Page 50 of The Reality of Us
He followed her gaze to her front door.
“It’d be fun,” Alice said.
Owen sent a silent apology to his painfully hard cock. “Is that what this would be? Two people”—there was that woolly sensation again—“having fun?”
Did he imagine the bitter tinge to her laugh? Alice put her key in the lock but didn’t turn it. “I’m not exactly in the market for a boyfriend right now. I still have a husband.”
“Hopefully not for too much longer,” he muttered. Things might stall now that Phoenix had been arrested, though.
“Is it against the law?” she whispered like even talking about it could get him in trouble. As if he hadn’t been in trouble ever since he met her. “Would it be a problem for your career?”
“Not exactly.” It wouldn’t look great, and it could be detrimental to her case, but he wouldn’t be disbarred or anything over it.
“But?” she prompted.
“It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, squeezing the tight muscles. He paused, trying to find the right words. The corners of her mouth tipped into a grimace, and she crossed her arms, pushing her breasts together. Breasts he’d …
What was I saying? Owen shook his head, trying to clear it.
Alice pulled the security door open, her hand gripping it tightly. “It is me, then. I’m not good enough for you? What was all that in the park then? You said I was beautiful and kind and clever.”
“No, no.” The words burst forth violently. “I mean, not no. You are those things. It’s complicated.” No jury in the world would’ve believed him.
She snorted, stepping through the threshold and flicking the kitchen light on. “Let’s forget this ever happened. Okay? We both know I’m excellent at pretending. I won’t say anything to anyone.” Then she frowned the saddest frown he’d ever seen and pulled the door closed so quickly that Owen felt the whoosh through the air as it moved.
The lock clicked, the wooden door closing with a heavy thump.
Shit.
Owen tipped his head forward, his forehead resting against the metal grill. He heard Alice moving around the apartment, talking to Murphy. The sound faded after a minute, replaced by the stillness of the night.
Owen flopped around. The bricks were rough behind him, all rumbled edges, all the warmth banked from the sunny day long gone.
The smart thing to do would be to go home.
Better for him, better for her. Keep their relationship professional. If he made one of his trusted pros and cons list, there’d be no question.
But he’d spent his whole life doing what was right on paper.
He scrubbed his hands down his face, imagining her inside the apartment, all her bravado gone, believing he thought she wasn’t good enough for him …
He’d never forgive himself.
Owen raised his fist and pounded on the door.
Alice was drinking wine straight from the bottle when she heard banging.
What now? Did Owen want to revel in her mortification some more?
She sucked in a deep breath, checked her pyjama shorts weren’t on backwards and wiped her mouth. She balled up her clothes, tossing them towards her dirty washing basket. They hit the wall, thudding onto the carpet. Close enough. Murphy was already in his crate at the end of her bed, tucked up with his favourite headless tiger plushie. Before she opened the door, Alice gave herself a quick check-over. Her hair was a mess, but it was Owen’s fault it looked like this, anyway. Same for her hard nipples which were still pebbled beneath the faded pink cotton shirt she wore to bed.
The pounding started again, making the air around her vibrate.
She steeled herself, squared her shoulders, ignored her tingling lips. “Did you forget some—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish her question before Owen pulled her in his arms, his body pressed against hers. Their gazes tangled. Neither managed a breathing rhythm that could be described as normal.
“Tell me if you want me to stop because I don’t think I can.”
