Page 32 of Forgot to Tell You Something

“It’s a lot of room for one guy. You could save money by buying a one-bedroom.”

His stormy gaze holds mine as he slides his hand across the table, grasping my fingers. “I hope I’ll need the room in the future.”

My mouth goes dry at his statement.Brain, slow down. Don’t start playing the wedding march just yet. Gather your facts first. You probably heard him wrong.“Home gym?”

Owen laughs, releasing my hand as our entrees arrive. “Not exactly.”

By the end of dinner, Owen has narrowed down the condo choices to two, and I’m choking over the price. I know that San Francisco is much more expensive than Fort Lauderdale. Still, three-quarters of a million dollars is way above my pay grade—in either city.

I try to snatch the bill, but Owen smacks my hand away. “No chance in hell, Darlin.”

He scribbles in the tip, and I giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

“If you decided to become a doctor, you’d blend right in with that almost illegible penmanship.”

He chuckles, offering me his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It was a wonderful dinner. Thank you, Clark.”

Owen’s face scrunches in confusion. “Are you forgetting my name now?”

“No. Clark Kent. You’re so mysterious, but you’re also my definition of perfection, so I can only assume that you’re Superman.”

His arms wrap around me, his mouth nipping my exposed shoulder. “I thought you were a Marvel girl.”

“I am,” I declare, twirling in his arms. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

He presses his forehead to mine, and I breathe in the delicious scent that is all Owen. “I really want to be your exception, Darlin.”

That makes two of us. I really want him to be the exception, too—the one who holds my heart without breaking it. A woman can dream, right?

“I have another surprise.”

“Let me guess. You’re buying a yacht, or perhaps a private island in the Caribbean. Am I close?”

“Not today. Maybe next week.”

The temperature is finally dropping when we pull up to the skate park. My jaw slackens when he pulls two boards from the trunk, along with a bag of clothes. “Go change, and then, Ms. Big Talker, I want to see what you’ve got.”

I place my hands on my hips, offering up a fake glare. “I’m not a big talker, I’m a truth talker.”

“You think you’re pretty badass, don’t you, Tally?”

“IknowI’m pretty badass. And this badass is about to show you how it’s done.”

Owen is damn near doubled over as I accept the bag of clothing. Let him laugh. I’ll simply have to wipe his sweet cheeks all over the pavement.

Granted, it’s been years, but how hard can it be? Like riding a bike, right?

So very, very wrong.

Never ask rhetorical questions that involve bodily injury. Karma loves to quiet your mouthy ass for that level of stupidity. Suffice it to say, I’m not the skater I once was, and my ankle has paid the price.

“Ouch,” I grumble, grabbing my injured extremity. That’s what I get for attempting a kickflip after a decade away from the skate park.

Owen races over, his long fingers palpating my foot. He maneuvers it with gentle pressure to the left and right, and I can’t help but notice how professional he is in his examination. “Can you wiggle your toes? I don’t think it’s broken, but we need an X-ray to rule out a fracture.”

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