Just a Number (21 page)

I
’m not going to lie. I’m pretty proud of myself for my little striptease before locking my bedroom door. Was it inappropriate? Absolutely, but I just couldn’t help myself. After what happened last night—being caught groping and dry-humping each other on my dad’s washing machine—I figured maybe he’d like a little spank-bank material to help us get through today.

Hmm…maybe I should send him a picture of my tits.

When I hear the shower start up, I figure I’m too late for that idea, so I decide to save it for another time. I’m sure it’ll come in handy later on.

Digging through my bag, I pull out a pair of dark skinny jeans and a deep red V-neck sweater and toss them on my bed while I fish out some underwear and a bra. I decide on the lacy red set, even though they’ll go unappreciated.

Unless I send Owen that cleavage shot I was just thinking about.

Yeah, I’m totally going to do that. He’ll probably need to get right back in the shower afterward, but I’m sure he’ll be all right with that.

After putting my bra and panties on, I grab my phone and take said picture. I’ve never been the girl who sends racy photos to a guy for fear he’ll show them off to his buddies, but something tells me that won’t be a problem with Owen.

I shudder having even entertained that thought for a millisecond.

I’m practically bouncing with excitement, my smile stretching so wide it makes my cheeks hurt, as I attach the picture to a text and send it with the message:

Don’t you wish you could open

your present?

I know I probably shouldn’t be doing this—really, I do—but I’m starting to think that playing it 100% safe is just going to get us in trouble again. There’s far too much sexual tension between us when we pretend like nothing’s going on, and when it explodes, it’s just too intense to walk away from. No, I’m thinking this might be better. I hope so anyway.

I put my phone on my bed and then pull on my jeans and sweater. The jeans are slim-fitted to my lower body, accentuating my ass and thighs, and my sweater shows off my curves while boasting a modest V-neckline that won’t risk flashing the girls. I’d say I look pretty damn hot, but not hot enough to risk Owen losing all self-control.

At least, I hope not—which feels foreign and weird, because I’ve become a fan of him losing control sexually speaking.

I push my phone into my back pocket and sit on my bed, grabbing my knee-high brown leather boots from the floor and pulling them on. They slouch a little around my calves, and they have a lower heel, which will allow me to remain comfortable throughout the day.

I’m just pulling the second one on when there’s a knock at the door, so I get up to unlock it, and when I open it, I’m surprised to see Carla standing there with two cups of tea and a small smile.

“Can I come in?” she asks softly.

I step out of the way and hold out my arm, granting her access. “Of course,” I reply.

She sits on the edge of my bed and offers me one of the cups. “A peace offering,” she says. “I came to apologize. For last night. Honestly, I was up half the night trying to wrap my head around everything, and I realized just how wrong I’d been to say those things. I think the surprise of finding the two of you like that just threw me.”

My eyes widen with shock, and I stare at her, feeling somewhat bewildered by her apology. “An apology’s not necessary. You were absolutely right to—”

“No,” she interrupts. “I wasn’t. I had no right to give you a timeframe on when you should tell your father or to have behaved the way I did. I’m not your mother, Amy.”

“But you’re
a
mother,” I remind her. “So I get it. You saw…” I pause, not wanting to voice what she’d witnessed in case my father comes traipsing up the stairs at the worst possible moment—wouldn’t that be just my luck? “You saw something happening, and you reacted.”

 Carla sighs, and I sit next to her on my bed. “You’re being far more forgiving than I thought you’d be.”

I laugh lightly. “I can admit when I’ve messed up, Carla. What you saw last night…well, as I’d said then, it wasn’t supposed to happen. I was upset about what my dad had said, and we both just…” I stop talking, because I’m on the verge of crossing a line. If I give her too much information, I’m asking her to keep even more from my dad. “I needed reassurance.”

Carla eyes me carefully, one dark eyebrow rising inquiringly. “Reassurance? So this…what’s going on is…?”

“Serious?” I conclude and then nod. “Yeah. It’s, uh, it wasn’t at first, but it’s getting there.” Pausing, I look at the steam rising off my tea. “I know Dad’s not going to be thrilled, but you can’t help who you’re attracted to, you know?”

“I didn’t realize,” she says softly, drawing my focus back to her and away from my bumbling. “And you’re right. Your father isn’t going to accept this right away. This is a very complicated web you’ve spun, Amy.”

“I know.”

“But if you truly feel as you say you do, who’s to tell you that you shouldn’t pursue it?” There’s a beat of silence as I stare at her, and just as I’m about to say something, the bathroom door opens and Owen steps out, freshly showered, shaven, and his hair a damp, tousled mess.

What was I saying again?

“Owen, can you spare a moment?” Carla asks.

Owen eyes her almost suspiciously, looking downstairs as though he’s about to be Punk’d or something.

“Ethan’s got Alan occupied with the new game system he got this morning. He’s not going to be up here for some time,” Carla explains, and Owen nods, stepping into the room but staying by the door, playing it safe. “I want to apologize to you, as well.”

Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed casually in front of him, Owen looks at me, eyebrows arching slightly, and I shrug.

“As I was telling Amy, I’m sorry for how I reacted when I found the two of you. I should never have given you an ultimatum for when you had to come clean to Alan. I was just taken a little by surprise is all.”

“It’s understandable,” Owen replies, accepting her apology. “We do plan to tell him, and we really never meant for anything to happen last night.”

“I know that,” Carla says, standing up and heading for the door. “I meant what I said about keeping this to myself, but I won’t lie for you. If he suspects something and asks…”

“Then tell him,” I interject, gaining a nod from Owen. We can’t ask her to lie to my dad; that would be pushing it. “We were going to tell him in the New Year, anyway. You won’t have to keep this from him much longer.”

Carla steps past Owen and out into the hallway before stopping and turning to us both. “Do me a favor, though?” We both nod in unison, and she continues. “Tell him before he finds out the way I did. I don’t doubt that he’ll be upset when you tell him, but I think he’d be more apt to listen than he would be if he found out by accident.”

“That’s always been the plan,” I assure her quietly. “Thank you.”

Owen turns to follow Carla out of my room when she stops him. “Take a few minutes.
Behave
, but take a bit of time together. I’ll keep him downstairs.”

We both stare after her, stunned, and then Owen enters the room further, closing the door most of the way and holding his hand out for me. Smiling, I set my teacup down on the bedside table and take his hand, letting him pull me off the bed and into his arms.

“Behave, remember?”

“Me?” he says, sounding somewhat appalled. “Care explaining this?” He removes one arm from around my waist and reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cell phone, and turns it to me; I have to cover my mouth to keep my laugh from carrying through the house.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it,” I finally say, standing up on the tips of my toes and kissing him lightly.

“Oh, I more than liked it,” he assures me, putting the phone away and pulling me closer. “It just reminded me that we have another couple of days before I’ll get to unwrap my present.” As if to drive the point home, his right hand moves up my body until his index finger tugs at the neckline of my sweater so he can glimpse what’s underneath. “So the picture
is
from today,” he murmurs, his finger teasing the edge of my lace bra.

I sigh as a wave of goosebumps prickle up all over my body, and then I quickly come to my senses, pressing my hands to his chest and pushing him away. “Behave,” I repeat, my voice low and trembling.

“Fine,” he says, opening my door all the way. “I’ll behave. For now.” He lowers his voice and steps out into the hall. “But when we get back to the city”—his eyes grow intense as they burn into mine, and I shudder—“all bets are off.”

Owen slips out of my room, leaving me stunned as I stare after him, and just before his head disappears from sight through the stair banister, he winks. That cheeky bastard.

I shake off the quiver of desire that rushes through me, and steel my resolve before following him. I find everyone in the kitchen as Dad continues to work on breakfast while Ethan shows him his new Nintendo DS. While they’re busy, I decide to start prepping the turkey for dinner tonight, and by the time I’ve got it in the oven, it’s time for us to sit down to breakfast.

Like every year before this one, Christmas brunch is a feast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, French toast, and, to balance it all out, a fruit salad. Everyone is always so damn full after eating, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing; this way we’re all satiated until dinner, and we’re less likely to snack and ruin our appetites before the turkey is ready.

Over breakfast, I learn that Carla and the kids will be staying over—not sure how I feel about this given my room is across from my dad’s and I remember all too well about his not-so-secret stash of condoms in his nightstand, but I smile because they’re happy, and I’m happy for them.

Plus, I’ve got music on my iPhone as well as my ear buds. I’m ready to drown out…
that.

The sleeping arrangements have been decided, and while I’d secretly hoped that Dad would suggest I camp out on the living room floor—possibly right next to the couch where Owen would be sleeping soundly—I already knew that wouldn’t happen. Instead, Hayley will join me in my room (I hope she brought her iPod and ear buds, too) and Ethan will sleep in the living room.

After everyone has finished eating, I offer to clean up. There’s not much for leftovers since Ethan seems to be going through some kind of teenage growth spurt—that, or he actually does have a hollow leg like Carla says.

I put all of the dishes into the sink and fill it with hot, soapy water while I wipe down the counters. Once they’re clean and I start to wash the dishes, a familiar body brushes against my right side, dishtowel in-hand.

“Your dad suggested I come help,” Owen explains, grabbing the first plate from my hand, our fingers brushing and lingering a fraction of a second longer than should be normal. I’m sure no one would even notice if they were here…well, with the exception of Carla, of course.

I don’t know about Owen, but I’m still feeling all warm and tingly from earlier in my room, because every time he casts his stormy eyes my way, my knees threaten to give out and my heart races. And let’s not forget how every brush of his fingers against mine when he takes the dishes from me one at a time renders me momentarily breathless and unable to form a coherent thought.

It’s becoming more and more obvious that we probably shouldn’t be left alone together in this house—not ever—because I’m about three seconds away from pushing him up against the fridge and ripping his clothes off.

Thankfully for the both of us, Owen seems to have far more restraint than I do, and we finish the task at hand without slipping up again.

With the kitchen clean, Owen and I return to the living room where everyone else waits patiently—okay, so Ethan and Hayley, being teenagers, aren’t nearly as patient as Dad and Carla, who look awfully comfortable together on the recliner. Ethan and Hayley are sitting near the tree, their fingers practically twitching to start handing out gifts, which leaves the couch available for Owen and me.

Well, if we’re going to be
forced
to sit in the same vicinity, who am I to argue?

When given the go-ahead, Ethan and Hayley tear through the stack of presents under the tree, handing them out to each of us and then sitting with their own stack of gifts. Now, most families tear through their gifts all at once, but it’s tradition in the Michaels’ home to have one person go at a time. It’s only fair, and this way everyone gets thanked properly and no one runs the risk of insulting the thought behind the gift.

Going from youngest to oldest, we spend the next hour and a bit opening presents. Ethan gets a couple of games for his new Nintendo and a fishing pole and lures—one guess as to whom that’s from. Hayley, being seventeen, receives clothes, clothes, and more clothes. She’s more than happy with this, which, being a girl, I totally get.

Carla and the kids bought me a new iPod—Dad must have told them I dropped my last one in a puddle just outside my apartment a few months back, which is why I have been using my phone. Yup, I’ve got butterfingers. I’ve come to accept these little flaws with a semblance of humility. When I open the gift from Dad, I’m more than a little surprised that he hasn’t gotten me my usual Visa gift card. Instead, he’s splurged and gotten me a new MacBook.

“Dad,” I say, looking wide-eyed between him and my extravagant gift. “This is awesome. Thanks.”

Dad shrugs like it’s no big deal—when in truth, I know it is. “Well, you said your other laptop was crapping out,” he explains. “Figured I’d do a little research and get you a new one. You need it for school and all, so it was more than practical.”

Owen leans over, still keeping a safe distance between us, and taps my arm. “When he says he ‘did a little research,’ what he
really
means is he called me and asked for my opinion.”

I laugh, because I really should have suspected this; my dad is the biggest technophobe on the planet. “Well, thank
you
for steering him toward the Apple store, then.”