I shifted in my seat. “You know, my friend will be back soon.”
Leaning back in the chair, Owen replied, “I know. I don’t think she’ll mind if I’m here. We can always drag over another chair.”
I almost spit out my beer at his arrogance. “Owen, you want to sit here, in the bar, with me and Jenna?”
“Jenna Tipson? I knew she looked familiar. I played ball with her older brother.”
“Yes, I remember. Now, why do you want to sit with us?”
“Well…,” he began, just as a woman sauntered over and slipped him her number.
My jaw unhinged as I watched her casually slink her fingers across his shoulder in her retreat.
She was the first but not the last.
In the time we sat waiting for Jenna’s return, women vying for his attention approached him four more times. And, as usual, I was completely invisible to them all.
Thankfully, Jenna appeared from the hallway, chatting with a guy. That would explain what took her so long, while I had the “pleasure” of watching Owen’s own dating show unfold before me.
“Does that get tiring?” I asked him after the fifth woman left.
“Until recently, it wasn’t really a problem. My fiancée… well, ex-fiancée, always booked us private booths. Sometimes at games we get approached, but… yeah… I mean….” Owen’s usually confident demeanor slipped, and I noticed the redness growing on his tan cheeks.
“Anyway, is there something you needed?” I asked, trying to get him to leave the table. The whispers were growing louder with each passing second, and there was already a group forming near the entrance to catch a glimpse of the Owen Ramsey. I almost wished the town wasn’t growing like weeds. If we were in the bar with the people we grew up with, no one here would care much that Owen was back in Ashfield. They’d be more concerned that we were seated together.
Just that thought left me snickering. I covered my mouth with my hand but didn’t miss the way Owen’s eyes followed the movement.
“Maybe. Can I ask you something?”
“Uh, sure?” I cocked my head in intrigue.
“I watched you walk in—”
“Stalker much?”
Owen mimicked my head tilt, and continued, “I watched you walk in, and you seemed like you wanted to be anywhere else. Why is that?”
Pausing, I looked over at Jenna to find her even deeper in conversation with the man.
I leaned forward and rested my arms on the table, clasping both hands around my cold glass. “This isn’t really my scene. Not that there’s anything wrong with socializing at the local watering hole, but for me, I’m usually in bed in about an hour. Ugh. Just thinking about how tired I’m going to be tomorrow makes my eyes hurt.”
Swigging his drink, Owen then mirrored my stance, his own glass wrapped between his large hands. “First off, no one uses the term ‘watering hole.’ We’re not in a Western film. Second, you should take some time to get out every once in a while. I’m sure the farm will survive without you for a day or two.”
He was making the same observation as Dean, yet it irked me to hear it from Owen. Especially since he had no clue about the plans I was drawing up for his family’s property.
“We have some workers that live in town, but my dad and I are still very hands-on. And I wouldn’t change anything. I love it.”
“Do you though? Seems really lonely, if you ask me.”
Well, shit. I didn’t know how to respond to that, because Owen was absolutely right. Besides Jenna, I had no real friends, no actual relationships. My life had always been set to take over the farm. Everything else was unnecessary. Until Owen pointed it out, I hadn't realized how lonely I truly was.
But I could fix that. It was what drove me to meet up with Jenna in the first place. Did I need a relationship? No. Would it be nice? Sure. But what I sought was intimacy. I was a twenty-four-year-old virgin who had barely done more than kiss, aside from the single blowjob I’d given. There were teens who saw more action than I have. I knew for a fact that Jenna lost her virginity to Carl Southland at sixteen. I hadn’t been jealous then, but I was now.
As a distraction, I gazed over at Tryston, who was bent over the pool table, his backside in my direction. Of course, he was showing a woman—one who’d propositioned Owen—how to line up a shot. She was pressed against him, and I instantly felt envious. Not of her flirting with Tryston, but of her confidence. I lacked that in spades.
I was too lost in my own world that I missed Owen following my stare, until he asked, “Who are we looking at?”
“We’re not,” I immediately corrected.
“My guess is the taller one. He seems like your type.”
My gaze shooting to Owen, I asked, “What makes you say that?”
“Just taking a guess. Since you work outside most of the day, I assumed you probably want someone stable enough in their own career. The suit looks that way. Of course, I don’t know who wears a suit to a bar on the weekend.”
“He’s a lawyer, and their practice is open seven days a week. Farmers aren’t the only ones who have crazy schedules.”
The corner of Owen’s mouth tips upward, and he leans back in victory. “Yet he seems to make time to go out and pick up a woman or two.”
“Touché.”
“So, why aren’t you over there talking to him?”
Sighing, I swirl my fingers through the condensation on the glass. “I don’t know. I just…. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“What do you mean?”
My fingers continue their wet path along the glass, creating images in the moisture. “I just….”
