Page 47 of Sparks Still Fly

“Her name is Julia.” He swallows as his brows come together. “You’re riding the horses?” He crosses his arms, and I curse my eyeballs for following the movement, pausing on his biceps for a beat too long.

“That’s a pretty name.” A warmth spreads across my face, and a small smile blooms on my lips as I imagine Owen rocking a baby to sleep in his arms.

I shove the thought away, moving on to the next topic. “I’ve been riding a couple of the horses, giving them some exercise.” The smile on my face remains now because these horses have given me more peace than I’ve felt in a long time.

“But listen, tell me more about Julia. What’s happening? How are you doing?”

“Uh, I was gonna talk to you about that, actually. I talked to my lawyer earlier and they’re coming here tomorrow.” He swallows and brings the hem of his shirt up to wipe at the sweat on his face.

Congratulations, eyeballs! You didn’t even sneak a peek at his abs!

“I know it’s not ideal, and you don’t want anything to do with this, but between the system being backed up and the delays with the court, we really want to do this as soon as possible.” I hate seeing him look this defeated, and I hate that he just wanted to deal with this alone.

How long has Owen been dealing with all the most difficult parts of his life on his own?

“I’m here for you Owen. Literally. I am here to help you, so yes, of course I’ll be there. I’m doing nothing else, so please call on me, all right?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Maeve.”

Hmm. No Maevey. After the joke about taking a picture, he went serious.

He looks down at his shoes, shoulders slightly slumped, and it makes me feel a little sick to see him like this. I want the playful Owen back. I want the confident, take-no-shit Owen back. I want things with us to not feel so fucking hard all the time.

“Do you think you have time to stick around and spot me?”

Where the shit did that come from?

“If you think you can handle being around me and not run away again, that is.” I say the words and immediately regret them. I look at Owen, whose eyes widen in surprise; his mouth slightly agape as he processes what I’ve just said.

Crikey, Maeve, you really need to know when to shut the fuck up!

His hand shoots out, and he grabs the pockets of the hooded sweatshirt I’m wearing. His sweatshirt. He pulls my body roughly against his, and when he speaks, I feel his breath on my neck.

“It’s gonna be hard to handle being around you when you’re wearing my clothes, Maevey.”

Maevey. There he is.

It’s too close for comfort and not close enough. I want to step back, to create some emotional distance between us, but I can’t bring myself to move away, the physical pull is too strong.

I step back, and he lets the hoodie go. I pull at the hem, pulling it up above my head.

“I guess I won’t wear it, then.” I reveal a bright pink sports bra with delicate straps crisscrossing up the back, the fabric stretched tight across my chest. My matching shorts give me plenty of stretch to move around. My skin burns under his gaze. The muscles beneath my skin clench. “Better?” I’m taunting him, I know, but my vagina seems to be making all of my decisions for me.

“No.” His green eyes are dark, and it’s a look I haven’t seen in a very long time. It sends a shiver through me, and he smirks when he notices. Now he’s the one taunting me. I don’t fancy it. I much prefer being the one in control of this situation. “Cold?”

“No.” My body feels warm and tingly, but it has nothing to do with exercising.

I walk over to the bench and start to remove weights from the bar, though what I’m left with is likely still too heavy for me. “Just do what I asked you to, please.”

“As you wish.” He grins, standing at the head of the bench, waiting for me to begin.

I manage to get through the first three reps just fine on my own, but by the time I get to the fourth one, I’m grunting my way through it. He lets me struggle for a few seconds, and I manage to finish it. On the fifth rep, he has to help me, and as our hands brush, I nearly drop the entire bar on myself. He catches it.

“I’ve got you,” he says. And I hate the way the words land on my sternum, soft and slow.

I walk over to the squat bar, again removing many weights as Owen easily has a hundred pounds on me. He helps me lower the bar so it’s at a comfortable height for me, and I get into position, well aware that I’m about to squat directly in front of him.

This time I make it to seven reps before needing any help, and on the eighth one, he squats behind me, his crotch lining up to my behind, and by a sheer miracle, I manage to actually come back to standing. When we’re both standing up straight, I feel him hardening behind me, and my eyes close as I take a deep breath in.

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