My hands wrap through his hair, grasping at the back of his head and neck, pulling him to me. Owen’s hands are just as needy, our mouths crashing together hard and fast—this kiss, it’s more than all others. We both hang onto it, neither one of us ending it.
I kiss Owen until the sun threatens to come up. And after he drives me home, I kiss him again, with the same sense of urgency. My father’s car is gone; it’s a concert night, so my world in my house is safe until tomorrow. I’d be content to stay here, though—in the driveway, in Owen’s truck, kissing him. When my lips are on his, I know he’s here.
When I finally steal myself away, the worry creeps in again, so I run up the stairs, into my room, collapsing by my window. Owen’s truck is empty outside, and seconds later, his eyes are on me, his body where it should be, his smile finding its way.
Please, God, don’t let me lose him again.
Chapter 18
I’m not sure whether or not Willow meant to text me the photo of her and Elise, smiling happily under the glow of a plastic disco ball. But I’m glad she did.
Her photo was waiting for me on my phone this morning as I woke up, and I texted back immediately, gushing about how cute they looked, how much fun I bet they had.
I wouldn’t have traded my night for theirs for all of the disco balls in the world. I’d even live through the hurt and pain of the beginning again to end up with Owen telling me he loves me.
Yeah, well…the picture would have been cuter if there were three of us in it. Beeyatch.
Her attempt to call me a bitch makes me laugh.
You can’t even spell it right, that’s how I know you’re not really mad at me. If you were, that bitch would be full of ‘I’.
I hold my phone in my palms, my head under my covers, the morning light fading into afternoon. I slept hard and well, asleep at my window by three, then crawling up to my bed at six with a crick in my neck.
Bitch.
She sends the single word, and at first it shocks me, and I think she might actually be mad. But she writes again quickly.
You’re right. That felt dirty. Lose the ‘I’.
I laugh to myself, and smile, rolling to my side just enough to peer out the window to see if my mother’s car is gone. It is. She has the long shift today, which means I’ll be free of my father, too. No homework or projects are on my plate, the school semester winding down as Thanksgiving approaches, and James is gone. I know the worry of where he went is there, but the duty of caring for him isn’t. I’m hoping—at least for the day—that Owen will be mine.
Everything…okay?
Willow’s text is cautious. She’s trying to be supportive, though I know that’s not how she really feels.
He said he loves me.
I tell her because I’m happy. And because she’s the only person in the world I would want to tell. I think, somehow, telling her this will make her see Owen differently. I know it does when my phone rings a second later.
“You’re shitting me,” she says. No hello or pause to wait for me to answer.
“I’m not really sure how to answer that,” I say, “but no? I guess? Or yes, he loves me?”
There’s a pop of her gum over the phone, and I hear her keys jingle in her hand. “I’m at the mall. This is serious, and I’m at the mall. Buying shoes. And there are all these people around talking, and I can’t hear you very well,” she’s speaking a million words a minute. It’s funny.
“I will give you a play-by-play later. I promise. Go buy your shoes,” I laugh.
“Okay, but first…you said it back, right?” she says with a small pause in the middle. She’s still worried about me.
“I did,” I say. I said it first, not that the order matters.
There’s silence on her end, and I can hear her moving through the door to another store, the faint noise of other conversations in the background.
“So listen,” she starts, and I wait as the phone shuffles some more, and eventually the background noise fades, and her voice echoes. “I’m sorry I walked away from you. I was being overbearing and protective, and it’s not really my place. But…”
“Are you in a bathroom?” I ask, really noticing the echo now.
“Yes, I had to pee. Now don’t cut me off,” she says, picking right up where she stopped. “Just promise you’ll talk to him, about those things I said, what Jess saw.”
My lips hover, barely parted, and ready to answer, but instead I close them, nodding. “I will,” I say finally. I’m satisfied with the answers Owen gave me. But Willow, she’ll be more satisfied if she thinks I had those conversations with him on her urging. She wants to be the super friend, and frankly, I’ve got an opening for one of those. I’d like to give her the job.