Broken Beautiful Hearts(53)

Owen releases my wrists and tucks the loose strands of hair that escaped from my ponytail behind my ear. “I’ll teach you the basics if you want. It won’t earn you a black belt, but you’ll know how to protect yourself if someone tries to hurt you.”

I look away when he says the last part. “You don’t have to.”

Owen helps me up, and I lean against the ropes, trying to make sense of everything I’m feeling. His arm skims my waist as he reaches for the rope behind me. He brings his other hand up to my cheek. It hovers there for a moment—frozen in place.

The same way I feel right now.

Finally, he tucks another strand of hair behind my ear and leans closer. “Let me teach you, Peyton. I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

Too late.

I almost let the words slip out.

“You got quiet on me. Does that mean you’re thinking about it?” Owen asks.

What were we talking about?

Self-defense.

Me and Owen rolling around on the floor together … his face inches from mine on a regular basis. Me wanting to kiss him.

“Peyton?” Owen watches me with an intensity that makes it hard to concentrate.

“Yeah. Sure.” Why am I agreeing to this? “If we have time after PT and everything.”

When he hears the last word, he smiles. He’s still sweaty from training. Unlike most guys, he doesn’t smell like a dirty pair of gym socks. It’s crazy and I’d never admit it to anyone, but I think he smells like the ocean—clean and salty. And it’s not helping with the attraction issue.

Owen holds one of the ropes I’m leaning against. If I move the slightest bit, the side of my arm would graze his hand. I inhale and get another hit of his intoxicating scent.

“I don’t want a boyfriend,” I blurt out.

It’s a defense mechanism. Fight or flight. Except words fly out of my mouth and my feet stay planted on the floor.

Owen leans closer. “Who said I want to be your boyfriend?” His breath tickles my neck.

“You’re right. I should’ve said that I’m not looking for a hookup.” I step to the side and move out of reach.

“You don’t seem like the kind of girl who randomly hooks up with guys.” He’s leaning against the ropes where I was standing a moment ago.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Owen walks over to where I’m standing. “You’re stubborn and you don’t take any shit. And don’t look at me that way. It’s a compliment.”

“Maybe, if you’re a drill sergeant.”

“You’re the kind of girl a guy wants to keep around for a lot longer than one night.”

I tilt my head to the side. “How many nights, exactly? Are we talking two or three, or a whole week? I want to keep my expectations realistic.”

Owen looks down at me. “You’re taking this all wrong. I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t want to be your boyfriend. I was just giving you a hard time. You made it clear you weren’t available the first night we met. I believed you.”

Part of me regrets it—the same part that told me how lucky I was the first night Reed kissed me. The part I can’t trust anymore.

He takes a deep breath. “But we can still be friends, right?”

Unbelievable. I’m getting an updated version of the “let’s be friends” speech from a guy I’m not even dating.

“Or do you have too many friends already?” he teases.

Getting closer to a guy I’m attracted to and I can’t date is a bad idea—like playing with matches over a puddle of lighter fluid.

Owen holds his fists in front of him, like a boxer meeting his opponent in the center of the ring before a fight. “Friends?”

I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. Some things just happen, and you have to live with the fallout.

Miracles have explanations.

Love at first sight isn’t an inexplicable phenomenon. It’s science—biology and pheromones.

Owen is still holding out his hands. “Have you ever watched a boxing match?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Boxers touch gloves at the beginning of a fight as a show of respect.”

“Are we going to fight?” I hold back a smile.

“Are you ever gonna go easy on me?”

“Probably not.”

Owen grins. “I can live with that.” He holds out his hands, still balled into fists between us. “Friends?”

I search his dark eyes for an indication that I’m not crazy to trust him. There’s no way to be sure. I think about coincidences and excuses, giving up and fallout.

I ball it all up in my fists and touch mine against Owen’s. “Friends.”





CHAPTER 22

Things We Can’t Forget

“ALL RIGHT, EVERYONE,” Miss Ives says as she stands in front of the class the next day. “We’re going to take a look at the next novel we’ll be reading.”

She walks around passing out books.

Owen is sitting across from me, and she hands him two copies of the book.

Please let it be a book I’ve already read.

Owen gives me a paperback, and the moment I see the cover my mood instantly changes.