Page 18 of Overachiever
I’m lashing out at the wrong person. Men are ridiculous. Owen slides his hand from my wrist to hold my hand, and this time I don’t resist when he leads me out into the night. Leaving Evan waiting for me out front, we exit a different way and walk down the beach while Owen calls for a ride.
“Remee.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not mad at you. Just myself.” Sighing, I attempt to change the subject. “What was that Dobby trick you pulled back there with the sock?”
He sits down in the sand, and I join him. “Just trying to set the douchebag free.”
“He could’ve pounded you into the ground.”
“Psh.” Owen flexes his bicep. “He knew better.”
“You’ve been around Marty too much,” I scoff.
“You’d be surprised how often making someone laugh solves a problem.”
It’s a beautiful night, and we fall silent. He keeps his hand in mine while we listen to the waves caress the sand and watch the stars shine until he gets the notification our ride is here. The silence remains until we get back to our room, and I climb into bed.
The world is still wavery from the drinks I consumed, and as hard as I try not to think about tonight, I can’t help it. It’s not like I was in love with the guy or anything, but I hate to think I was making a fool of myself, playing into his hands. I only wanted to get laid. What’s so wrong with that?
Owen gazes at me from the chair when I turn over to face him. “You deserve better than that asshole.”
“I was looking for a bed buddy for the summer. Not anything serious. Guys are usually down for that type of thing. I don’t understand why respect can’t be a part of it. If we want the same thing, why am I a joke they have to turn into some stupid ‘who can fuck her first’ race?”
Alcohol and stupid emotions have the words spilling out of me, and I’m horrified to hear a crack in my voice. I will not cry. I’m not sure why I’m letting them get to me like this. Maybe because I’m not typically the girl to draw much attention. It was nice to feel desired, but I should’ve realized it was because I’m the only woman at work. Stupid male egos had to turn that into a game that had nothing to do with me as a person. It’s disappointing because Evan seemed so kind and interested in getting to know me. So did Adrian.
Owen lies down beside me on my bed. He rolls to his side, where we’re facing one another, and his soft gaze is comforting. “Rem, you aren’t a joke. You’re beautiful and smart and way out of those fuckboys’ league.”
He’s so sweet. Why aren’t more guys sweet like him? Compassion shows in the shadow darkened depths of his eyes. The curve of his lips draws my attention. I’ve never noticed how sexy they are. How kissable. Are they as soft as they look? Suddenly, it’s the most vital thing in the world for me to find out, and without a second of thought beforehand, I bring my mouth to his.
It’s barely more than a brush of our lips, a sweet second, and then the sensation of his breath on my face before he pulls away to whisper, “Rem.”
The reluctance in his voice jerks me back to reality. What am I doing? Haven’t I had enough humiliation for one day? “I’m sorry.” My face burns as I scramble to get off the bed, but his hand finds mine, wrapping around and holding tight.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not. If you only knew how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you.” He brushes a strand of hair off my cheek. “You’re drunk and upset. I can’t take advantage.”
Before I can reply, he pulls me into his arms and rests his chin on my head. “Let’s get some sleep. If you still want to kiss me in the morning, I’ll be at your disposal. All day, in fact. No, all weekend. Wait, let’s not put an expiration date on it. And clothes are optional, of course, but highly discouraged.”
Giggles spill out of me, and for once my overanalyzing mind doesn’t start laying out a list of how things could go wrong. The faint buzzing the alcohol sends over my skin combined with his warmth is so pleasant and comfortable.
This is perfect. Who cares about tomorrow?
* * *
Oh god, it’s tomorrow. Or today, whatever. The sun slicing through the gap in the curtains jars me awake and doesn’t help the headache pounding through my skull.
I kissed Owen. What the hell was I thinking?
He’s curled up next to me, his hand on my stomach, his face slack and peaceful. Okay, maybe I do know what I was thinking because he really is pretty. I have to bite back a laugh at the thought of how much he would hate that word used to describe him, and maybe it doesn’t fit, because he’s in no way feminine, but still it’s what comes to mind as I stare at him.
There’s a truth to face here. The alcohol wasn’t the reason I kissed him. It may have given me a bit more courage to act, but the urge was my own and it’s still there. I need to think. Thank goodness he’s a hard sleeper. He doesn’t stir when I move his hand off of me and climb out of bed. Even the squeak the closet door makes when I open it to grab some clothes doesn’t budge him.
My thoughts clamber over one another, and it’s hard to focus as each insists on being the most important. The guys at work are dicks. There’s no way around facing them again. Every day. For the rest of the summer.
The dread of that is shoved aside by the memory of soft lips on mine. Owen. It’s not like I haven’t ever thought of him that way, even before that stupid dream. In the beginning, I went out of my way to keep a certain distance because I knew that he’s exactly the type of guy I could fall for. Charismatic, funny, and everyone likes him. Once we settled into our friend roles, I sort of let my guard down.
He’s also the opposite of what I have to be. Serious about life and dedicated to my goals. He seems to glide through without giving things a second thought, like a child. His words float back to me as I step into the shower. “If you only knew how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you.”
They didn’t really register last night, in my fog of alcohol and disappointment, but I’m surprised by them today. Owen’s never given me the least sign that he’s attracted to me. He was drinking as well. Maybe he didn’t mean it and was only trying to be kind about me kissing him.
