“Sounds good,” I reply. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, Ames.”
After I hang up the phone, I un-pause the TV and get caught right back up in my show. Owen appears from the bedroom, having traded his sexy-ass suit for even sexier jeans and a t-shirt that hugs his upper body. He grabs the pizza from where he dropped it on the kitchen island between the living room and kitchen, and I clear a spot on the coffee table for it. When I open it up, I see it’s a ham and mushroom pizza. It’s been my favorite for as long as I can remember.
He sits behind me on the couch and leans forward as I tilt my head back between his legs, and he gives me this awkward-but-kind-of-sexy upside down kiss. “How was your day?”
“Good,” I reply. “I was trying to do a bit of homework, but then I got distracted by the TV.”
Owen glances up, his eyebrows rising, and when I look, I see two of the lead characters having sex. Perhaps I should have thought my programming choice through a little better.
“What are you watching?”
“Game of Thrones?” I don’t know why it came out as a question, but it did.
Owen’s shock seems to disappear, and he settles back into the couch. “Oh, I’ve heard this is really good.”
I’m just about to tell him that it is, and that we could start from season one if he wants to watch it from the beginning, when his house phone rings from the end table next to him. Seriousness returns to the room when he looks at who’s calling. “It’s your dad,” he tells me, and I take a bite of pizza while he takes the call.
“Hey, Al,” he greets, knowing my dad hates that nickname. “What’s up?”
While I can’t hear what my father says, I know he’s probably admonishing Owen for calling him “Al,” and I cover my mouth to stifle any laughter while Owen nudges my ribs with his foot.
“Oh, nothing,” Owen says in response to something Dad must have asked him. “Just having some pizza and watching some show called Game of Thrones.”
I inhale sharply, turning around with wide eyes and shaking my head vigorously. Owen watches me, confused, but when his eyes widen, I know that he understands…because my father has just told him that I’m watching Game of Thrones and was having pizza for dinner. This isn’t good.
“Oh, yeah?” he says, his voice only slightly strained. “Small world, huh?”
I hold my breath, unable to even begin to figure out how we’re going to get out of this mess.
It isn’t until Owen relaxes back into his seat on the couch that I expel the breath, my vision darkening slightly around the edges and my head feeling light. Relieved that we were able to avoid this from happening again, I stand up and head to the kitchen. I grab a bottle of wine from the rack and go through several cupboards until I find two glasses. When I return to the living room, I overhear Owen agreeing to Dad’s invitation to Christmas at his place.
“Christmas in Oregon sounds great,” he says, smiling at me as I fill the two glasses and hand him one. He sets it on the table next to him and grabs my wrist, pulling me onto his lap. “I look forward to it.”
I hear Dad say something, but I can’t quite make it out, so when Owen looks at me, his blue eyes glinting with mild humor, I eye him curiously.
“Yeah, I could see if Amy wants to tag along.” He smirks, and I find it hard to resist the urge to run my fingers through his hair. “Okay… Sounds good, Alan. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”
After making sure the phone is off, he sets it down on the table next to his wine and wraps his arms around my waist. “Well, I almost fucked that up…again.”
“Yeah, well I guess it’s probably fortunate for us we’re not the only two people on the planet having pizza and watching this smutfest tonight,” I tease, still dragging my fingers over his scalp. “So…” I tug on his hair lightly as I straddle his hips and grab his wine glass, taking a sip. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”
Smiling, Owen takes the glass from me, has a drink, and sets it back in its spot before ensnaring my hips in his hands. “Amelia Michaels,” he begins, tilting his face up until our lips lightly brush. “Will you ride me to Portland?”
My loud laugh echoes through his condo, and I swat his chest gently. “That’s horrible!” I exclaim.
Owen pretends to look horrified and embarrassed. “I can’t believe I just said that. Obviously I meant to ask if you’d ride with me to Portland. What was I thinking?” Mock shame laces every single word, and I shake my head at him.