Page 65 of Pour Decisions
Owen rose fully from his forward fold and rocked onto his butt, extending his legs in front of him, resting back on his palms. The portrait of calm, cool, and collected while my insides squirmed. All that work we’d done to quiet my inner chaos was undone in a heartbeat with the way he looked at me. Like I was a gift he wanted to unwrap.
“I’m too old for games,” he said at last. “I’m playing for keeps now. I want you, badly, in ways I can’t quite explain. But those ways include more than just your body, and until you decide you’re ready to give me everything…we’re at an impasse.”
My heart rate ratcheted up, skin tingling with the promise in those words.
“So you’re saying you won’t take my body unless I give you my heart too?”
“Yes. I’m a greedy and possessive man, Delia. It’s all or nothing for me.”
My relationship, if you even wanted to call it that, with TJ had been doomed from the start. I’d wanted to start dating, and he was the first man who’d asked. But I wasn’t entirely sure “man” was an appropriate term for him, because compared to Owen? This chiseled, perfect male specimen sitting before me?
TJ was a mediocre appetizer.
Owen was a five course meal at a Michelin starred restaurant.
To consider them the same species was laughable.
Owen saw who I was, who’d I’d been, and who I could be, and hadn’t balked at any of it. Even in the beginning, after our first little bump in the road, he’d quickly altered course, becoming a collaborative business partner and good friend—and I’d done the same in return. He put up with my constant photography and videography for our socials, my endless questions from the comment sections that I only asked to annoy him. He was hard working and had his shit together. Not to mention, he got along great with my family.
Hell, even my dad loved him.
And then there was last night, when I’d laid my bleeding heart bear and he took it all in stride. I didn’t miss the anger flashing in his eyes as I’d shared my trauma, and I could only imagine the scenarios of murder that had filtered through his head, but he never let that emotion bubble out.
He was cool in the face of pressure, attentive, kind, loyal. A natural leader and caretaker.
In short, I could do a lot worse than Owen Lawless.
But…I thought maybe Owen Lawless could do a lot better than me.
“Maybe—” I started, but my words were cut off by the doorfrom the men’s locker room flying open.
I leapt off the floor quickly, feeling like I’d been caught in a compromising position and wanting to distance myself from Owen.
And a good thing too, because none other than Calvin Ryder walked through the door, fully dressed in business attire.
“What do we have here?” he asked, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Helping Delia blow off some steam,” Owen said, rising to his feet next to me.
“I’ll bet,” Cal said with a wink in my direction.
“What’re you doing here?” Owen asked. “You stalking me?”
“Yeah, actually,” Cal said. “I wanted to see if you wanted to get lunch.”
Ignoring Cal for the moment, Owen stared at me, exasperation clear on his face. It was obvious he wanted me to finish what I’d been about to say, but I couldn’t. Not in front of Cal, and not when I still wasn’t sure myself.
About any of it.
So we agreed to have lunch with Cal—on the condition that he invited my sister—at Birdie’s, which was right down the road from the gym. It was closed, but knowing the owner had its perks. Together, we constructed a meal out of leftovers Owen’s chef had in the fridge, including the creamiest mac and cheese I’d ever had, thick slices of beefsteak tomatoes we sprinkled with flaky salt, pepper, and drizzled with balsamic, and bell peppers stuffed with a turkey burger concoction.
I tried hard to ignore the fact that the whole thing felt like a double date. We sat at a booth in the dining room, laughing andtalking. Amara and Cal were on one side, their fingers laced, her hand absently resting on the swollen belly carrying their child. Owen and I were side by side on the other, and though we didn’t touch each other, something still sizzled in the air between us. It was getting harder and harder to deny myself, and I wondered how far I could bend before I broke.
When Cal and Owen rose from the table to bring our empty plates back to the kitchen, my sister’s gaze narrowed on me.
“You like him,” she said, those shrewd golden eyes, brighter than my own, practically boring a hole in my skull.
It wasn’t a question, and I didn’t treat it as such.
