Just a Number(5)

The smile that graces her face seems forced, and she shrugs. “It’s okay,” she tries to assure me. “I think it’s safe to say that what happened wasn’t entirely your fault.”

“Regardless,” I argue. “I am sorry.”

Then, without another word, I head downstairs to meet our fate.





3. Sneaking Around



Even with the stress of this entire situation, I can’t deny just how amazing he looks. Delicious as ever, with his light hair in sexy disarray; in so very many of my fantasies, I have thrust my fingers into it to hold him close. Thinking this sends a rush of warmth through me, and my pulse races as a dull ache settles between my legs. It’s beyond inappropriate to act this way. I know that; I can guaran-damn-tee you he knows that.

What doesn’t help the situation any is that this is the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt on in years—probably since I was just a girl and we’d gone swimming in the pool at his old house. He hasn’t changed much from what I can remember, and my mind failed to ever do him justice in this department. He’s kept himself in great shape—honestly, I’m probably underselling it—and I had trouble keeping my eyes from admiring this aspect through the mirror on my dresser as we were both dressing. Unfortunately, I only caught a brief glance of his ass when he dropped the sheet and pulled his jeans on before quickly doing them up and yanking his black shirt over his head.

I won’t lie; I wanted to bite it a little. Don’t ask why, I just did…still do.

I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one thinking lustful things regarding the two of us, though. The evidence I have to support my theory is simply that he had his eyes on me almost constantly, and the intensity in his stare couldn’t be denied. Seeing this thrilled me, but I also found it a little bizarre. There was something in his eyes—something that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared—that suggested maybe he was attracted to me, too. I forced myself to shake the thought off, because, once again, he was my father’s best friend. There was no way this could ever happen.

I still couldn’t believe just how close we’d been to being caught with our pants down—literally. The stress of only a thin door keeping my dad from finding us and jumping to all the wrong conclusions was enough to give me a heart attack. In my blind panic, I began to wonder just how mad he would be when he opened that door. Who would he be most mad at? Me? Owen? Who would he think initiated this? Expecting the worst, my stomach rolled—partly due to my drinking last night, and partly out of fear—but I managed to fight back the nausea and wait until Owen and I could devise a plan of sorts to avoid the worst case scenarios I had playing on loop in my mind.

With his apology still hanging on the air, Owen heads downstairs, and I watch from the top of the stairs as he takes his position in the kitchen doorway. I’m scared we might still be caught, but I know we’ve got to try something.

“Smells good down here, Alan.” I watch from my position as he leans against the wall and quickly glances over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Owen. I hope you’re in the mood for bacon and eggs. I’m afraid it’s all I know how to make,” Dad replies with a laugh. “If you decide to stick around for the weekend, Amy should be home sometime today, and she’s a master in the kitchen.”

Owen shifts, and even though I can’t see his face, I can tell he’s nervous. “I might just take you up on that. God knows I don’t want to go back to Seattle until Gretchen gets her shit out of the condo.”

So, Gretchen’s moving out, and Owen only came here to give her the time and space to do that. I wonder what happened...other than her being a stone-cold bitch.

I’m so wrapped up in wondering what went down between the two of them that I almost miss Owen waving me on. I immediately press my back to the wall and carefully make my way downstairs. Once I’m on the main floor, Owen shoots me a brief smile and then returns his eyes to the kitchen. “Can I give you a hand, Alan?”

I quietly disengage the lock and slip outside, pulling the door closed as quietly as possible. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer, and I lean against the house for a minute to catch my breath before I make my presence known. As I inhale deeply, I look out over the front yard and notice, for the first time, that Owen’s car is parked in the driveway behind my dad’s gray Tahoe. “Huh,” I grunt in surprise as I pop a stick of gum in my mouth to mask my morning breath until I can sneak back upstairs.

Once my heart and breathing regulate, I steel my resolve and open the front door. “Hello?” I call out. “Daddy? I’m home!”