Page 19 of Love on the Waiver Wire

“It was cute,” he adds as if picking up on my discomfort.

My head whips up as I meet his eyes. “I don’t like being played with, Owen.”

“I play enough games for work. I don’t want to play games with you, Isla. I can assure you that.”

Something in me knows he’s telling the truth, even if my brain tells me he’s not. He’s best friends with my brother, after all. King of ripping hearts to shreds.

“Okay.”

“You paint?” he asks suddenly, gesturing to the pile of canvases leaning against a corner wall. The question seems weirdly intimate to me. I make a mental note to file that into the growing list of new things to talk to my therapist about.

“My whole life,” is all I say, looking at the canvases for the hundredth time today. Every time I do, I find something new I have to change. Maybe I should just put the ones I think I’m done with in the studio.

He walks over, bending over to take a closer look. I try not to look at his ass. I do. I promise. But it’s there, in front of me. How can I not?

God, I’m no better than Leo sometimes.

Looking down, he runs his sneaker-clad foot over the drop cloth beneath my canvases.

“Don’t you have like three rooms here?” he asks, looking around. I’m confused for a second, but Owen and Leo can be inseparable. He was probably here when Leo closed on it.

“Yeah, but the natural light from these windows is better during the daytime. I keep everything in my studio, but I paint out here most of the time.

He nods, shrugging.

“Leo may be home any time now,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“Yeah, probably.”

“My parents are next door. I’d rather them not hear something going on here and come asking questions.”

A sly grin slowly makes its way onto Owen’s lips, and I quickly curse myself.

“Isla, as much as I’d be honored, I’m not here on that kind of visit.”

Rolling my eyes, I groan, flipping him off. “You know what I mean. And Leo would be furious if he found you here.”

“Leo doesn’t have me on a leash.”

“Do you like being on a leash?” I ask without thinking. The second it’s out of my mouth, I mentally slap a hand over it to keep me from saying anything else.

“For the right person, I think.”

9

OWEN

There’s a reason I’m known for being quiet, and it has nothing to do with me having a calm mind.

It has to do with the fact that every time I open my mouth I feel like something dumb comes out. Especially around women.

“That was dumb,” I tell her, all of a sudden feeling way too hot despite my thin blue t-shirt.

“It was,” she agrees, but I’m relieved that her tone is playful and not upset. I shouldn’t have said that.

“Well, thank you for confirming what I already know. I look forward to playing against you, Isla.”

What the hell is that now?I think.You say something stupid, and you turn into some old-fashioned stuck-up weirdo?

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