Page 143 of Puck Prince

Owen reaches across the table. “Order whatever you want, Cal. I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

“It’s alright.” I smile. “I’m not in a drinking mood.”

Kennedy looks horrified. “You move in together, and suddenly you’re all domesticated.”

Owen studies me, and I know he’s worried. My stomach really is off, though.

The night goes on, and what I lacked in the drinks portion of the evening, I make up for with the appetizer menu. The focaccia with goat cheese and apricot jam is officially the fifth—and my personal favorite—wheel of this date.

Though, my actual date looks unreal in his tailored pants and Oxford shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. God, this man’s forearms are no joke. I get a glimpse of the muscles shifting beneath his skin every time he reaches across the table to grab my hand.

Which is often.

The brush of his thumb over my knuckles is distracting enough for me to think Kennedy’s salty jabs at Lance might be taking a shift from insulting to something in the vicinity of teasing, which feels like an improvement.

As the waitress clears away our charcuterie board, Lance eats the Bordeaux cherry out of the bottom of his glass. “Callie, I gotta know: what’s it like living with this guy?” He elbows Owen.

I purse my lips, deciding how to answer that. “Honestly? Terrible.”

Kennedy chokes on her gin and tonic—her second of the night—and Lance snorts. “So not much different than he is on the ice. Got it.”

Owen shakes his head, his mouth popped open in betrayal.

I can’t help but giggle. “No, he’s not that bad. Just a little…particularabout things.”

Owen gasps. “I am not. Like what?”

“The way you load the dishwasher.”

“I’m not particular, I just like it to fit together in a way that is efficient but also every dish gets clean from every angle.”

“It’s Tupperware, not Tetris, babe.”

“Says the girl who loads it like a raccoon stashing things she found in a dumpster.”

I glare at him. He glares at me. Under the table, though, he covers my knee with his hand.

Meanwhile, Kennedy and Lance can’t stop laughing.

“God, you sound like a married couple,” Lance says.

Kennedy agrees. “It’s kind of gross. Get a room.”

“We have a room,” I point out. “We share it.”

“We share a closet, too.” Owen winks at me, and my cheeks burn.

I kick him under the table, but he just laughs.

“Well, look who it is.” I’m still distracted by how high on my thigh Owen’s hand is, so it takes me a second to notice the couple standing next to our table. “You boys are wining and dining your ladies and didn’t think to invite me? I’m hurt.”

Suddenly, all the warmth in the room is gone. My skin crawls as I turn to see Miles and his fiancée smiling down at us.

“It was kind of a last minute thing.” Owen’s fingers drum across my inner thigh like Morse code.

I’m right here.

I lean into his side.

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