Page 2 of Surrender to Me

“Josh,” Owen said sternly. The bartender raised his arms in defense. “Kamikazes, please,” Owen added. The bartender poured vodka into a shaker and Owen turned to me. Before he even spoke, I put up my hand to stop him.

“I don’t want you back,” I said before my heart would word-vomit anything else. Better to rip the bandaid, get it out of my system, make sure we were not on that path. “You mean nothing to me,” I lied.

His silence was eerie. Each second that ticked by made my skin crawl, knowing that he could see through me. I rolled my eyes, trying to stay strong, and faced forward, avoiding his gaze.

“And that’s why your lips parted and your back muscles tensed as soon as I walked into the room,” he murmured. Anger flared in my cheeks. He was mocking me, making me feel like a moldable piece of Play-Doh. Owen leaned in, his lips almost scratching my ear. My skin felt like a magnet, wanting desperately to be against him. “You are one to talk about assumptions, Miss Glass, as if winning you back is the only reason I’m here,” he said, his voice low. My insides felt like they were churning molten lava, waiting for my demise. And yet I hung onto those words: the only reason. He did come to get me back.

But what was the other reason, exactly?

“Mr. Lowell, how presumptuous of me,” I said, my voice soaked in annoyance. My face was on fire with rage and lust, knowing how badly I wanted him and how terribly I wanted to run away screaming that I deserved someone I could trust. “What do you want, Owen?” I barked. Owen stared at me, his lips open slightly. He was trying to find the right words.

“You two know each other?” the bartender asked. We both nodded. I faced forward, intent on ignoring Owen. I could see his body in my periphery, still turned towards me. “I told you you’d know him,” the bartender said. I scoffed.

“This is Riley,” Owen said.

“Holy shit. You mean the Riley Glass? That sculptor you’re always talking about?” The bartender wiped his hands on his pants and held out a hand. “I’m Josh. Owen and I go way back.” I sighed. Of course they did. I sneered but shook his hand anyway. “He’s a good friend. And apparently, you’re an amazing artist,” he said, “And as gorgeous as Owen said you were.” I blushed at the thought that Owen had told his friend about me, not only that I was an artist, but that I was pretty too. I didn’t expect that from him. I turned even redder, annoyed at myself for being flattered by something Owen had said about me. I was supposed to be mad at him. The bartender looked between my irritated, red expression and Owen’s stare, still trying to lock me in his grip. “F-u-ck,” he said, somehow making the word three syllables. “Do you mean to tell me that you were the one who broke her heart?”

“According to Miss Glass, I mean nothing.” Owen continued to glare at me as he said his response. He finally faced the bartender. His elbow nudged mine, and it was like every nerve ending in my body shot right to that touch. He knew exactly what he meant to me, the opposite of nothing, and he knew repeating my words to me would show me what a terrible liar I was. He knew it would get to me.

“What do you want, Owen?” I repeated.

“We need to talk,” he said. “It’s regarding your acceptance at the Foundation.”

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