Tied to Trouble(32)

A shower curtain zinged open, and over the music, Owen heard Chad whistling and singing to himself.

Owen stood fuming in the middle of Chad’s bedroom, amid clothes strewn on the floor around an unmade bed, until the bathroom door opened and steam billowed out.

Chad emerged, a white towel wrapped around his waist, another in his hand, rubbing his damp hair.

And just like that, his fury shot straight to lust…and awe.

Chad was still singing to himself. Until he looked up, spotted Owen, and stopped in his tracks, his hand flying up to his chest. “Holy shit!”

Owen didn’t move, mainly because he didn’t want to step on anything that could be living under the piles of clothes and also because he was rendered speechless at the sight of Chad’s chest, still dripping with water and pinked from the heat of the shower.

Chad blinked at him, hazel eyes wide, hair sticking up in all directions. “O, what the fuck? What are you doing here?” His gaze shifted to the door in confusion. “And how the hell did you get in my apartment?”

That—Chad’s utter disregard for his own well-being—brought Owen to life. “I came over here on a mission from Austin. And you know what I found?” He stalked toward Chad, who stared at him with wide eyes. “I found your door unlocked, your music blaring, and you in the shower!”

Chad blinked. “Uh, okay?”

Owen threw an arm out. “Okay? That’s all you have to say? Anyone could have come in here! Robbed you! Hurt you!” He continued to advance on Chad, who was backing up toward his desk, that club music still pounding out of the speakers. “That’s just like you. Along with your refusal to wear a helmet when you ride that fucking death trap of yours!”

The music stopped, plunging them into silence, and all Owen heard was the drip of the shower and the mingling of their breaths. He’d walked Chad backward until Chad bumped his desk, jostling the laptop, which stopped the music.

Chad was staring at him with a bewildered expression that was slowly turning to anger. “Look,” he spat, shoving on Owen’s shoulders, but Owen planted his feet and refused to budge from his place between Chad’s knees. “I didn’t ask you to come in here and tell me how to run my life. I get that you think I’m an idiot, but I’m not your responsibility—”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you’re careless with your safety.”

“Oh, come on,” Chad scoffed. “You’re you.” He gestured at Owen’s outfit, his gaze lingering on his bow tie. “And I’m me, and it’s clear we’re never going to see eye to eye on anything, so how about you step back…”

Chad was talking, the words buzzing in his ear, but Owen wasn’t focused on them anymore, because his gaze had drifted over Chad’s shoulder and landed right on the screen of Chad’s laptop. And the background image took his breath away.

He leaned closer to get a better look. And the buzzing stopped. Chad wasn’t talking anymore. He wasn’t moving, either. Then Owen heard a muttered, “Oh, shit.”

The background was an illustrated man. A man who wore nothing but a cape, boots, and a polka-dotted green bow tie. His dick was huge and erect, standing out from a shaved groin. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and he…he looked like Owen. The words below, in matching green font said, “The Dapper Dick.”

No one could have drawn that—made that—except for Chad.

Owen couldn’t move, not when his mind was whirling, piecing together what was in front of him and what sat in the bank of his memory. The centaur screen saver was designed in the same style. Chad. It had all been Chad.

And when Owen shifted his gaze back to the man in front of him, Chad’s eyes were closed, his head bent. The towel had come unknotted at his waist and barely covered his lap.

“Chad,” he said softly.

Chad didn’t move.

Owen reached out and ran his hand up Chad’s bare thigh and rested it on his exposed hip. “Hey, look at me, will you?”

Chad slowly lifted his head, and those hazel eyes opened, holding a little bit of caution and a little bit of defiance.

Owen knew this conversation could go bad, very bad. Hell, most of their conversations had gone horribly, horribly wrong. But those hadn’t mattered. Not at all, not like Owen understood how much this one meant.

“You drew that,” Owen said. “That superhero is…is…me.”

He waited for scorn, for Chad to scoff and tell him not to be so full of himself. But Chad wasn’t smirking. It took him a minute, but finally, he nodded once. “Yeah, it is.”

Jesus. He’d drawn him. As a fucking superhero. He’d thought about Owen enough that he took the time to create that. “You drew the centaur, too.”