Page 66 of Puck Prince

“I heard that, too!”

I want to tell him that Kennedy, like the rest of the world, is under the impression our relationship is real, but Kennedycurrently has her ear pressed to the other side of the door and one eye wedged into the peephole, I’m sure.

Wherever we go, we’re being watched.

Owen seems to realize that, too. He rakes a hand through his hair. “You wanna… come inside?”

The line couldn’t be delivered with less enthusiasm. He sort of shrugs towards his door like he’s inviting in a solicitor and signing himself up for an hour-long conversation about “the vacuum cleaner of the future.”

He was also probably planning to come home and decompress in whatever way a man like Owen Sharpe decompresses. Probably not with peppermint tea, but to each their own. Instead, he has to spend time with me.

But at this point, we are going to have to play this game unless we want Kennedy asking a lot of questions through the apartment door. Between that and some kind of insane, inexplicable gravity tugging me forward, I feel like I have no choice.

“Sure. Lead the way.”

We go inside, and as he sets his things down, I realize this is the first time I’ve been in here since that night. It’s also the first time I’ve been in here when it’snotnight.

Contrary to everything I would’ve guessed about the man, the apartment is clean, organized, and well-decorated. There’s memorabilia on the walls, including Scythes jerseys and trophies. Something I didn’t notice the last time I was here because I was too busy being koala-carried to his bedroom.

If I had stopped to look around, I might’ve put two and two together and ran for my life. Yet, here we are.

Allthreeof us.

“Do you want a beer?

I shake my head. “No. But thank you.”

Owen grabs one for himself. “You don’t drink much, do you?”

Not anymore.“Not really.”

He pops the cap and takes a swig. “I’m kind of surprised. The first time I met you, you were nursing a whole bottle.”

“The first time you met me, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Neither was I.”

The words sizzle in the air between us.

“You want to sit?” he asks awkwardly. “I mean, you might as well, since we are kind of stuck here together.”

Well, with that warm welcome…

I nod and gingerly make my way to the couch with him. The last time I was here, I sat on the couch. The difference was, I wasn’t wearing pants. And he was sitting in front of me…

I cross my legs to squeeze my thighs shut.

“I have a question,”

“Yes?” I blurt out.

He turns to face me. “I figure, since we’re dating—at least on paper—we have the right to know some things about each other.”

“What kinds of things?”

“What did Coach mean when he said you’ve had ‘workplace relationships’?”

My stomach goes instantly sour. “N-Nothing. Just some… some drama with my last job.”

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