Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(62)

“You said you wrote this one weeks ago?” I study him.

“Uh, yeah.” He finally has the decency to look sheepish. “That night you came over to help me and we had Chinese for dinner.”

“But we hadn’t even …” Kissed? Touched? Nothing had really happened between us at that point.

“I have a very vivid imagination.” The grin fades. His eyes darken, and this cloak of intensity seems to fall over him, the two of us, leaving me breathless. “What happened between us a couple of nights ago, I feel like that poem you just read describes it perfectly. Maybe I can predict the future, I don’t know. I sound like I’m crazy.”

Oh. My. I can’t even talk, let alone form thoughts. What is happening between us? Only a few days ago I was devastated, thinking he wanted us to be just friends. Now he’s writing poetry about our blossoming sex life and looking at me like he wants to tear my clothes off and have his way with me on the table.

“Say you’re coming over tonight, Chels. Maybe we can do a few more things that’ll inspire me to write.” The grin is back, infectious and so cute I can’t help but smile back at him.

“Fine. I’ll come over.” I try to sound all put out, but we both know I’m the biggest liar ever.

I’m dying to go over to his house and spend time with him. Alone.

“You’ll be coming all night if you’re lucky,” he murmurs and I blink at him, shocked, yet not at his words.

“What did you say?” I want him to repeat it. Confirm that I really did hear that.

“Nothing.” He puts on an innocent look, one that is so full of it, I want to reach out and smack him. Then pull him in close to me and kiss him. “Can you help me with my English? I have a test tomorrow.”

How can I say no? After all, I’m still his tutor.

His girlfriend.

His rose.

His home.

Owen

I’m happy. The f**king happiest I’ve been in a long time, if ever. School is good. Football is good. I lightened my work schedule because holy shit, I couldn’t take how heavy it was. I need at least a couple of free hours during the week so I can freaking relax.

And I plan on spending every one of those free hours with Chelsea.

I’m home, kicking it on the couch watching TV with Wade and waiting for Chelsea to come over. She sent a text about fifteen minutes ago, letting me know she’d be over in a half hour and she was bringing dinner.

Considering my stomach is growling and I’m anxious as all hell to see her, I hope she gets here soon.

“Des said the two of you argued,” Wade says conversationally; his tone is light, but I know he’s digging for information.

“Yeah.” I shrug. I’ve got no major information to give. “It was no big deal. More like me telling him I’m sick of him mooching off of us.”

“He’s not a mooch and you know it, dude. He provides us with all the weed we could ever want, and sometimes he even brings beer. What more could we want from him?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t like having a drug dealer always hanging out at my house,” I mutter, irritated I’m having this conversation again. “He f**king deals here, Wade. I won’t have it. Not anymore. And I already went over all this with Des. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“So you don’t want him hanging out here anymore.” Wade doesn’t phrase it as a question. In fact, he sounds pretty pissed.

Great.

“I never said that. It’s just … I’m trying to clean up my image.” The guilt of messing around with Chelsea while high still hangs over my head. “After all the trouble I’ve been in lately, I don’t want to have that kind of thing around here anymore. I need to watch out.”

“Come on, Owen. This has everything to do with that little tutor of yours, right? At least, that’s what Des said,” Wade accuses.

Fucking Des. He needs to keep his big mouth shut. “Fine, so it has something to do with Chelsea. But she’s not the only reason I don’t want Des around here as much anymore.” How can I explain this without sounding like a complete whiny little prick? “My mom … you know she’s always coming around. Wanting to smoke a bowl with me or whatever. If I kick the habit, then I’m eliminating half the reason she wants to see me.”

And that hurts. Knowing that Mom has only a couple of reasons in the first place to want to see me, and both of them suck.

“What’s the other reason why she wants to see you?”

“Money. She always needs a handout. She can’t save up even a dollar. If she has change in her pocket, she rushes out and spends it.” I haven’t heard from her in a while. Last time I told her not to contact me for two weeks, and so far she’s holding to it.

But those two weeks are up soon and I don’t doubt for a second she’ll be back in a hot minute, sniffing around and looking for another payout.

“You know if you get rid of the weed, she’ll just ask for more money so she can get it somewhere else,” Wade points out.

I’ve already thought of that. I’ve thought of everything. “That’s fine, then at least it’s not on my hands.”

“Not completely.”

Hell. Wade is right. I hate this. Hate what my mom’s become, what she forces me to do. I’m mean to her and I despise it, but she’s always mean to me first. She gives me no choice. This is our f**ked-up relationship, and I’m jealous as hell of Fable. At least she doesn’t have to deal with Mom. She was strong enough to cut the ties and walk away.