Page 29 of Filthy Sweet

“What?” Owen asks.

“I fucking love hawks.”

“Oh.” He laughs softly. “Me, too.”

We stop at the address, a tall building made of gray stone, situated at the uphill edge of downtown Seattle. Our conversation has been flowing easily, and Owen’s gentle nature is like a drug. I’m usually guarded, too jaded to trust anyone but myself, but hanging out with this cutie, I forget to keep my walls up.

And fuck does he look good in that suit. It gives him a boost of confidence, and he wears it nicely.

Dirty thoughts dance through my head. Seeing Owen all fresh and buttoned up just makes it more tempting to unwrap him and hear him whimper. I know he’s got surprises in him, and my dick gets thick whenever I imagine teasing those secrets out, discovering what would really get him off.

The door to the building swings open, and I snap out of the distracting thoughts.

A woman in a slinky red dress exits, and I grab the door, holding it for Owen. “After you.”

“I thought this was at a club?” Owen asks. “This is more like an apartment building.”

“It’s a private club,” I explain, then hit the elevator button.

“Oh.” Owen straightens his suit. “Like the personal shopper.”

“Insecure people,” I explain. “They need to be reassured that they’re special.”

Owen laughs. “I think I’m more comfortable at, like, a public library.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I prefer a good show at a cheap bar.”

I almost give him a pep talk about the party, reminding him to just relax and enjoy, and not be intimidated by any of the pompous industry pricks, but I catch myself. It might sound patronizing, and anyway, he’s going to be fine. Owen isn’t anything like the social climbers who will be at this place, but that’s just because he’s so much fucking better than any of them will ever be.

We ride the elevator up, and it crosses my mind that I’m thinking way too enthusiastically about him right now.

Owen leans back against the wooden-paneled elevator wall, looking at me with a soft smile. He hasn’t trimmed his beard, and it’s fuller now, giving his jaw a handsome cut. “Are we going to make a loop again?” he asks. “Like at the concert?”

I chuckle. “Sure. Let’s make a loop and check it out. Make sure everyone sees us.”

“And if you want to put your arm over my shoulder again, that’s fine,” he adds, his voice softer.

My dick swells. That sound makes me want to put my hands all over him.

Owen does find me attractive. That much is evident. I know how to read people. But there’s a big distance between finding someone attractive and whatever else we might be feeling.

He might be feeling.

I might be feeling. Whatever.

Before the elevator bell rings, I make myself a promise. I’m going to show Owen a nice time tonight, make sure he gets home safe, and then I’m going to figure out what the hell I’m doing here. Before I make some giant fucking mess and hurt Owen or blow up my relationship with Reggie or who knows what else, I’m going to sit down and figure this out.

And since I can’t fucking resist, I raise my arm as the elevator door dings. “Come here.”

Owen slides in close, his body warm against mine. “Cool.”

We step out of the elevator and stroll to the large red door. It swings open, and a woman I know, a music blogger named Lincoln, steps out. She’s got on a black dress that barely inches down her thigh, and she lifts her eyebrows when she sees me.

“Fox, hi! I didn’t expect to see you here. This party keeps getting better.”

At least my reputation is somewhat intact. “This is Owen,” I say, then nod to her. “Lincoln. Were you leaving?”

“Unfortunately.” She smiles at Owen, taking him in. “Although I see you already have accompaniment tonight.”

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