“You guys are late,” Dad says, looking between Owen and me.
Before he can ask why and force me to lie—poorly, I might add—I shrug. “Sorry. My fault. I had a few last minute things to do.” What? It’s not an outright lie. I did have things to do if I was going to successfully keep my hands to myself over the next few days.
“No worries,” Dad assures me. “Ethan, Hayley, and Ben have been very helpful.”
I run my things upstairs to my room, and when I turn around after hanging the garment bag in my closet, I’m surprised to see Owen in the doorway. “What are you doing up here?” I ask in a hushed tone.
He sets his bag down next to the door and smiles. He’s not staying in here, is he? I mean, that would be awesome, but would make our plan harder to stick to. “Your dad said I should stash my things up here. He doesn’t want them in the way once everyone else arrives.”
Disappointment floods my veins, and I nod. “Right. Makes sense.”
Reading my expression, he smirks slyly. “What did you think was happening?”
The deep tenor of his low voice sends a quiver beneath my skin. “I figured maybe Dad was so oblivious he was going to make us bunk together. That, or he figured it out and is just that much cooler about it than I thought he’d be.”
Owen laughs, and I can see that he wants to reach out for me. I want this too, but I know it can only lead to one conclusion, so I look away and run my fingers through my hair. “We should head down and help set up for the party.”
Owen stays in the doorway, and as I brush past him, he lightly grabs my arm, his thumb gliding over the crook of my elbow slowly. That same familiar charge of desire shoots through me, and I look up into his hypnotic blue eyes, breathing deeply. He’s far enough away that anyone who’d come upon our exchange might not suspect more than a regular conversation between us, but close enough that I can feel the heat of his body and the warmth of his breath on my skin.
“This isn’t how I wanted us to spend our first Christmas together,” he whispers, his eyes moving between mine, shining with remorse.
Smiling in an effort to mask the desire I feel in such a close proximity, I shrug. “It’s hardly our first.” Pausing, I decide that if he can break the rules and make me feel all warm and fuzzy—even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it—then so can I. Leaning in as close as I can without running the risk of throwing myself at him, I tilt my face up to his ear and whisper, “And it won’t be our last. We can celebrate the way you’d envisioned when we get back to the city.” I remove myself from the door and turn back to him as he stands there, stunned. “You coming?”
His eyes widen, and I laugh when I realize my dirty double entendre. “Not what I meant, but also a good question, I suppose.”
“You’re not going to make these next few days easy, are you?” he asks, his expression telling me that he might just be up to the challenge.
“I’m not trying to make this difficult, I swear,” I assure him honestly, holding back a laugh that could draw attention to us, even up here. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior from here on out, okay?”
Once we agree on reinstating the rules—not that we really broke them all that badly—we head back downstairs to help with the party preparations. Turns out, Carla had been busy all morning preparing the food, leaving a few things for me to do since they were, as my dad told her, my specialty. It was a tray of homemade, no-bake treats. I swear a monkey could make them if they followed the recipe cards. But Carla agreed to leave them for me while she got the rest of the food together.
While we work together in the kitchen, Dad and Owen head out to the liquor store for the beer, wine, and various hard liquors we’ll need tonight. It suddenly occurs to me that Owen and I should have probably set a drink max. The last time the two of us were wasted, we’d unknowingly messed around in our sleep and then, a bottle of wine and less than twenty-four hours later, we’d had sex. I’ll have to talk to him when he gets back. If we can find a moment alone together.
When they return, they grab the folding tables from the basement and set them up in the living room so we can lay out all the food and drinks. I begin to realize that maybe Owen and I don’t have to worry so much about this because we’ve both been so damn busy since arriving that we’ve barely even looked at each other, let alone talked.
Once my platter of goodies is ready, I take them into the living room to put them on one of the tables against the wall, stopping dead in my tracks when I see Dad and Carla canoodling on the couch. It’s not something I expected to walk in on, but it’s not completely surprising, either, considering the flirting they’ve done the last two years.