Page 15 of Since Always

By the time I leave the Antler's Club, it's 3:30 am. Chris finds me at about 2:00 to say he is leaving, and that he thinks Owen has already gone. He eyes Drew.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asks.

"I'm fine." I wave towards Lexi and the rest of the group.

Drew is about to speak up, but Vadim cuts him off.

"I will make sure she gets in a car back to your house, Chris," he says. Even I can't tell he's drunk.

Chris still eyes us, but I sigh in exasperation. "Chris, I'm fine. Go home."

Now I'm leaving, but Drew has gotten drunker and a little pushier.

"Come on," he says. "We can just go back to my place and talk."

"I'm tired. I need to go to bed."

"Well, I just so happen to have one of those too." He leans in, kissing me again.

I've been letting him kiss me tonight. It's not because I'm super into him, but more because it feels nice to just let go. And he really has proven to be a better conversationalist than I had expected him to be. And a much better kisser.

"Call me tomorrow," I say. "Maybe we can meet up?"

I figure that he will forget, or not bother at all. Either one I am fine with.

The house is dark and quiet when I get home, a single lamp left on in the foyer. On the way to my room, I am startled to find someone tip-toeing out of Owen's room. Even in the dark, I can tell the person is much too small to be him. My heart sinks.

"Hi?" I say, trying to alert her to my presence. She jumps.

"Oh, God," she says, "I didn't expect anyone to...Wow, that scared me." I flip on the light switch next to me and take her in. She is lovely, though she has clearly had a night. She squints, adjusting to the light, and then takes stock of me, glancing at Owen's door. "Oh, are you..."

"My room is there.” I gesture down the hall.

"Oh," she giggles in nervous relief. "Are you Owen's sister?"

"Family friend."

She nods and we fall silent. "Well, I should...this is...God, this is embarrassing."

"It's okay," I say. "I'm used to it. Happens all the time."

This is a lie. I know Owen is a bit of a playboy based on what I see in the press, but he has never brought a woman back to this house, other than Kaitlyn. I am being petty and rude, and I know it, but right now I don't care.

"Oh, right. I bet," she stammers. "Um, would you mind pointing me in the right direction? My car is almost here, and this house is...I think I might get lost."

I walk her to the front door, giving her a single-use code for her ride so they can get through the gate. I open the app on my phone and program it in. Sloane Technologies, thank you very much.

"Thank you. I hadn't even thought of that."

"Anytime." She doesn't seem to notice the annoyance in my voice. "I'll lock the door behind you on my phone."

I bid her a clipped goodnight and head back to my room, feeling heavy. I change into soft pajamas and climb into bed, but I can't still my mind. Despite the hour, I am not tired at all. I am trying to get the woman out of my head, but I can't help but picture her in Owen's bed. I don't want to lie here tossing and turning, so I get back up and grab a notebook off the bedside table. If I can’t sleep, I'll go upstairs to get food instead.

Of all the amazing parts of this house, my favorite area is an unassuming one. Although the large main living area that sits at the top of the stairs is breathtaking, I prefer something cozier. Attached to our kitchen is a small, intimate family room. It has plush leather couches, a large TV, which I like to watch while I cook, and all the signs that a "normal" family lives here. There are photos on the walls, a framed drawing I made when I was six, and my favorite feature—one of my dad's old turntables.

I grab a bag of chips, set them on the table with my notebook, and head to a shelf lined with records. I let my fingers lightly trail across them as I read the familiar band names. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell—dust and cardboard and memories. I play the game I often play with myself. Okay, Dad, lead me to the one you want me to listen to. Back and forth, I let my fingers run across the covers until it just feels right to stop. I pull it out and laugh.

Well played, Daddy. In my hands, I hold the Fleetwood Mac album, and I know what he wants me to listen to. Sometimes, when I would walk into a room, he would sing it to me, off-key and a little too loud. I would laugh at how silly he sounded.

---