Always Never Yours(83)

He doesn’t. Instead, he reclines next to me, and with one unexpectedly quick motion he pulls me on top of him. I let out a surprised laugh and lower my face to his. But before our lips meet, I draw back suddenly.

“Wait,” I say, leaning up while straddling his waist, my heart plummeting out of my chest and onto the floor. “We did this. You have a—”

Owen cuts me off. “I broke up with Cosima.”

“What?” I stutter, reaching for my heart on the floorboards. “When?”

He props himself up and strokes my side. “Pretty much the minute you left my room.”

It takes a moment for the words to come together in my head—it’s possible his hand on my side isn’t helping. But when they do, I’m overwhelmed. Relief, indignation, and adoration fight for space inside me. It’s all I can do to kiss him deeply before pulling back and peering at him admonishingly. “You really should have told me.”

A smile spreads across his face, then slowly fades. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

I take his face in my hands and stare into his eyes, refusing to let him misunderstand me this time. “Sweet, witty, fascinating, charming,” I say slowly, “and an idiot.” He’s laughing when I lean forward to pick up where we left off.

I lift my shirt over my head and take no little pleasure from the way his eyes widen. “Off,” I order, pointedly nodding at his sweater. With boyish urgency, he pulls it off, and—

Owen has a six-pack.

Years of pursuing jock-bros like Wyatt Rhodes, and it’s Owen Okita who’s finally going to fulfill my high school goal of hooking up with a six-pack. The universe works in mysterious ways. They’re not the most defined abs I’ve ever seen—he’s not Zac Efron—but they’re there. Isn’t there some law of nature that the sensitive, writerly guys shouldn’t be ripped?

“Owen!” I prod his stomach. “How did this happen? Explain yourself!”

He looks down, uncomprehending. I run a finger down the line of his muscle, and his face lights up. “I don’t know,” he says with a lazy smile. “Just enjoy it, Megan.”

Laughing, I get off him and walk to the door. But with my hand on the deadbolt, I pause.

I don’t want to do what I’ve done in every one of my relationships before. I don’t want to rush. With Owen, though, this doesn’t feel like rushing. It feels exactly right, right now. I don’t want to be with him in this way because I think I have to now, before he disappears. I’m not doing it under a deadline, under the expectation of everything falling to pieces—it’s not rushing because it’s not for the wrong reasons. If I know it’s real, and Owen knows it’s real, it doesn’t matter how fast it is. I want to be with him because I want to.

I close the deadbolt and turn to face him. “Those too . . .” I point in the general direction of his gray corduroys. I’m expecting the Owen blush, but he only smiles.

“Okay, okay.” While he undoes his belt, I step out of my jeans. Thankfully, I’m wearing more respectable underwear today. Nothing written on it.

I climb on top of him, and we kiss in the way people do when there’s not a hint of doubt it’ll progress to something else. I let my hands explore his chest and—yes, his six-pack. His fingers brush the skin of my back, skimming the lace at the bottom of my bra. I urge him on with my lips.

When I guide one of his hands lower, he pulls back. “I . . .” he starts. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this to happen.”

I’m thrown, and I tense up. “Do you not want it to?”

“No,” he says quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . I’ve never . . .” He trails off once more, this time with a vivid blush.

My eyes widen. For the first time I consider the possibility he’s not feeling everything I am right now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— If this is too fast, or not special enough—” I move to get off him.

Owen’s hand on my hip holds me in place. “It’s not that. I just wanted you to know.”

“Oh,” I say, relieved. “Yeah. I understand. Well, I have,” I add, not at all sure how to have this conversation.

“Yeah, Megan. I know. You told me in detail.” The corners of his mouth twitch upward. I feel mine do the same.

“Never with Cosima?” I prod his chest. “You guys were at camp.”

He grabs my hand. “I hadn’t known Cosima for very long.” His voice has gone hushed. “I wanted to wait for something meaningful, for someone I cared about so deeply I needed this to express it.”

A tiny tremor runs through me. I feel everything he’s saying, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable if—

“I was waiting for this,” he says. He pulls me down for a kiss, and for a while we just sink into each other. His hand in my hair, his breath on my cheek, I reach off the bed for my bag.

“I have the . . .” I say, my fingers catching the plastic wrapper.

Straightening up, I notice him watching me questioningly. “Not that I’m not grateful, but who were you planning—?” He stops, reconsidering. “You know what, it really doesn’t matter.” He reaches to kiss me again, but I place a hand on his chest.

“Nobody, for what it’s worth.” I smile sideways at him. Dropping my gaze, I bring his hand back to my thigh. “Nobody I’d rather . . .” I finish the sentence with a kiss.