“Wait a minute.” Owen steps around me so he can stand directly in front of Drew, who towers over him. “You’re Drew Callahan, aren’t you?”
Oh, shit. I didn’t expect my brother to recognize him, but Drew is one of the star players on the college team. They have some minor celebrity status here in town.
“I am.” Drew’s smile is easygoing and full of warmth. “You must be Owen.”
“Yep. And you’re the asshole who broke my sister’s heart.” Without warning, Owen rears back his arm and punches Drew right in the chin.
And sends him sprawling to the ground.
“Oh my God!” I grab at Drew’s shoulders but he’s already picking himself back up, his expression full of disbelief. Thank God, he doesn’t appear angry. More like stunned.
I’m stunned too.
“What the hell was that for?” I ask Owen, who’s rubbing his knuckles as if they hurt.
Little shit. They probably do. He deserves the pain for pulling a stunt like that.
“He’s the reason you’ve been so miserable these last few months. I can’t freaking believe it. You went out with Drew Callahan?” Owen points a finger at Drew. “When the hell did this happen?”
“Watch your language!” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. I don’t know how to answer him. I certainly don’t want to confess exactly how Drew and I came together in the first place. It sounds so sleazy.
“If you snuck around and saw him, I don’t know why. He’s a big deal, Fable. Huge.” Owen shakes his head. “I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together, what with his initials on your foot.”
“What does he mean, my initials on your foot?” Drew’s gaze drops to my feet. I’m wearing my black heels from last night, and the tattoo is obvious in the daylight. Hell, it was obvious last night and earlier this morning, but I don’t think he was paying much attention to me past my thighs.
The simple little outline of a heart sits high on the top of my left foot, the letters D and C are stacked on top of each other in the middle. My homage to Drew and the week we spent together. The love I have for him. I got the tattoo in a fit of irrationality. I wanted to prove to him that I loved him enough to have him permanently etched into my skin.
And he never showed back up. A foolish wish for my foolish heart, I guess.
This was so not the way I wanted him to find out about the tattoo. Besides, compared to the beautiful poem he wrote for me, my tattoo seems sort of trite. Meaningless.
“She got it right after Thanksgiving,” Owen explains, glaring daggers at Drew. “She wouldn’t explain what the DC stood for either. Claimed it was for her favorite city but I knew she was full of absolute shit. I mean, come on. She’s never even left California. Sorry, Fabes,” he adds when he notices I’m ready to chew him out for the curse.
“You got a tattoo. With my initials on your foot.” Drew shakes his head, his expression incredulous. “Why didn’t you tell me? Show me?”
I shrug, not willing to have this conversation in front of my brother. “It’s silly.”
“It’s definitely not silly.” He rushes toward me and takes my hands, his gaze dropping to my feet. I notice his jaw is red, it looks a little swollen, and I can’t believe my brother hit him so hard. The element of surprise had definitely been in Owen’s favor. “I love it.”
“Your tattoo has so much more meaning,” I whisper as he draws me into his arms right in front of my brother. I can feel Owen’s glare boring into our backs but I ignore it. “You wrote a poem for me, Drew.”
“And you put my initials forever on your foot, Fable. I think we’re both on the same wavelength here or something.”
I hug him close and laugh, because I don’t know how else to react. Owen clears his throat, reminding me he’s why I’m here in the first place, and I pull away from Drew, offering him a reassuring smile. “Maybe we should talk later tonight? After I get off work?”
“Yeah.” Drew smiles, his blue eyes glowing. “That sounds good. Want me to pick you up?”
“Yes, that sounds perfect.” He leans in and kisses me again as if he can’t help it. “I’m off at eight.”
“You have a ride to work?”
“I can figure something out.” I smile and he walks away, glancing at me over his shoulder one last time before he heads down the stairs and toward his truck.
“What in the hell was that?” Owen asks when I drag him into our apartment and shut the door.
“What are you talking about?” I stick my hands in the front pocket of the sweatshirt and breathe deep, inhaling Drew’s scent. God, he smells good. I might never want to give this sweatshirt back again. Might never want to wash it again either.