Page 10 of Owen Gardner is Losing It

“For fuck’s sake.” He grabbed another red cup and began to fill it. “For getting into Beth’s pants.”

“Oh. I don’t know. Just… be myself. Make her laugh. See how the night goes.”

“Good, good,” Xander said, carrying the second beer over to Abigail, who sat it on the coffee table without taking a sip. Xander ran a hand through his hair on the way back to the kegs. “You should brag about tutoring little kids and whatnot. She’d probably think that’s cute.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea,” Abigail agreed. “And make sure you smile. All the girls really like your dimples.”

“What girls?” Was Lena Brower one of them?

Before Abigail could answer, Xander suddenly strolled over to the window and pulled the forest green curtains farther apart to peer outside. “Whose car is that?” I put down my beer and joined him at the window to watch a black sports car coming up the driveway past the chicken coop. I squinted to see who the driver was, and my heart skipped a beat when I caught a glimpse of blonde hair. “Uh oh, Gardner. Is that your girl?”

My girl.Right. “Looks like her.” My nerves instantly shot through the roof. I had assumed she’d arrive much later, after the music was playing and I had some more liquid courage coursing through my veins. Her early arrival would give me ample time to fuck this up. With an exhale, I said, “Here goes nothing.”

“You’re going to be just fine, Owen,” Abigail said. And then, as Xander and I watched Beth step out of her car and retrievethe liquor from her backseat, Abigail rushed out some more last-minute advice for me. “Be confident. Relax and be your goofy self, because you already know that works on her. And when it comes time to, you know, perform–make sure you don’t rush it and you’re focused on her comfort and pleasure. Okay?”

That was way too much to process all at once.

Xander gave me a quick glance before looking over his shoulder at Abigail. He said nothing, but I could tell from the way he was holding his breath, he was thinking about how much he’d like to focus on Abigail’s comfort and pleasure.

I turned back to the window and swallowed. Beth closed her car door with her hip, carrying the six-pack of Smirnoff in one arm and the bottle of whiskey in the other. “She’s nineteen. Won’t she be breaking the law if she has sex with me?”

Xander shook his head. “The age of consent in Indiana is sixteen.”

Of course he knew that.

Pushing past him, I made my way to the front door to open it for her as she stepped up onto the weathered wooden planks of the porch. “Hey, Owen Elizabeth,” she said with a grin.

“I thought we agreed my name was Frodo.” I took the heavy Smirnoff from her, taking note of her appearance. She was wearing short, frayed denim shorts and a low-cut red shirt, and there was something different about her hair–it looked softer and straighter, or something.

And she smelled citrusy and clean.

“What a cute little cabin. And we are way out in the boonies, aren’t we?”

“Hope it wasn’t too hard to find the place.” I held the door open for her and she followed me inside. I sat the Smirnoff on the kitchen table and turned around to look at her. She spun around in a slow circle, taking in all the rustic decor and wooden beams above.

“This place is adorable,” she said dreamily. And then her eyes dropped to Abigail sitting on the couch. “Did I see you at Boomer’s today?”

Abigail nodded, but Xander, taking a seat on a stool at the kitchen island, answered for her. “We were all there. We’re the ones who dared Owen to talk to you.”

I chuckled nervously, but thankfully, Beth was smiling. “Is that right?”

“Yep. These are my friends Xander and Abigail,” I said, nodding toward them. “And guys, this is Beth.”

Abigail gave a warm smile from where she was sitting, but Xander held out his hand for her to shake. Beth took a step forward, accepting it, and the two locked eyes. “Thanks for having me,” she told him.

Xander’s gaze was a little too intense for my comfort. “Yeah, of course.”

Abigail rose from the couch and made her way into the kitchen area. “I love your tattoos, Beth,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “How many do you have?”

“Well,” Beth said, grunting as she put the Jack Daniels on the counter, “it depends on whether you count all the seagulls as separate tattoos or not.”

“Seagulls?” I asked, crossing my arm against my chest. She was still standing just a foot or two in front of Xander, who twisted in his stool so that his knees were pointed at her.

“Yeah, they’re on my back–there’s four of them. So, counting them, I have… eight tattoos?” She tilted her head to the side, like she was doubting herself. “Yeah. Eight. For now, at least.”

Eyeing the butterfly tattoo on Beth’s leg, Xander asked, “Where do you go for them?”

“Killer Ink, over on Fourth Street. I would trust those people with my life.”

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