Page 39 of Caught in the Axe
“Easy,” I said. “Say Anything.”
“Haven’t seen it.”
I let out an audible gasp and twisted in my seat. “You’ve got to be shitting me. John Cusack? The boom box? She gives him a pen?”
He shook his head and shifted in his seat like he was searching for a more comfortable position.
“What the hell? Turn around. We’ve got to fix this right now. It’s the most romantic movie of alltime.”
“Guess I’ll have to watch it sometime then. See if I agree.”
“You’ll watch it today. I decree it,” I said in my queen voice. “It subverts the usual hero-heroine dynamic. I could write a paper on the brilliance of the iconic ’80s teen rom-com.”
“Were you even alive in the ’80s?”
“Nope.” I tilted my chin up and grinned. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate vintage films.”
He coughed out a surprised laugh. “Please don’t call anything created in the ’80s vintage. I may vomit.”
I patted his bicep. His strong, hard bicep. “Don’t be ashamed. You, Owen Hebert, are one fine vintage piece.”
The words were out before I registered the implication, and my tone had been entirely too flirtatious. I froze for a heartbeat, my breath catching, then slapped my hand over my mouth. Goddamn Owen and his ability to make my filter fail. Any sane person would be embarrassed, but if anything, I was emboldened by my inner flirt.
After the moment we shared a couple of nights ago, where he’d come within centimeters of kissing me after declaring that I was beautiful and brilliant, why couldn’t I make my attraction known?
Objectively, he was handsome. Especially driving this sexy car through the twisty mountain roads dressed in a crisp button-down and tailored slacks. The grays peppering his temples only made him look more distinguished.
In juxtaposition to all of those details, he still hadn’t shaved. The scruff added a hint of ruggedness to his appearance, and I was digging it.
Who could blame me for craving a littleflirtation? Lovewell was a small town, and yes, we had our fair share of handsome lumberjacks, but all the respectable ones were taken.
Owen was a breath of fresh, broody air. Being in his presence had woken my lady parts from what had felt like an eternal slumber.
I’d spent years with Cole, but we’d hardly been hot and heavy, even in the beginning. And the final years had been downright frosty. During that time, Cole’s chances with the NHL were slipping further from him, and he was spiraling. While he was concerned with his career and falling into self-destructing habits, I was going through the painful process of realizing that I’d been chasing the wrong dreams for way too long.
And the couple of hookups I’d had after Cole and I broke up barely counted. I had been grasping and flailing. The need had been more about my pride and less about pure desire.
But now, I was feeling desire. A lot of desire. My body was coming alive after being in stasis for way too long.
But still, this situation was beyond complicated, and there was a good chance pushing for what I’d been fantasizing about would make things worse.
So I had two choices. I could sit in awkward silence and pretend I’d never said anything, which was our pattern, or I could keep talking.
I chose option B.
“Your stubble is working its way into beard territory,” I observed, not shying away from giving him my full attention for once today.
“Yeah.” He lifted a hand from the steering wheel andscratched at his jaw. “At first, I let it go out of laziness. But I was chopping wood with Finn and the Gagnons the other night, and they were teasing me, saying Tucker could grow a better beard than me.”
I laughed, my heart feeling lighter than it had all day. “If any thirteen-year-old could figure out how to grow a beard, it would be Tucker. He’s really smart.”
“I noticed. And so I figured,” he shrugged, “when in Lovewell…”
“Go full lumberjack?” I finished.
“Something like that.”
“I like it,” I said softly.
