Page 12 of Fragile Hearts

“Owen, seriously, are you okay?” Sitting back on my heels, I wait for him to answer. “I’m so sorry. I had my earbuds in, and I was listening to music. I thought I was alone, and then you were just, bam, there in front of me.”

I don’t even give him a second to answer my initial question, just rambling out of guilt. I shake my head, and Owen lets out a low laugh, smiling up at me. He has the most beautiful smile, all perfect, straight white teeth and these two dimples that dot his cheeks. His tanned face has this surfer boy look, and he’s someone I would normally fall hard for, but he’s my roommate now.

But it’s more than that. Even before I moved in here, I just knew he was out of my league.

It's then that I notice he’s shirtless and covered in sweat, each droplet running down his toned and tanned chest, moving through the hard lines of his ab muscles. His T-shirt is tucked into the waistband of his shorts, and he sits up, grabbing it and wiping his face with it.

“Holy shit, Sloane, where’d you learn to do that?” he asks, again running the shirt over his face, his hand moving to where he hit his head.

“Foster care,” I mutter, and he narrows his eyes. Shaking my head, I blow it off, hoping he missed my comment. “Honestly, are you okay? Is your head okay? Let me look at it. I’ll get some ice.”

“I’m good. What I want to know is how the hell someone your size took me down. You weigh like a hundred pounds. Fucking impressive,” Owen jokes, and it doesn’t matter that he thinks it’s funny, I feel terrible.

“Owen, I’m so…” I start to say, and he just shakes his head, grabbing for my wrist when I go to stand up. “I need to get you some…” My mind goes blank the second his hand touches me, the warmth of his skin radiating through me, warming me and calming me.

“Let’s just promise not to sneak up on each other again,” he says, his thumb tracing a soft path along the inside of my wrist. I swallow hard at his touch, wanting more of it, but I gently take my hand away from him, standing and pushing my hair behind my ears.

“Okay, deal,” I reply, even though he didn’t sneak up on me. Even though I’m the one who behaved like I live in a prison. Luckily, he’s okay, and I didn’t knock him out or split his head open. Thank fuck that didn’t happen because me and blood don’t mix.

I need to get my shit together.

“I was out on a run. Next time I’ll leave a note or text you so you know,” he says, standing, and his words come out so sweetly that I feel like I might cry. He’s trying so hard to make this all good for me, and I don’t feel like anyone has ever gone out of their way the way he has.

“Thanks, I appreciate that, but it won’t happen again. I promise,” I reply, taking a deep breath. “Let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Owen says, but I shake my head, smiling at him. I’m not going to take no for an answer, and as if he can sense that, he lets out a sigh. “Fine. Do whatever you need to. I’m going to take a shower, but it really isn’t necessary.” He winks at me, his bottom lip between his teeth, and I don’t think he’s ever looked sexier.

Standing there shirtless, his tanned skin glistening with sweat, his perfect smile now on display. And I find myself wanting to join him in the shower, to feel his hands on my body once again. All he did was touch my wrist, and I was falling apart. Just imagine…

But it’s not a good idea. It never will be a good idea. I work at his parents’ luxury hotel. That right there is all I need to know. I’m the front desk girl at a hotel his parents own, and not just one hotel, but multiple hotels all over the islands. It’s the kind of money I’ll never know in my lifetime, and I’m not the kind of girl who ends up with a guy like Owen.

“Dinner?” I suggest, my brows going up as I wait for him to answer.

“Sure, dinner sounds great.”

An hour later, I’m back from the grocery store, and Owen is out of the shower. He’s sitting on the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles, with the TV playing. He’s watching highlights from a baseball game, but he switches it off when I walk in. Hopping up from the couch, he meets me near the door.

“Here,” he says, holding out his hands and taking a few of the bags from me. “What did you get?”

“When I lived with the girls, we used to do pizza night. We’d make our own pizzas and watch a movie. I thought it might be…” I stop short, wondering if this is super lame. “Kinda dumb,” I add. “I can just make us a pizza.”

“Not dumb at all,” Owen replies, walking toward the kitchen. “Let’s do it, but I get to pick the movie.”

“Yeah, sure.” I give him a questioning look, curious as to what he’s thinking. The girls and I tended to stick with rom-coms, especially older ones from the nineties, loving them. That will not be Owen’s pick, but I’m good with that. He is letting me live here.

I begin to unpack the bags, putting the sauce and vegetables on the counter, while Owen puts the cheese and pepperoni in the fridge.

“We usually make our own crust,” I tell him, and he grabs a canister from the pantry, setting it on the counter in front of us.

“Guess we’re going to need some flour. What else?” he asks, smiling at me as he begins to rifle through the cabinets.

“Salt, baking soda, olive oil, and water. Got it all?”

“We do.”

Gathering it all, I look for a bowl and measuring cups. Finding them, I begin to measure everything out, with Owen standing by my side watching.

He calls out, asking the speakers to begin playing some music, and suddenly it’s filling the entire house. I look around, trying to find where the music is coming from, and Owen lets out a chuckle.

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