Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(57)

With one swift action, Owen’s hand slides down the small of my back, to my butt, and he lifts me up against him, carrying me while he takes giant strides to his truck, our lips never once breaking their hold on one another. He sets me on the bed of his truck and shifts his hands up the sides of my body, his finger’s pausing at my ribs, his hands flexing with indecision. I can tell he wants to touch me, to feel me, and I love that his hands crave the feel of my breasts. The mere thought of him touching me there—in a place where boys who weren’t worthy have barely felt me—makes my mouth hungrier, and I put all of the passion I’m feeling into our kiss.

I don’t know when the back light clicked on, and I never heard the door, but when I let my eyes slip open, I notice. My wits are with me enough to realize that my mom is probably still watching this from somewhere inside our house. And while a small part of me doesn’t care, there’s another part that doesn’t want to talk about boys and kissing and what’s appropriate and what isn’t with my mother. Not that I mind talking to my mom, I just don’t want to talk about my beating heart with someone whose heart is broken.

“Dinner,” I breathe out one word finally—a word that makes no sense to Owen, and barely registers with me. Our lips part, but Owen’s hold on my face remains, his forehead resting against mine while he stands in front of my dangling legs, his feet shuffling with what I think might just be excitement and nerves.

“You want…dinner?” he asks, his lip pulling into a smirk on one side, a deep dimple impressing on one cheek.

“My mom. She said I could invite you for dinner. She’s…she’s been cooking all day. For you…and Andrew,” I say, my cheeks finally finding feeling again after the rush of heat that coursed through them.

“Is she trying to poison me?” he jokes, his lips giving mine one small peck while his forehead sways side-to-side against mine in a way that feels natural and familiar.

“No more than I tried with the grilled cheese. You seem to have a very high tolerance,” I smile.

“Well, I’ve had girls try to poison me before. I guess I’m immune,” he jokes, and I can’t help the way my lips slide into a frown at the mention of girls—other girls.

“Yeah, but I’m smarter than them. So I might be able to get the job done,” I say, swinging my legs just enough to lightly kick him in the knee.

“First of all, ouch! Don’t kick the knees. I’ve had surgery,” he says, as he lifts me from the truck, swinging my body around until I’m resting on his driveway, his arms still looped around my body while my hands are clutched against his chest, searching for warmth. “And second of all, you’re not just smarter than other girls. You’re…”

He doesn’t finish his words, instead sucking in his bottom lip, letting his teeth hold it in place while his head falls to mine one last time.

“So are you,” I say, letting myself have something I want, say something I mean—something risky and scary.

When Owen’s eyes close completely and his smile slowly pulls his lips loose from his teeth, I understand what the rest of that sentence is.

Everything.

Owen Harper is everything.





Chapter 13





“So?” Willow says, her face full of nosey curiosity while she watches me climb into her car.

“So…what?” I respond. I’m not going to make this easy.

“Come on!” she says with a laugh while she backs down my driveway. “You can’t text me that you kissed Owen, and then pretend it never happened! You ignored every single follow-up text and my two phone calls after that. You’re a bad bomb dropper. No cleanup afterward. Like…at all!”

I giggle, and the sound of happiness coming from my mouth is nice, foreign…but nice. It’s a sound I haven’t made in a while. “You kissed him. You know what it’s like. What’s to tell?” I tease, moving my book bag into my lap and pulling my gloves out to slip on my hands.

“Kens, I was fourteen when I kissed him. We were still dancing with bent elbows and rocking back-and-forth in the school gym at that time. I’ve seen that boy kiss now, and trust me—it’s different! I want deets,” she says.

“Deets?” I say, slowly, one eyebrow cocked in her direction.

“Gahhhhh! Details. Deets! Don’t make fun of my hip language, now spill it!” Willow’s gum snaps, and I study her for a few seconds while she signals at the light and turns down the street to our school. She’s so different from Morgan and Gaby. They both come from money, lots and lots of money. My family was comfortable middle class, sure. But I also used to have to listen to my mom dodge creditors and argue with my dad over bills. Those conversations never happened in my friends’ worlds. And while I always found Morgan and Gaby to be more down-to-earth than the rest of our peers at Bryce, that feeling of not being a real member of their club was always there—even with Gaby. Willow looks like someone I’m supposed to know, like the friend that perhaps I was always supposed to have.

Like someone I can trust.

“How long have you been with Jess?” I ask, changing the subject, but with a reason.

“Uhhhh, like, more than a year. Why? Is this still about that thing Ryan said? That I’m into Owen? Kens, you know I’m not…” she says, and I interrupt.