Page 26 of Since Always

He looks down and closes his eyes and I know the alcohol has gotten to him, too. "Because I wanted him to see me," he says. I squeeze his hand in response to his earnestness. I had not expected that. He opens his eyes and then leans in, and his lips are against mine. They are gentle, and he moves tentatively. My body comes alive at the touch. I shift into him as our kiss deepens, and he moves the hand that isn't holding mine up to my hip. This kiss feels different from the ones we have shared so far—this one is full of something new. I've needed this. And it's not about him, it's about me. I need to be touched like this.

I lose all track of how long we are locked together. When he pulls back, he is beaming.

"Very nice, you two, very nice," Lexi says, and it pulls me back into reality. In all honesty, I had forgotten for a moment anyone else was in the room. Several people are now watching us, smiling and laughing. I glance around and find my brother at the bar, too engrossed in a conversation to notice me. Steph had been watching, though, and is grinning at me, though I pretend not to see it. But they are not who I am looking for. It takes me a second of scanning before I find him, and when I do, it is the back of him as he shrugs on his coat and hat. Just before he steps out the front door, he turns back to me and meets my eyes.

He mouths the words "I'm sorry," to me, though I don't know exactly what he's apologizing for—our conversation, his clear jealousy, or the fact that even now I want to jump up and run after him.

This man is truly going to be the death of me.

CHAPTER 8

Owen

I text Chris from the back of an Uber after I leave the club.

Me: Sorry, man. Got a call I need to deal with. Going back to the house.

It's not a believable story, since it is midnight in Colorado and 2 am in Washington, DC. But Chris is a little drunk, and a lot occupied with Stephanie, so I'm hoping he doesn't think too much about it.

I sink my head into my hands in the back seat and fight the urge to scream out loud. I'm angry, but I don't know who at. I can't be mad at Cass after I just made a big point to tell her I don't think of her in the way I know she wishes I did. And I can't be mad at the Hart kid, because of course he fucking wants her; she's goddamned perfect.

No, when it comes down to it, the only person I have to be pissed at is myself.

Because I lied to Cass today, and I've been lying to myself for a while now. I knew it with absolute clarity the second she leaned in to kiss him.

I no longer see Cass as the kid she once was. I no longer see her as just Chris's little sister. Watching her with someone else, watching him put his lips on her, his hands on her, I knew. I am not a jealous person, and yet I wanted to rip his arm off. I couldn't bear it—watching her again, with someone else. For the last two years, I have been trying to cleanse my brain from the last time, trying to talk some sanity into myself. Trying to reverse time, and get back to the frame of mind I had before that night.

But I have failed.

I want her. I want to be with her. I want to touch her, and have my mouth on her, and I can't stand to see her with anyone else. I am sick and wrong, and I hate myself for it.

I had to get away from her—it's all I could think to do. I need distance between us or I am going to do something that will ruin me. Ruin us both.

I had vowed to myself I would just try to not be alone with her, but I can't even able to stick to that. I either have to try harder or I have to pack a bag and leave.

Anything else is not an option.

As I head into the house, I bump straight into Jessica. Dammit.

"Oh, hey O," she says. "I was just heading up to bed. You're home early."

"Yeah, I have some work I need to do in the morning. Thought I would head back. Cassidy and Chris are still at the bar."

She looks at me, cocking her head to the side. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say, but I know it is weak and there is little chance she is buying the lie. What am I supposed to say? No, I'm not okay. In fact, I'm slowly going out of my mind because I can't stop thinking about how I want to take your daughter in about thirty different positions?

"You look upset, Owen. Come on, let's have a drink."

"No, it's okay. I was just going to go to—"

"Come," she calls over her shoulder, already on her way up the stairs to the living room. I know there is no use in arguing with her. Jessica Sloane is a force of nature, and if she wants something, she gets it. I follow her into the room and wait while she pours two glasses from the bar cart and hands me a drink. She sits down across from me, curling her long legs underneath her and covering them with a blanket off the back of the couch.

"To having you back here," she says, raising her glass to me, and I raise mine in response.

"Cheers."

"What's up, Owen? You stressed about the upcoming session?"

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