Page 133 of Puck Prince

Owen is in so much trouble.

38

OWEN

I spend most of the afternoon with Summer.

The goal was to talk about everything that’s been going on, but it didn’t take long to find out there haven’t been any weird notes taped to her door or suspicious calls or texts on her end—thank God.

Then again, that just makes it even more likely that the note taped to my door was about Callie.

Talk about a game with no winners. Either way, someone I care about is being harassed, and there’s almost nothing I can do about it.

My sister pokes and prods, trying to figure out what’s going on with me and Callie, but it’s easy enough to dodge her questions. Bizarrely, it’s the truth that set me free.

I have no fucking idea.

I like making her breakfast. I love having her in my bed. And on the couch. And in vacant closets.

But in terms of where this fake relationship train is going to stop, it’s anyone’s guess. For now, I’m just enjoying the ride—pun absolutely intended.

Once Summer accepts I’m Fort Knox where all things Callie are concerned, it turns into a slow day where I get to chat with Summer about things that don’t make me squirm with uncertainty and play with Nicky.

No one would ever dare call me paternal—least of all, me—but I love that baby more than life itself. Seeing that he and his mom are in a good place for the moment takes some of the pressure off my chest as I make my way into my building.

The keys to Callie’s new apartment jingling around in my pocket release even more pressure.

Like I said, there’salmostnothing I can do about the fact she’s being harassed. But I can keep her close. I can keep her safe.

And right now, living next to me, she’s safe. Once things cool down or I kill the man hounding her—whichever comes first—the apartment across town will be a nice option for her. Until then, I’ll hold onto her keys and sleep easy at night.

As I unlock my front door, ready to break out a six-pack and veg out on the couch, I’ve got the world on a fucking string.

Then I push the door open.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The question slugs me in the face the moment I walk inside.

Callie is standing in the entryway, wearing the jersey she stole from my closet this morning, I can’t help but notice. I also can’t help but notice her hands fisted on her hips. Her eyes are boiling.

“How’d you get in here?” Here I am worried about Callie’s security, meanwhile my place is Swiss cheese.

“You left your balcony unlocked.”

My eyes ping from her to the open balcony door and back again. “So you acrobatted from one balcony to the other? Jesus, Callie, are you insane?”

She marches towards me, jabbing a finger into my chest. “Answer my question.”

“What question?”

“How dare you?” she seethes. “I called the apartment complex today to sign the lease, but I couldn’t. Do you know why?” Her voice is dripping with rage and patronizing sarcasm. I think we both know I know exactly why. “Because someone else already rented it out.”

I step around her, heading to the kitchen for that beer. “Did they say who?”

“My ‘boyfriend.’”

I crack the bottle open. “Hmm. Sounds like a decent guy. You should really keep him around. Maybe say ‘thank you’ once in a while, greet him naked in the doorway… that kinda thing.”

“He’s a controlling asshole!” Callie spits. “Why did you do that, Owen?”

---