Four Years Later (20 page)

I’d hoped Chelsea was the same. But maybe she’s not …

“It’s stupid.” She waves a hand, smiling at me, but her smile is brittle. Doesn’t light up her eyes and I can tell it’s fake. “I have a headache and it’s been such a long day. A long weekend, really.”

“You had fun, though, right? And you liked my sister? And Drew?” I sound like an insecure little kid wanting to make sure she’s happy, desperate to ensure that she’s pleased. God, does she even realize how easy it would be for her to completely wreck me? I never hand that sort of power over to anyone. Okay, I do so with Fable, but she’s my sister and she would never hurt me. We’ve proven our trust in each other again and again. And Mom’s wrecked me over and over, but I can’t help but hand her that power.

As I’ve come to realize time and again, it’s natural. She’s my mom. I want to please her and she shits on me every chance she gets. Yet I keep taking it.

“Yeah. I had fun.” There is absolutely no emotion in her voice and it scares me. “Except when I found out you told your sister we’re just friends.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Wait a minute. What did you say?”

“You told Fable—I don’t know when—that we were just friends. Is that how you really think of us? Am I just a friend, Owen? Do you always stick your tongue in your friends’ mouths? Or am I a
special
friend?”

Shit
. She’s pissed. She’s practically yelling at me. “I never told Fable that …” My voice trails off.

I so did. When we were on the phone and Fable was giving me shit. I didn’t want to hear it from her anymore so I said it to shut her up. I never thought Fable would ever say anything and I hadn’t meant a word of it. Well, I guess.

Hell. I don’t know. Chelsea confuses me so completely, I don’t know how or what to think anymore.

Not that Chelsea would ever believe that.

“I thought I—meant something to you, but I guess not. Just wishful thinking on my part,” she says, her voice soft and full of sadness. “I’m being ridiculous.”

I chance a glance at her and see how she’s staring out the window, her expression devastated.

My heart aches.
Fuck it
, I just did that to her. And I don’t know how to explain myself. Not sure I really want to. I mean, what the hell are we doing, Chelsea and I? I like her, but I can’t take this too seriously.

Fuck.
I’m a liar. I hardly know Chelsea but I want to know more. So much more, my heart aches in anticipation of it. Yet she gives me such mixed signals, I never know whether she’s coming or going. Whether she really likes me or not, and that freaking kills me. I was just feeling confident, too. So damn confident, I was letting my guard down. Kissing her in front of Fable, for Christ’s sake, and I don’t do that sort of thing ever.

Never, ever, never.

“Chelsea …” I start, but she shakes her head.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she tells me, cutting me off before I can say anything to explain myself. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

She’s completely pulled away from me again and I hate it. I refuse to let this go. I need to make this better between us, before she pulls away from me even further.

More than anything, I need to apologize for being such a thoughtless asshole.

I drive for almost an hour, still not fully out of the city, what with traffic slowing constantly until the freeway is feeling almost like a parking lot. I look at Chelsea and see she’s curled up in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the side of the door, her eyes closed tight, her forehead wrinkled with worry, pain—God, I don’t know what.

Determination fills me. That’s it. We should definitely stay the night. She’ll probably be mad but I’m doing it. So what if we miss class in the morning? It won’t kill us. It might kill her, but shit. I’m tired and she’s not feeling well. I’m irritated and she’s trying to sleep.

Not bothering with waking her up, I take the next exit, where I see a few hotel signs flashing in the night sky, and pull into a hotel parking lot. She stirs in her seat, lifting her head when I park the car beneath the overhang and in front of the hotel entrance. Frowning, she turns to meet my gaze.

“Where are we? What’s going on?”

“We’re staying overnight here.” I incline my head toward the front doors.

Her mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely, I’m serious. The weather is for shit, Chels. The freeway is barely moving and I’m exhausted.” Reaching out, I touch her cheek and she flinches—literally flinches—away from my fingers. I let my hand drop, frustration raining through me. My heart hurts. Has she ever rejected my touch before? I can only blame it on her headache.

Oh, and me telling Fable she’s just a friend.

Man, I really fucked this up.

“You don’t feel well,” I tell her, trying to forget what I said, how much it hurt her. “You need a good night’s rest.”

“But I’ll miss my morning classes,” she protests. “I have an important paper to turn in, too.”

“Is it already finished?” If this were me, I’d be working on that stupid paper at this very minute. I’m the king of procrastination, especially with homework.

“Well, yeah. Of course it is.” She shrugs, chewing on her lower lip.

Why am I not surprised? “Then turn it in later tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure your professor will understand when you explain what happened. It’s not like you ever turn anything in late. They’ll let you off the hook.” I pause, studying her. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning. We’re out of the city somewhat, so it probably should be about a three-hour drive. And everyone will be traveling in the opposite direction, so we should be good. The minute you get home you can go to school and turn in everything you need to.”

“I don’t know …” Her voice drifts and she glances down at her lap. “I have nothing to change into for tomorrow. Nothing to sleep in. No toothbrush.”

I’m still stuck on her nothing-to-sleep-in statement. Sounds good to me. We could crawl into bed naked. I’m totally game. Not that there’s any chance of that happening. “We can pick up a toothbrush and whatever else we need in the hotel, I bet. And we can take a quick shower, go to bed, throw our clothes back on, and head home in the morning. What do you think?”

Does she even hear the order I put that all in? And do I really think I have a chance with her tonight, with the way she’s been acting? How pissed she is with me?

An idiot can hope, I guess.

“Can we get separate beds?” Her cheeks color and she keeps her gaze averted. “I just—I’ll feel more comfortable that way.”

My hopes are smashed into a million pieces with five simple words.
Damn
. I want to scream at her, what did I do wrong? But I keep my lips clamped shut, trying to control the overflow of emotions that want to escape. I know what I did wrong. It’s just hard to face. God knows, I never want to face anything. “Whatever you want, Chels, I’ll make it happen if I can. Depends on what the hotel has available.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Thanks for being so understanding, Owen.”

Even her voice sounds different. I hate this. I should apologize. But how?

Hey, sorry I told my sister we were just friends but I wanted to get her off my back after she gave me an endless amount of shit. I didn’t mean it.

But I might have meant it. I mean … if she’s confused and giving me mixed signals, maybe I’m just as bad. I want her. I don’t. I want more than just sex. I’d rather run.

I’m contradicting myself in my own brain. I’m a mess.

“I’m gonna go inside and get a room,” I tell her. “You want to come with me?”

She slowly shakes her head, keeping her gaze locked on the passenger-side window, staring at the front of the hotel. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit out here and wait for you.”

I exit the car and head toward the hotel’s entrance, swearing I can feel her gaze on me as I walk. If she’s watching me, I know we still have a chance. This is just a blip in the road or whatever.

But if she’s not looking at me, then forget it. I can almost guarantee it won’t work out.

Fuck
. I’m afraid to turn around and look, but finally, after taking a deep breath and counting to five, I slowly glance over my shoulder, my gaze falling on the passenger-side door’s window.

Chelsea’s watching me, her fingers resting on the glass, her expression full of sadness. I smile at her, give her a little wave, and she waves back.

Glad to know there’s some hope between us after all.

The hotel room is nice and clean, but there’s one king-sized bed. It was the only type of room available, Owen had said apologetically when he’d come back to the car so he could park it. I’d sat there, quietly stewing, wondering if he was lying to me. I was going to confront him about it once we got to the hotel room but changed my mind when we stood in front of the door, where I watched Owen slide the card into the lock and open it.

I don’t need to start any fights. He already knows how I feel and I should be mad that he hasn’t apologized, but what do I expect? Owen begging for my forgiveness?

He’s been very quiet, almost somber, I’m sure in reaction to my mood. It’s hard for me to pretend everything’s okay when deep inside, I’m sad. Disappointed. And I know Fable hadn’t meant to make me sad or ruin the mood. Truly, I should be ecstatic by what she said because clearly, Owen and I don’t give off a just-friends vibe.

I just hate that he said it in the first place.

He’d glanced around the hotel room, asking if I thought everything looked okay, and when I said yes, he said he was going to go pick up a few things for us, toothbrushes and toothpaste and whatever else we might need. He asked if I wanted to go with him, but I told him I was going to hop in the shower instead. His eyes had gone all dark in that sexy way of his and he hardened his jaw, gave me a quick “all right, I’ll be back,” and then he took off, closing the door with a firm slam behind him.

I go into the bathroom and flick on the lights, impressed with what I find. The room is huge, the fixtures new, and everything’s so clean. I wish I had something different to change into after I take a shower, but I do find a hotel robe hanging on the back of the door and decide that will have to do. And when I push back the shower curtain and turn on the faucet, I notice the water pressure is amazing.

The shower at my apartment is lackluster at best, so I’m going to soak under this for as long as I can.

A sigh of relief escapes me when I step beneath the spray and I tilt my head back, letting the water wash over my hair and face, consciously trying to relax my forehead since it’s still super tense. I wasn’t lying about the headache. It came on just before we left the stadium, and I can only assume it formed because of a combination of things.

Travel can set me off. That time of the month does, too, though I’m not due for my period for a few more days at least. The tension between Owen and me has added to it, too, of course.

I wish I had asked him to pick up some ibuprofen for me. I should text him, but by the time I get out of the shower, he could be on his way back to the room …

I decide not to bother.

The water seems to help ease the tension keeping me rigid. My bones and muscles melt under the heat and pressure of the water, and the soothing scent of the shampoo and body wash that I found on the bathroom counter relaxes me. Steam fills the bathroom, making everything feel hazy, almost dreamlike, and when I finally shut the water off, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

My mind is deliciously blank and my eyelids are heavy, my head drowsy. I towel myself off, my skin pink from the hot water, and I don’t bother putting back on my panties or bra, deciding to save them for tomorrow. The thought of wearing them two days in a row is kind of gross, but what can I do? I don’t have a choice.

I finger-comb my hair as best I can, wiping the steam from the mirror so I can see my reflection. My cheeks are rosy, my eyes sleepy, my lids heavy. The look is almost … sexy, and I never think of myself that way. If Owen sees me looking like this, I can almost imagine him trying to jump me. Even if we are in the just-friends zone, he’d at least notice me because I’m naked, right?

I mean, what nineteen-year-old guy can resist a naked girl with a decent body? I’m no sexy bombshell porn star, but I’m not bad. I don’t have huge boobs or anything, but I’m sufficiently curvy, and Kari’s always ragging on me to show it off a bit. Wear a top that reveals a little cleavage or a short skirt, but that’s so not my style. I’d never feel comfortable wearing something like that.

Taking a step back, I assess my figure, something I definitely don’t do on a regular basis. I never have time to stand around and check myself out in the mirror and besides, I never really thought of myself as a sexual being, until I met Owen. Was never really aware of myself, or the power of my body.

But now I look at my breasts and wonder if he likes them. He’s never tried to touch them, not really. He’ll skim his hands along my sides, make me crazy with wanting him to boldly touch me, but he hasn’t done it yet. I cup one breast, feel its weight in my palm, and my nipple prickles with awareness, hardening just like that. I flick my thumb across it, gasping a little when the sensation seems to travel through my body and lands between my legs, a gentle throb that makes me momentarily breathless.

Just like I feel when Owen kisses me. Holding me close, his mouth fused with mine, his tongue doing all of these wickedly delicious things …

I drop my hand away from my breast and cover my cheeks with my hands, exhaling loudly. This back and forth, push and pull I’m feeling for Owen is slowly starting to drive me crazy. I need to not get so hung up on statements and words, especially when I don’t know what was really said. It’s dumb. And I pride myself on being logical and thorough, exploring all the factors, all the benefits and all the negatives.

But there’s nothing logical about relationships. I’ve learned that quickly, seen it my entire life. Actions speak way louder than words, right? I definitely learned that by watching my father, especially these last few years, before he ended up in jail.