Page 83 of Pucking Secret

“Let’s get you cleaned up so I can get you food,” he says, pouring shampoo in his hand and lathering it up.

He starts massaging it into my hair. It feels so good that I let out a soft whimper as my eyes slide shut. Owen takes his time, rinsing out the shampoo and then working conditioner into my hair. Once he rinses that out as well, he scrubs me down with body wash. When we’re done, he turns the shower off and steps out to grab a towel and wrap it around me.

I’m kind of stunned by the pampering he’s giving me. Shower sex is one thing, but then to have him wash me from head-to-toe? I can’t remember anyone catering to my needs so thoroughly. What’s more, it doesn’t seem like a chore to him. He seems to be enjoying caring for me, taking his time and making sure every inch of me is clean and dry. He even squeezesthe excess water from my hair and brushes through it before grabbing one of the fluffy hotel robes and slipping it on me.

“All right,” he says, leading me out of the bathroom. “Let’s order you some food.”

Making my way back to the bed, I sit on the edge as Owen moves to the hotel phone, but grabs his cell from the end table and checks it first. He frowns and lets out a long sigh before setting the device back down.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he assures me. “Just a missed called from a friend. I’ll call them back later. Time for breakfast.”

As Owen orders room service, I glance around the suite again. The furniture is sleek and modern, the carpet is plush, and the massive windows overlook the city skyline. The whole place screams money, but it doesn’t really seem like Owen’s type of place. I think about his minimalist apartment and wonder if this luxury is actually to his taste or not.

“This is definitely not the standard team room,” I comment. “The rest of the guys are probably crammed into regular hotel rooms, and here you are, living the high life.”

Owen shrugs, sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes it can’t be helped.”

“Because of your stepfather’s family name?”

He nods, but there’s something in the way his shoulders tighten, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “Yeah. That name tends to follow me around whether I want it to or not.”

“You sound like you hate it,” I say softly, taking a seat beside him.

He glances at me, his lips curving into a wry smile. “Hate doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“Then why not tell him to fuck off?” The words come out before I can stop them, but I mean them.

Owen huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Easier said than done, Stace.” He pauses, running a hand through his damp hair. “It’s not about him, really. It’s about my mom. After my dad died, she was all I had left. She met Gerald, and I think she thought marrying him would give us both some kind of stability. And I…” He stops, his voice catching.

I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “And you didn’t want to hurt her.”

He nods, staring down at our joined hands. “Exactly. As a kid, I was closer with my dad, you know? He was my hero. Losing him... it messed me up. But my mom… she’s the kind of person who gives everything to the people she loves. I couldn’t stand the idea of being the reason she lost something else.”

“You’re a good son,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.

He laughs softly and shakes his head. “I don’t know about that, but I’ve spent most of my life trying not to rock the boat. For her sake.”

“And what about you?” I ask.

“What about me?” he echoes, his eyes meeting mine.

“When do you get to stop worrying about everyone else and just be happy?”

Owen looks at me for a long moment, his expression shifting into something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Hopefully now,” he whispers.

Later that evening, after our four hour flight, we step out of the airport and into the cold Denver air, saying our goodbyes to the other team members as they all disperse to find their rides home. “Come on,” Owen says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, instantly warming me up. “I’ll get us a cab.”

Making our way out to the pickup lanes outside the airport, Owen waves down a cab and holds open the car door for me. I can’t help but smile at the gesture. It’s really nice to have someone to travel with, who is attentive and goes out of his way to make me comfortable. I slide into the backseat and he joins me. I’m exhausted from the trip, so I lay my head on his shoulder as the car pulls into traffic and heads toward my house.

“Get a little sleep,” Owen murmurs. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“I’m fine,” I whisper, my eyes losing their fight against gravity.

Before I know it, the car coming to a stop jolts me awake to find Owen grinning down at me.

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