My afternoon mirrors my morning, and I’m more than a little relieved when my last class lets out. All I want to do is pull on a pair of sweat pants and crawl into my bed, pulling my blanket over my head and disappearing for a little while. Like every other day, Liz waits by the main entrance for me, and we walk out to her car together. We make it to the end of the sidewalk when Liz nudges me.
“Hey, isn’t that your dad’s friend?” she says, pointing toward the parking lot.
I admit, my eyes hadn’t been particularly focused on anything but my feet since we left the school, but the minute she says this, my head snaps up and my heartbeat quickens. She’s right. Owen’s there—dressed in a dark suit, his tie still done up but pulled loose around his neck, the top button of his shirt undone—and leaning up against his car with his arms crossed in front of him as he stares at the ground. Then, it’s as though he can sense me, and he looks up, standing up straighter and offering me a small, tentative smile. From where I stand, he appears apologetic, and I take an eager step forward, my body humming with the need to be near him, before I remember Liz is still beside me and grind to a halt.
“Uh, yeah,” I reply, just now realizing I still haven’t answered her question.
“God, he’s hot.” Liz sighs.
Warmth spreads through my cheeks, and I shrug. “Sure, if you’re into that obvious good-looking type.” Our eyes are still locked across the lot, and my body is screaming at me to run to him. My brain, on the other hand, reminds me that if I do that, I’ll only raise more questions than either of us is ready to answer. “I’m, uh, going to go see what he wants.” I turn to Liz and raise my eyebrows. “Wait for me?”
“Sure. I’ll be in the car.” She smiles at me and heads for her vehicle while I take my first few steps toward Owen.
Not wanting to appear too eager, I try to maintain a steady pace as I cross the lot toward Owen, but every so often, I’ll speed up before pulling myself back. My heart hammers harder with every step until the sound of my pulse in my ears pushes every other sound away, and my body trembles with excitement.
Of course, I still don’t know why he’s here, so this scares me a little.
“Hey,” I greet lamely, standing about a foot away from him, even though I want to be closer. So much closer.
“Hi.” His reply is equally as lame, which makes me feel a little better.
We stand there for what feels like way longer than a few seconds, and then I just can’t stand it anymore. “What are you doing here?” I blurt out at the same time he says, “Can we talk?”
I look up at him, wide-eyed and speechless. “Talk?”
He chuckles, pushing his fingers through his hair, which I notice is a little more unruly than usual. “Yeah, you know, talk…that thing I was too stubborn to do Friday night.”
Smiling, I shrug. “Well, as long as you’re man enough to admit you were in the wrong—”
“So wrong, Amelia,” he interrupts, his expression suddenly transforming from mildly humored to somber. Contentment washes over me when I register what he’s called me. The intensity of his blue eyes burns into mine, and I feel like my entire body has been engulfed by the heat of his stare. “I know I fucked up, but I’m hoping that—”
“Give me a ride home?” I request, interrupting him. My voice is low and shaky as I resist the urge to wrap my arms around him in the middle of the parking lot, where people are already beginning to stare. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”
Looking relieved, and quite possibly a little bit stunned, Owen quickly nods. “Y-yeah. Of course.”
Glancing over my shoulder as Owen opens my door for me, I catch Liz’s eyes and silently indicate with the tip of my head in Owen’s direction that I’m getting a ride with him. Her eyebrows pull together, and I watch her mouth, “Is everything okay?” Smiling, I nod and hold my thumb and forefinger to my ear, mouthing the words, “I’ll call you later,” and then I slip into the passenger seat.
The combined smell of Owen and the leather of his interior surrounds me—comforts me—and I inhale deeply, thinking this may be all I get. Sure, he’s apologized, but that doesn’t mean that anything has changed. All he’s said is that he wants to talk; that could mean so many things.
“How was your day?” Owen asks, slipping in behind the wheel and closing his door. His eyes move over me, over my questionable choice of wardrobe, before settling on my face, and his expression turns remorseful. He can see, just as clearly as Liz had earlier, how my day was—how my entire weekend was.