Always Never Yours(43)

“My brother plays lacrosse—” Owen says suddenly, and I could kiss him.

Wait, did I just think that? I blink. Obviously I didn’t mean literally.

“—but he’s ten, so when I say ‘plays lacrosse’ I really mean he hits me with his stick.” Eric cracks up, and before I get the chance to shoot Owen a grateful look, he and Eric are having a full-on conversation about the great sport of lacrosse. While they’re occupied, I nudge Anthony’s foot under the table with a get-your-head-in-the-game glance.

“Hey,” Eric says suddenly, interrupting his conversation with Owen, “looks like we’re out of salsa.”

Anthony blinks, his eyes flitting to the jar of his mom’s homemade salsa on the counter, then back to the table. “Oh, um,” Anthony stammers. “I’ll get it.” He starts to stand.

“Let me,” Eric says. But as he gets out of his seat, my eyes go wide because in one innocuous motion Eric’s placed his hand over Anthony’s. I watch Anthony straighten like there’s an electric current running through him.

When Eric’s back is turned, I find Anthony’s eyes. Where there was defeat just seconds ago, now there’s the kind of exhilarated determination I’ve only seen when he’s walking off stage after nailing a performance. “Oh my god,” he mouths at me. Eric returns with the refilled bowl, and I watch Anthony expectantly, waiting for his next move.

I don’t even know how it happens. But the next moment, I feel Owen’s hand in my hair. I jerk to face him as he withdraws his hand, removing—a clump of guacamole. The only possible explanation is I was so focused on Anthony, I absentmindedly ran a dirty hand through my hair.

“First applesauce, now guacamole.” Owen grins, wiping his fingers on his napkin. “Your baby sister’s not here to blame this time.”

“Are you saying I’m messy, Owen?” I pull a scandalized expression.

“I didn’t say it. You did,” he replies.

I open my mouth with a comeback, but Eric preempts me. “You guys are cute,” he says. “How long have you been dating?”

It takes a moment for me to realize he means me.

And Owen.

Me and Owen.

I look at Owen, and it’s impossible to read his expression. Somewhere between bemusement and indignation, probably. I don’t know what Eric finds cute about Owen pulling guacamole out of my hair, but I’m thrown. “We’re, uh . . .” I begin, not sure what Anthony wants me to say, or what Owen wants me to say. He was supposed to be my flex date for the night, but I wasn’t anticipating actually having to lie about our relationship status.

“Oh, my mistake,” Eric quickly amends, picking up on my hesitation. “I thought this was a double date.”

It’s not a second later that Anthony blurts, “They’ve been together for a month!”

I cut Anthony a glance, but I have to smile. It’s one thing for me to lie about dating Owen, but if someone else does it for me, I guess I’ll just have to play along. I spare Owen an apologetic look before I lay my hand on his. He stares down at it like it’s radioactive, but he doesn’t move. His hand is warm under mine.

“We met at auditions for our school’s Romeo and Juliet production,” I tell Eric, then fix my eyes lovingly on Owen. Weeks of playing Juliet have given me an aptitude for playing the doting girlfriend, it turns out. Owen looks like a deer in the headlights. “I promised myself I wouldn’t date within the cast, but Owen was unrelenting.” I catch Owen roll his eyes. “He even wrote lyrics about me for his friend’s band, and let me tell you, they were . . . steamy.”

Owen turns to me, and there’s a spark in his eyes. “It’s pretty impossible to resist Megan. She’s an outstanding actress.”

I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “Eventually I stopped objecting. He makes a really hot friar.” I stare at him, daring him to keep the act going, and he stares back at me, undoubtedly considering his next line.

“Is this the play you’re in?”

I’ve been so preoccupied with Owen, I didn’t notice how Eric’s eyes have shifted to Anthony.

“I have a role, yes,” Anthony says smoothly.

“He’s being modest,” I cut in. “He’s the best actor at Stillmont. He has a huge part—you should see his monologue.”

“I’d like to.” Eric’s voice softens.

“I could give you a preview . . .” Anthony offers. When he’s on, his flirting game is downright inspiring.

“Right now?” Eric smiles. “At the table? In the middle of dinner?”

“In private,” Anthony says simply, and I have to restrain myself from giving him a standing ovation.

Eric pauses, and I know he’s enticed by the invite. “I’d like that. But I’d like to see the real thing, too.”

I’m pretty certain everyone’s picked up on the definite charge in the room by now. I spring out of my seat and grab Anthony’s plate. “Let me clear the table,” I quickly offer. “Anthony, this was incredible, per usual. Owen and I have the dishes covered since you cooked.”

Of course, it’s not like I needed to say anything. Anthony and Eric are halfway to the hall by the time I’ve finished speaking.