Page 12 of Filthy Sweet

I look to the dance floor. Reggie’s back with Owen, and they’re both smiling. I only promised to come out for a drink, and they are both settled in at the club. I consider staying, that urge to stick by Owen’s side still beating strong, but then a bunch of notifications pop up on the Instagram I never use, which is weird.

With a grunt, I shove my phone in my pocket, then walk over and offer the guys some sincere apologies. I leave the bar without even checking my messages. I need a motorcycle ride to clear my head after that weird energy with Owen on the dance floor, anyway.

Maybe I just really need to get laid.

I get home, ride the elevator up to my condo, and finally pull my phone out. When I go straight to the Instagram, I see that I’ve been tagged in a photo, and so has the label, Heavy Weather.

Then my eyes land on the actual picture, posted by some mediocre music blogger with too many followers. It’s me and Owen, on the street in the middle of the day. There’s lingerie and sex toys piled at our feet, and I’m handing him a purple dildo.

A chill crawls down my skin.

“Fuck. Owen.”

Chapter Five

Owen

When I wakeup the next day, there’s a dull thud behind my eyes, and the light seems brighter than normal. I groan and reach for my glasses, the night coming back to me.

The club was fun. At least, at first it was fun. Then I got a little too excited dancing with Fox, and he ran away.

I probably made him uncomfortable. How embarrassing.

Hence my impulsive choice to down a couple extra cocktails.

When I look at my phone, I’m surprised to see that there’s a message from him, which I immediately click.

Fox:Hey Owen. Hope you and Reggie had fun. You around this morning?

My pulse jumps. Maybe he’s mad at me. It just felt so nice to keep inching closer to him. I could feel the heat off of his body, and all my senses were firing in overdrive.

Damn it. I screwed up.

Owen:Hi Fox.

I delete that.

Owen:Hey Fox. Yeah, I’m around. What’s up?

Fox:I’m in your neighborhood. Can I get you a cup of coffee?

Oh no. This is either really, really good, or it’s really, really bad.

We make plans to meet at the café on my corner, and I jump into action. I speed-shower and then run around the apartment naked, looking for stuff I haven’t unpacked yet. Somehow, I get dressed and moderately presentable, and when I arrive at the café, Fox is waiting outside with a couple of drinks. He’s got his black sunglasses on and the same jeans from last night, although he’s popped a light gray hoodie on top.

He lifts a paper cup. “Half milk, half coffee. That right?”

I adjust my glasses. “How’d you know?”

“It’s how your brother takes it,” he reminds me, handing the cup off. “He jokes that it’s genetic.”

“Oh, right.” I smile, warm and tingly behind my chest, although I’m still operating behind a hazy hangover and some jittery nerves.

Fox nods to the park across the street, and we both start walking.

“You and Reggie stay out late?”

“He would have stayed all night,” I say with a light laugh. “But we weren’t there much longer.”

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