckle. He kissed the curve of my cheekbone lightly. “Then ask me something, or I’ll have no choice but to pull away.”
“Is your name Owen?” I replied because, honestly, I didn’t even know that.
“My full name is Owen Richard Wells,” he said.
“I’m forty-four. I was born in New York.
I studied dance at Juilliard before quitting and moving to Los Angeles to find work as a dance choreographer.
I spent years traveling the country to do shows before I moved to Seattle for a job.
After that, I ended up at the Society. And I have a cat named Ethel.
She’s mean and grumpy and extremely pampered. Does that answer all your questions?”
“Um…” Truth be told, my mind was still wrapping around everything else he’d said. Dumbly, I asked, “What’s your favorite color?”
“Burgundy.” His lips brushed against my cheek once more, drifting closer to my mouth. It took everything I had not to turn into him. “Anything else?”
My fingers tightened in his shirt, and for as much as I wanted to lean into the moment, I couldn’t. I gently pushed him back until I could meet his gaze.
“Why?” I whispered. His brows furrowed slightly. “Why are you here, Owen?”
As much as I wanted him there, I struggled to fathom why he was because none of it made any sense.
The way he looked at me made no sense. The Society wasn’t supposed to work like this.
Maybe I’d gotten wrapped up in it a little bit, but it was crazy to think that he had too, no matter how much I secretly hoped that he was.
His head tilted slightly as he considered me. He seemed to carefully construct an answer while I waited. The action made my stomach drop slightly. I hated the waiting.
“Because the man who never wanted anyone met the man who wanted to be wanted,” Owen whispered. I frowned. Was that supposed to mean something to me? “I’ve been alone my whole life, and I’ve done so purposefully. I’ve never wanted anyone around—”
“Except Ethel,” I interjected.
“Ethel domesticated herself one day and decided I was the poor soul chosen to take care of her,” he retorted. I bit back a laugh at the bitter tone in his voice as he said the words. “My point, Liam, is that I have been very content and comfortable in my life alone with my cat… until you.”
“Until me?” I repeated with disbelief. Had I heard him wrong? I shook my head as I tried to work it out. “I don’t know what that means.”
“I have never wanted anyone. Ever,” Owen clarified.
“And yet, I find myself wanting you in ways I never believed possible. I think about you constantly. I find that not knowing how you are or where you are or what you’re doing is unbearable.
I want to be the person you tell those things to.
I want to be the person you check in with as your day goes on.
I want to be the first person you see when you wake up every day, and I want to be the last person you see before you go to bed.
I want to be the one you go to for comfort when your anxiety is too much. ”
His voice had dropped lower by the last sentence, rough around the edges with a kind of vulnerability that made my heart ache. There was nothing polished or carefully curated about the words he said. Every word was full of the kind of raw honesty you couldn’t fake or practice.
“And I know how insane this sounds, considering how little we know each other and considering the nature of how we got here,” he admitted quietly. “And yet, every part of me is pulled right back to you every time I tell myself it’s nothing. That this feeling between us is nothing.”
His thumb brushed lightly against my hip, rubbing reassuring circles—whether it was for me or for him, I wasn’t sure. Maybe we both needed it as the weight of his words settled over us.
“So, when I say I have been very content and comfortable in my life until you, I mean I don’t want another day alone without you.”
My chest constricted painfully as I struggled to digest every word he’d said. I’d spent so much of my life feeling tolerated and needed only when I had something to offer that I didn’t know what to do with them.
He wanted me. Not because I was useful. Not because I was convenient. Not because he needed something from me.
He saw me exactly as I was and wanted me.
I swallowed hard against the rising lump of emotion in my throat. Owen’s gaze tracked every expression on my face as I processed everything.
“I don’t know what to do with someone saying things like that to me,” I said. “What if you wake up one day and realize I’m not worth it? What if I’m not worth all of that?”
“I can promise you that I won’t change my mind,” he replied.
The confidence he had in his own words was almost enough to convince me, but I wasn’t good with situations where my heart was on the line.
“And while I know that’s difficult to believe, especially from someone you hardly know, I am asking for the opportunity to show you.
And I will show you, Liam, every single day that I mean those words. Can you do that? Do you still want me?”
“Yes,” I whispered before even realizing I’d said the words. “I still want you.”
I wanted all of that with him.