Page 12 of Love Me

Chapter 7

The next morning, the smell of bacon, toast, and coffee woke me up. I pulled the sheets up around my shoulders, then looked around. Owen was pouring a cup of coffee. The pot was perched on our dresser as if it had always been there. I didn’t remember moving to our bed the night before. Owen must have moved me while I slept.

He put the breakfast tray on my lap. “I want details in exchange for breakfast,” he said.

“A fair trade,” I said. It was hard to remember anything my brain worried about when Owen, a billionaire businessman, had made me breakfast in bed.

The whole time we ate, I was mentally crossing my fingers that I would be able to keep it down, and thankfully I was. But I didn’t eat nearly as much as I wanted to. I told Owen about puking on Jonas’s sculpture, how horribly everything reeked before and even worse afterward. How I didn’t stop to apologize. But everything that had happened, viewing the Greenhaven house, making an ass out of myself in front of Orinda Jones, felt like ages ago, even if it was only the day before. Waking up in your own bed with a handsome man fixing you breakfast would do that, I guess.

“It’s art, you know,” Owen said. He lifted the coffee pot to refill my mug, but I shook my head. “They’ll raise the price for the increased authenticity.”

I smiled, but I knew better than that. “I’m going to have to pay for it, full price,” I said. I rolled my eyes, and before Owen spoke, I put up my hand. “No, you may not pay for it for me.” Better get a job then, I thought.

After a moment, Owen said, “I put in an offer for the house.” His voice was quiet when he said this, like he knew I might disagree with his decision. “If you don’t want it, we’ll keep looking. But it’s a good area. An option, if nothing else.”

My head was reeling. An offer on a house.

Ourhouse.

“What if I say no?” I asked.

He shrugged. “My family can use it. Whoever. We can sell it too.”

His indifference, his lack of interest in my say in the matter, was infuriating.

“I should’ve asked you,” he said. I clenched my fists, trying hard to let him finish what he wanted to say. “But I know you, Riley. You wouldn’t have said yes even though it’s perfect for us.”

“You don’t know that,” I said.

“I do, Riley. I know you.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to scream because he hadn’t given me the chance to say yes or no, or because he was right. I wouldn’t have agreed to a house. I wasn’t sure I was ready. I could imagine us living there, but I didn’t know if I was ready to trust that future yet.

“How much did you offer?” I asked.

“Enough,” he said. I glared at him.

“One million,” I guessed. He didn’t budge. “Two million?” A twinkle in his eyes made me realize that I was on the right track.

“God damn it, Owen.” I scowled at him, practically baring my teeth. “That might not mean anything to you, but to me, it’s—”

My phone buzzed. I looked down, Orinda Jones, Winter Precipice Galleries flashed on the screen. A ball curled up in my stomach. It felt like a cat was kneading me from the inside. I declined the call.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. There was too much to deal with without adding an argument about a house. “Whatever,” I said.

A scalding hot shower and a meandering walk around the city made me feel refreshed. I ignored the feelings that poked at my stomach and tried to focus on what I did know: I had made the decision to move here with Owen on my own. We could have stayed in San Francisco if we wanted. But we were here now, and any potential tragedies that laid themselves before us weren’t going to tie us to the railroad tracks. We had to keep looking forward. We deserved it.

When I came home, Owen was shirtless in the kitchen. The smell of garlic and lemon hinted at what he was cooking. Jeans clutched his hips, exposing his v-line, making my mouth open at the possibilities. He smirked when he caught me staring.

“Hungry?” he asked. The twinkle in his eye showed that he wasn’t talking about what he was cooking.

“Not for food,” I said. His arms swooped around me, bringing me in, and he kissed me deeply. His tongue caressed mine slowly, and I lost myself in that mouth. His erection pressed against me showed that he could lose himself too.

He pulled back, his eyes glossy with lust. The chicken sizzled in the pan.

“Don’t let me stop you,” I said. I smiled, teasing him.

“Are you going to eat?”

---