Page 62 of Filthy Sweet

“We’ll talk to him as soon as we’re back. We’ll do it in person, and he’ll probably be mad and hurt, and that will suck. But if we’re just honest with him, and if he sees how important this is to us, he’ll have to come around, right?”

I turn and give Owen a kiss on the forehead. My heart’s breaking. I might have just fucked up my relationship with my only real friend and any chance of happiness with Owen along with it.

I’m falling in love with Owen. I’m coming to terms with that fact, and trying to treat him right, even though I can’t wrap my head around actually saying the words and telling him what’s in my heart.

Now, after the catastrophe with Reggie, I don’t trust myself, and fuck if that isn’t a horrible feeling.

Owen doesn’t need to hear any of this. He especially doesn’t need to hear that I love him, not now. So instead, I bury my feelings and gather up my cocky confidence and do what I can to reassure him.

“Your brother loves you,” I tell him. “And he’s got a big heart. I’m sure there’s nothing you could do that he wouldn’t forgive.”

I’d like to think the same was true for me, but I’m not so sure anymore.

“Yeah,” Owen says softly, then squeezes my hand again. “I think you’re right.”

The second we’re off the plane, I feel an old instinct rise back up in myself. LA is the city where I buried all my secrets, and the hairs rise on the back of my neck as I glance around like I might find a wolf lurking, waiting to attack me.

I rent us a nice convertible as a distraction and drive east to Palm Springs, cruising down the most scenic roads. Owen tells me about the desert we drive through, and I put some new tracks by Mare on the stereo, blasting the otherworldly guitar chords as we soar. The music video shoot is taking place at a resort, and Aya has offered us rooms there for the weekend.

We drop our stuff off at the room, and I resist my temptations. I could throw Owen on the big, cushy bed or take him on the private balcony for a good, long fuck. We’d probably both feel better after. But even when we kiss in the bathroom, freshening up after the flight, I hold a part of myself back, like I’m scared to touch him.

Like it might feel too good, and I’d break.

We catch a late lunch at the restaurant downstairs, and Owen and I look over all the services the resort offers, with a particular eye to the hikes nearby. The place is way too nice, a sign Aya has something more up her sleeve, although Owen is clearly enjoying the luxury, so I avoid airing my suspicions.

After our salads arrive, Owen nods to the bar behind me. “Do you know that guy in the cap?” he asks. “He keeps staring.”

I pretend to stretch and glance at him, then quickly turn back. “Fuck. He used to work with Trey.”

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up. “Trey, the guy you used to…”

“The guy I stole Phoenix from,” I say with a nod.

Before we can get into it, the man whose name I don’t remember approaches the table. He’s tall, with a shiny bald head, and I can’t for the life of me recall what his job is. Maybe production?

“Fox,” he says. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”

I nod to Owen. “We’re enjoying a break from Seattle. You’re here working with Aya?”

He crosses his arms. “Sure am.”

I hesitate, then just ask the question. “You still with Trey?”

“You didn’t hear, man? He’s out. Got caught with a couple rent boys. The label turned their attention on him, saw he’d been skimming money from his bands.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Fucking embarrassing, if you ask me. Slumming with cheap boys—”

“Hey,” Owen says sharply, defensive on my behalf.

I smile to the man. “We’re on vacation,” I say evenly, covering, although my heart is pounding. “Industry gossip is a little boring.”

The man rolls his eyes. “You always were a blast, Fox,” he says sarcastically, then nods to Owen. “Back to the grind,” he adds and walks off.

When he’s gone, I let out a sigh. “Damn it.”

Owen grabs my hand across the table. “Sorry I jumped in,” he says quickly. “I know this is your work, and I should just keep my mouth shut.”

I look at him. His face is twisted with concern, and fuck, I’m definitely screwing this up. I don’t deserve him.

My chest hurts. I lean across the table and give Owen a kiss. “You’re perfect,” I say. “It’s not you.”

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