Page 54 of The Retreat

A wicked smile turns up my lips. “Exceedingly.”

Owen grabs my jaw and pulls me toward him. “I’m not rewarding you for being a brat. Promise to behave and I’ll kiss you.”

My breathing skyrockets at the touch. “Promise,” I whisper.

He holds me for another second, not letting me close the distance. His breath is hot against my lips as he makes me wait. Three seconds, five seconds until he presses his mouth against mine. I don’t hold back the groan at the contact. I need it like I need air.

If we were anywhere else, I would climb into his fucking lap and grind against him, but I doubt that’s what he meant by ‘behave.’

We’re brought wine and a menu for the three-course meal before the show starts. The waiter takes our orders and disappears to get the appetizer. I’m hungry, but not for food.

We get a charcuterie, and I find myself wanting to feed Owen, needing to touch him. Gathering a piece of meat and cheese, I offer it to him. He smirks but leans forward to accept the bite. His teeth graze my fingers, and my eyes lock on his mouth. On the possibilities of what he can do to me with it.

The tension between us is heavy but in the best way.

As the show starts, I get lost in the story, the music, the emotions. I’m captivated by it. I don’t realize I’m rubbing my fingertips on Owen’s inner thigh until he grabs my hand and grits out a “stop it.” He laces our fingers together, probably to keep mine still, but maybe he needs the physical contact too.

NINETEEN

Owen

Things were good, maybe for the first time in my life, but I don’t want to say it out loud because I don’t want to jinx it, which makes the idea of leaving for training camp worse.

What if while I’m gone Colin finds someone else? What if he starts flirting with Ryan again? What if he could really have something with Ryan? What if he forgets about me? What if he realizes he hates me while I’m gone?

What if, what if, what if, until I’m buried under a pile of them and I’m back under the chaise lounge.

Maybe I shouldn’t go to training camp.

Maybe I should just stay here.

The dark, warm safety of my chaise lounge and the familiarity of life here makes me not want to leave. Am I agoraphobic? Maybe I’m becoming agoraphobic.

I search around for my phone, finally finding it.

Owen: Am I becoming agoraphobic?

Owen: my anxiety seems worse.

Owen: Should I talk to my therapist about this?

Oliver: did you take your anxiety meds?

Owen: Yes.

Oliver: You answered too quickly. Let me message Colin.

Owen: I am an adult and set alarms for my own meds now.

Oliver: did Colin kill you and is now pretending to be you to throw me off your scent…

Oliver: Answer the video call.

I roll my eyes and answer it. “I’m alive.”

“Where is your husband?”

“At class I think, so don’t call him.” I roll out from under the chair to stare up at my ceiling in the low light. “I need to paint the ceiling.”

---