Soft Shock (12 page)

Thank goodness
, Marci nearly said it out
loud but caught herself at the last second. She finally had something to do
besides stand around and let apparently sore subjects hang in the air. She
hurried over to get the bread from the oven. Wordlessly, they filled their
plates with lasagna, salad, and garlic bread before going into the living room
and taking seats at opposite ends of the sofa. Owen flipped on the television,
and a trash daytime talk show happened to be on. Other than some banal small
talk about the show, they ate in silence.

After their early
dinner or late lunch—whatever it was—they seemed to come to a wordless
agreement to go to Owen’s room. Marci looked out of the window behind his bed
through the half-open slats of the blinds.

“Great view of
the parking lot,” she said.

He chuckled
softly. “Isn’t it?”

The next thing
she knew, his arms were around her waist. She melted into them without really
thinking about it. Her body responded to his almost of its own accord. It was
silly to deny she wanted him. Wanting him had never been the problem. How long
she wanted to keep him always had.

“I have this
little problem, Marci.”

“Doesn’t feel so
little to me,” she said, rubbing not so subtly against the hard ridge that
pressed into her back. She hadn’t seen or held it when they had their little
preview a few weeks ago, but she’d gotten enough of it from their way-too-old-for-this-
dry-humping to know there was something worth pursuing down there.

His breath
hitched, and he backed up just a little but kept his arms around her waist. “I
can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve tried everything. I’ve even gone on dates.
Several. Nothing works. Can’t get you out of my system.”

She turned in
his arms. He was resting most of his weight on his non-injured foot, and he’d
abandoned the crutch. “Does that hurt very much?” She pointed down to his foot,
making sure her hand brushed his thigh in the process.

“Not very
much,” Owen said. “It’s just about healed.”

“What can you
do with it like that?”

“It’s not my
ankle that’s holding me back.” Owen brushed a curl of hair from her cheek and
kissed it. Her skin tingled where his lips had touched it.

“Owen, why do
you have to be the one guy who wants more than just sex?” She shook her head.
“You’re so hot. It’s not fair.”

“So are you.
And you’re right. It’s not fair.” He fingered her curls before bringing his
fingers down to tease the nape of her neck. “Why do you have to be the one girl
who wants just sex?”

“I’m sure I’m
not the only one.” She was so distracted by the feel of his fingers on her neck
that she barely knew what she was saying.

“And I’m sure
I’m not the only guy, either.” He brought his lips close to her neck when he
said the words. So close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her
skin.

“This feels too
good.” Her eyes closed, she reached down and hooked her hands into the front of
his jeans.

“I can tell I’m
not alone in this. You feel something, too.”

“Like it isn’t
blatantly obvious that I’m hot for you.”

“I think it’s
more than that. I think that you’re holding back. And what I want to know is
why.”

“I don’t do
relationships.” She’d been burned twice. And if she needed further proof that
romantic relationships were a sham, Glenda King was it.

“Why not? Did
someone hurt you?”

She opened her
eyes and wished she hadn’t. He looked so earnest and honest and true. Like he
wanted nothing more in the world than to fix whatever he thought her problem
was. In that moment, he was beautiful, safe,
solid
. If
she didn’t pull back from those mesmerizing gray eyes, she’d fall right in.

So she did the
only thing she could think of to break the spell. She pressed her lips to his
in a smothering kiss. He kissed her back just as eagerly. They only parted lips
long enough to slip his shirt over his head, four eager hands fumbling at the
task. He limped over to the bed and sat. She straddled his thighs and went back
to kissing him. He lay back on the bed, bringing her with him. When she reached
down for the button of his jeans, he redirected her hands to his shoulders
before unbuttoning and unzipping hers instead. She pushed the jeans down and
kicked them off while still kissing him like the world would end if she
stopped.

Owen’s hands
moved under her shirt and up her back. He unfastened her bra and pushed it up
over her breasts. She moaned a grateful moan as his kisses moved down to her
throat and his hands massaged her breasts under her shirt. One hand dipped down
and found its way inside her panties while the fingers of the other hand
circled and pinched first one nipple and then the other. The hand in her
panties was circling and pinching something as well.

“I missed you.”
She mouthed the words, taking care that there was no way he could possibly hear
them.

Distracted by
his movements, she gave up on the kissing. Throwing her head back, she grabbed
his shoulders and pumped her hips against his. They’d moved from middle school
to high school style hook ups. There was something hot about it, though.
The under the clothes touching.
Like they had to be ready to
get fully dressed at any moment because someone might catch them while they
were feeling each other up. Well, while he felt her up.

Marci came with
an, “Oh,” of surprise quicker than either of them had expected. She grabbed his
shoulders and squeezed his thighs with hers as the orgasm rocked her body. When
it was over, she rested her damp forehead against his and said, “It’s been a
while,” by way of apology.

“Yeah?”

“Since
that…night,” she admitted reluctantly, not really sure why she was telling him
this. Part of her wanted him to know he’d been the last person she’d been with.
The stupid part that kept thinking about him when he wasn’t around.
The part that was determined to get her into trouble.
“The
night of the bet.”

He gave her a
small smile. It wasn’t cocky or otherwise irritating. It was…surprisingly nice
and caught her off-guard like everything else about him had so far.

“Your turn.”
Marci’s hands migrated to the top of his jeans again, and he grabbed them,
shaking his head.

“Not tonight,”
Owen said.

“Is this part
of some deal you’ve made with yourself?” Marci asked, only half-joking. “It
doesn’t count against your morals as long as you don’t get off?”

“It’s not about
morals,” Owen said quietly.

“What’s it
about?”

He took her
face in his hands and kissed her bottom lip softly before kissing her full on
the lips long, sweet, and slow. Pulling back, he searched her eyes while
caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. “So much more.”

“Like?”

“Like the swooping
feeling I get in my stomach when I’m on my way to the writing center. Or
sitting with you in the emergency room while you try to distract me from
thoughts of my brother’s idiocy. Or you making garlic bread and eating dinner
with me. Or something as simple and incredible as the way your lips feel under
mine. The way your skin feels under my fingers. It all feels so incredibly
right.” He ran his fingers over the skin of her arms, and she shivered
involuntarily. “How can you not feel any of this?”

She forced
herself not to think, not to answer. Not to think, not to answer.

“I need to have
you more than once,” he said. “Once just…wouldn’t be enough.”

“What if I said
I never want to see you again after I leave?”

Owen called her
bluff without missing a beat. Slipping his index finger under the edge of her
panties and running it back and forth of the sensitive skin of her waxed bikini
area, he said, “We’ll see.”

She stood
because she was afraid of what she’d do if she stayed in that bed. She needed
to get some. Bad. That was all this was. Once she had some sex—some
really good, hot, nasty sex—everything would be fine. “I should get
going. I have a lot of work to do.”

He nodded and
let his eyes sweep lazily up and down her body but made no attempt to move from
his spot on the bed. “So you said earlier.”

“I’ll see you at
the writing center.” Marci buttoned and zipped her jeans. What she really
wanted to say was,
Put
your penis in me. Now.

He nodded again.
She grabbed her jacket and pulled it on.

Best to remove
herself
from temptation. All she could think about as she
left was what a pro he was at manipulating her body with his hands. She could
only imagine what the full package was like. The problem was, she didn’t want
to only imagine.

Chapter Sixteen

Owen sat across
from his date Thursday night. The woman’s name was Molly, and she seemed so
normal that it almost felt like a trap. Still, at the back of his mind, he
thought about another “M”. Marci’s TA session was tonight. He thought about her
more often than not these days.

Molly’s dark
brown hair was pulled up and away from her long, slender neck. Her skin was so
pale that it was nearly translucent. Like Owen, she had gray eyes. She wore a peach
colored dress that was pretty low-cut. He couldn’t stop his eyes from going to
her cleavage. He wasn’t trying to be a perv. It just happened to literally and
very truly be in his face.

“So you have
any brothers? Sisters?” Molly asked after they ordered dessert.

“Yeah.” Owen
fought to keep a grimace off his face. “One brother.” He didn’t want to talk
about Jeremy right now. Not when things were going so well. “You?”

“Two sisters,”
Molly said dismissively. She reached down and grabbed her black handbag from
the floor. Reaching inside it, she produced a clipboard and a pen.

Owen had no
idea what that could be for.

Until she informed him.
“I like you, Owen, and I see no
point in wasting time. You were very up front in what you wanted in your online
profile, and I appreciate that. You’re looking for something long term.
A guy who wants monogamy.
That is definitely what I’m
looking for. Now let me be up front with you. Why waste time? Are you a time
waster, Owen?”

“I…No, well, I
don’t know.” Owen scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not sure.” He had no
idea where this was going. “Is there going to be a test?” He only half laughed
because he was only half joking.

“I have some
questions for you.” She held up the clipboard briefly, and he saw something
that looked like a checklist. Then she rested the clipboard back on her lap.
“I’m not a time waster, Owen. I need to know where this relationship is going.”

“This is only
the first date.” Owen was no commitment-phobe, but this woman was too intense.
 

She read to him
from the checklist. “Just some basic stuff. I need to know your family’s mental
health history, your BMI, your undergraduate school, your five year plan, your
GPA, if you don’t have an I.Q. score handy we can work on that later, and…” She
continued to read off the list. When she finally looked up, she asked, “How do
you feel about genetic testing to find out the likelihood of our passing on
hereditary disorders to our offspring?”

“Uh…” Had she
just said “our”?
Our
offspring?
On the first date?
Marci wouldn’t believe this woman
existed. Marci. This woman was more than the polar opposite of Marci. Whatever
the polar opposite times infinity
was, that
was what
this woman was in relation to Marci. Man, why did she have to pop up in his
every thought?

“Because I
think that sort of thing is extremely important,” Molly said. “Why not prevent
that sort of heartache if you can?”

“Molly, I think
this is something we can talk about later.” But Owen didn’t plan on there being
a “later” so that was a bit of a white lie.

She narrowed
his eyes at him, and he wasn’t sure if she was considering his words or
something else until she spoke again. “Are your vaccinations up to date? And
when was the last time you had an HIV test?”

Of course, the
server chose that moment to return with Molly’s chocolate mousse and Owen’s
Irish coffee. The server didn’t say anything, but Owen noticed his eyebrows go
up slightly.

Owen grabbed
the coffee and took a long gulp.

Molly, who
didn’t seem to care too much for thoughtful pauses, took that opportunity to
fill the conversation gap. She said, “I see relationships like business
partnerships. Wouldn’t you want to vet someone you’re going into business with?
And why shouldn’t the same hold true for marriage?”

Owen choked on
his coffee.

Molly continued.
“Marriage is the ultimate merger.”

Owen looked
around wildly for the server who’d sneaked off while Molly was jabbering away.
He needed the check. Now.
Before his head exploded.

#

When Marci got
home from her T.A. session Thursday night, she heard shouting coming from the
other side of her apartment door. She opened the door just a crack so she could
hear the voices coming from inside better.

“Ronnie,
please? I really need your help.” That was Jeremy’s voice.

“You shouldn’t
have gotten involved with Wes in the first place. You think he knows
everything. He got you into this mess. And now you want me to get you out of
it, but you didn’t want to hear a word I had to say when I told you to leave
him and his scams alone.”

“He said it was
a sure thing.”

“Of course he
did. He was trying to lure you in. And it worked. ‘Cause now, you’re worse than
broke.”

“You’re
supposed to be my friend.”

“What do you
want me to do?”

“You know what.”

“I can’t
believe you’d expect me to do that. How do I know you won’t screw up all over
again? I can’t keep sticking my neck out for you chop off over and over again.”

“I’m
not—okay. What if you just let me hold a couple of dollars?”

Ronnie was
quiet for a moment. And then, “How many is a couple?”

There was a
pause. “Is the door open?”

Shit
, Marci mouthed.

“Yeah,” Ronnie
said. In a louder voice, she added, “Must be one of my nosy roommates.”

Guiltily, Marci
pushed open the door. “Hi.” She walked into the room and dropped her bag onto
the armchair near the sofa.

“Hey, Marci,”
Ronnie said, sounding more distracted than she did pissed at being interrupted.
Grabbing Jeremy’s arm in a way that looked painful, she said, “We’re not done.
Out there.” She nodded to the balcony.

Jeremy muttered
a greeting to Marci as Ronnie dragged him outside. Marci watched with interest
as they gestured wildly back and forth at each other on the balcony. She
couldn’t hear their words with the glass doors closed, but she could hear
muffled shouting even through the glass. She wondered what was up with that boy.
Owen hadn’t wanted to talk about him Monday night, and she very seriously
doubted Ronnie would want to come off any of Jeremy’s secrets. She never did. Marci
wondered if this had anything to do with why Ronnie had been acting so strangely
lately. Ronnie was still being pretty closed-lipped about whatever was going
on.

Marci sat down on
the couch and pretended to watch television. They were out there for a while.
When they came back in, they were both quiet. Jeremy hung his head, stuffed his
hands in his pockets—Marci noticed then that he’d never had his jacket
off, not even before he and Ronnie headed outside—and muttered a goodbye
as he made a beeline for the door. Still hugging herself for warmth even though
she was back inside now, Ronnie sank onto the couch next to Marci.

“Freezing out
there.” Ronnie rubbed the arms of her sweater. “They say we’re in for the
coldest winter in years and an early one, and I believe it after coming back in
from that arctic wind.”

“Shouldn’t you
be used to it, Jersey?”

“Hey. Jersey
ain’t exactly Canada.” Ronnie grabbed the afghan from the back of the couch and
pulled it around her shoulders. “What are we watching?”

“Cake Boss.”

“Good.” Ronnie
leaned back and closed her eyes. “Make me a red velvet cake, would ya, Marce?”
 

They sat there
like that, watching Cake Boss and chatting about how much each wanted the other
to make her a cake until Tyler whirled in with his often-not-far-behind drama
cyclone.

“My life is
over!” he howled.