Page 40 of Barbed Wire Fences
I hesitate, my heart skipping once, twice, before I nod because this is what I agreed to, and I can’t back out now without our whole senior class finding out. How would Owen even react if I told him no? I’m not sure, but I have a strong feeling it wouldn’t go well for me.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
“Hey, Mark! Lainey!” Owen shouts to the couple tangled together at the edge of the field. “I’m taking Jael home. It’s getting late.”
Mark raises a hand, flashing a lazy peace sign without even looking up. Lainey giggles, her face buried in Mark’s neck, and it’s clear they won’t be coming up for air anytime soon.
Owen hops out of the truck bed, the tailgate groaning under his weight as he lands on the dirt. He reaches up, offering me his hand to help me down. It’s a small gesture, the kind of thing that would normally make my chest flutter, but tonight it barely registers because my mind is anywhere but here.
My mind’s on Rhett.
When my feet hit the ground and I step around the side of the truck, my chest tightens. Owen doesn’t open the passenger door for me. He doesn’t even glance back to see if I’m following. He’s already climbing into the driver’s seat, the engine rumbling to life before I’ve even reached the door handle because now, he’s focused on one thing.
And I’m focused on Rhett.
It’s not fair to compare them, I know that. But I can’t help it anymore. Ever since the night I spent with him, I keep seeing him differently.
Rhett would’ve opened the door. He would’ve waited for me, made a joke to calm my nerves, maybe even thrown a wink my way just to make me roll my eyes and keep the whole thing playful.
The thought shouldn’t linger, but it does, like a stubborn itch that I can’t ignore. Rhett would take care of me.
I climb into the truck, shutting the door behind me as Owen shifts it into gear. The road stretches out ahead of us, dark andendless, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m heading in the wrong direction.
No. Stop. Why am I hesitating? Owen and I had planned this. This was what I wanted to do long before Rhett ever showed me his stupidly perfect body. What Rhett and I did a few weeks ago meant nothing to Rhett.
We make the drive back to the trailer park in total silence. Thankfully, when Owen turns down the gravel road where my parent's trailer is located, I confirm that Rhett’s truck isn’t parked at his moms. He’s probably out with one of his friends, or maybe he’s with a girl. It’s not like he owes me a text telling me where he is. It was one time, and it’d been strictly for research purposes. We haven’t even talked about it since.
Owen shifts his truck into park, hops out, and strolls up to the front steps without bothering to open my door again. I trail behind him, fumbling with my keys as a nervous flutter rises in my chest.
The screen door creaks loudly as I push it open, stepping into the dimly lit living room. Thankfully, my dad’s not on the couch passed out tonight which means he’s probably out with his friends, gambling or drunk.
Owen follows close behind, his boots scuffing against the worn linoleum as I reach for the light switch. The bulb hums to life, casting a pale glow over the small, cluttered space.
“So, this is your home, huh?” he says, glancing around like he’s inspecting a motel room he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay in. His tone is casual, his brows pinched together in judgment, and it makes my stomach twist that I’m even caring what he thinks about where I live.
I nod quickly, hyper-aware of the secondhand furniture that’s covered in booze stains and old vomit from my father, the pileof magazines on the coffee table filled with clippings from my mom, dreams she’ll never realize because she doesn’t have the discipline, time or money, and the faint smell of the dinner my mom reheated before her shift at the bank.
This space has never embarrassed me before—not even when Rhett would come over, dirty boots and all. But now, under Owen’s gaze, I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about the life I’ve tried so hard to seem indifferent to. Maybe it’s never bothered me when Rhett came over because he grew up in a home just like mine.
Or maybe it never bothered me because Rhett would never pass judgment on me. He’d never judge anyone.
“Where’s your room?” he asks, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts and reminding me that this isn’t a date. He’s here for only one reason and he’s ready to get to the point.
“Um, back here.”
I lead him down the short hallway, the familiar creak of the cheap floorboards under my feet sound more like an alarm now than ever.
I should stop this. I should tell him I’ve changed my mind. I should make up a lie about feeling sick. But when we step into my tiny bedroom, and flick on the overhead light, the pink bed sheets and matching curtains suddenly glaringly childish in my eyes, I realize, I can’t stop this.
Owen takes a single glance around before stepping further in. I expect him to pause, to let the moment settle, maybe even say something to ease the nerves buzzing under my skin. But instead, he starts tugging off his shirt, letting it drop to the floor like he’s done this a hundred times before. And frankly, he probably has.
“Do you want me to undress you, or do you want to undress yourself?” he asks, his tone practical, almost impatient.
I freeze, unsure how to respond.
Howdothese things work? Should I already know? With Rhett, there hadn’t been any awkward questions or rushed movements. He’d carried me to his bed, laid me down like I was something fragile and precious, and slowly, almost gently, teased the fabric of my clothes away until I was naked. The look on his face had said everything, like he was savoring every second spent with me, not just rushing to the end.
But maybe that was just Rhett. Maybe this—Owen, standing here, already half-naked and waiting for me to figure out what to do—is what’s normal when you have sex. Maybe this is what I have to expect in my future.
