Page 115 of Owen Bailey Needs Advice

Me: I’m not a hussy.

But I do like my best friend. A lot. More every single second.

Me: And I’m not worried about myself.

I’m actually terrified of myself. There’s a difference.

Kayla: You can’t hide in the bathroom all night. Just go out, put on those flannel pants you love so much—they are not appealing in any way—and watch a movie.

Me: This place doesn’t have a television.

Kayla: Then play a game. Something dumb and silly and something that won’t make you want to shave your other leg.

A game. Sure. I can do that. Monopoly never made me want to make out.

Sometime between multiple hair washings and shaving one leg, Owen brought in my bag. I didn’t even hear him.

The saint.

Had he not, I would have had to go out there in nothing but a towel to retrieve it. Man, he really is decent.

I can do this. I can go out into that room, in my jammies, and play a game. Then, I will fall asleep beneath the covers, and Owen can sleep over top of that pink comforter. We can do this.

With those sober vibes coursing through my veins, I burst from the bathroom door, only one shaved leg down—and hey,it’s concealed with flannel. “How about a game?” I say so loudly that I fear Levi will come over to shush me.

57

Annie

Owen sits on our joint bed, his feet crossed at the ankles. His brows are raised high on his head as he stares at the sight of me. It’s not like he hasn’t seen my favorite flannel before—still, he’s staring.

“What do you think?” I ask.

His brows fall into a furrow. “Um. About a game? Sure.”

“Monopoly?”

Owen chuckles. “Did you bring Monopoly?”

Oh. Dang. Nope. I didn’t bring any board games. “Did you bring anything?” I ask with stupid, naïve hope.

He shakes his head.

“Truth or dare!” I bellow. I can dare him to stay on the other side of the room or even to sleep on the floor. While I only offer up truths, Owen should know everything about me anyway. Although—that kind of thinking has bit me in the butt more than once this month.

He straightens up on the bed. “Are you okay, Annie?”

“Yes. Of course. I’m just—I’m ready to play.”

He gives one curt nod that meansI don’t believe you. But he’s Owen, so he says, “Okay. Do youwant to go first?”

With no other seats in this small room, I sit on the opposite side of the bed. He’s in the top right corner, so I take the bottom left. I cross my legs, revealing one shaved ankle. I yank down on the cuff of my flannel pants like I am Jane Bennet and this is totally scandalous. “No, you go first.”

“Okay. Dare.”

I swallow. “I dare you,” I say, sounding a whole like my thirteen-year-old self, “to…” I look around the room, my mind blank. “To dance like a chicken.”

One of his brows quirks upward as if he cannot believe that this is what we’re doing with our alone time.

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