I should’ve probably worried he’d pull some stupid prank with garlic or fish breath, but even then, his kiss would’ve been better than any of the ones I had before.
I’d just turned around at the entrance after depositing my bag on the small console table, when Owen stepped inside. He mumbled a few unintelligible words, and then his body was pressed against mine.
My arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as his hands came up to cup my face. His thumbs pressed against my jawline, tilting my head in whichever direction he craved.
I rocked against him as his tongue swirled with mine, feeling the bulge in his pants against my stomach.
“Owen,” I whimpered, needing more of… something. Needing to be closer to him.
His lips left my mouth but trailed down toward my jaw and then neck as his hands skimmed over my body, landing on my backside. He squeezed the globes, and before I knew it, he hoisted me into the air. My back landed against the wall as I wrapped my legs around his waist.
I groaned as my center rubbed the zipper of his pants.
“Ah, fuck, cricket,” he moaned as he pinned my body against the wall with his hips. One of his hands reached under my skirt and cupped my thin-cotton-clad ass, while the other slipped under my shirt and palmed my breast covered in a soft but plain bra. Even with our clothing still on, I could feel the heat from his skin penetrating the material. “Damn, you feel good.”
His lips were back on mine, exactly where I needed him, as he trailed a finger just inside the elastic of my panties. He skimmed just close enough to tease my center, never giving me what I desired.
My fingers clawed at his hair, seeking a way to pull him closer. His body still felt too far away, though a piece of paper wouldn’t fit between us.
“I need more, Owen. Please,” I begged.
I could feel myself growing wetter with each passing second. I’d never wanted more than a kiss or some light petting with a man before. Not until now. Not until Owen.
His hips rocked into me once more before he pulled back and settled me on my feet.
“Aspen,” he hissed as he reached down and adjusted the bulge in his pants. It had to be uncomfortable confined behind the zipper and waistband. “I… need to go.”
“Are you sure?” I whispered, unwilling to believe there was a man alive who was willing to stop when a woman’s body begged for so much more.
“Yeah. I don’t think me staying here tonight is the best idea.”
He was right. I knew he was, but my ego took a hit, regardless.
“Okay.”
He paused at the doorway, then left without a backward glance. I didn’t even care enough to turn the outside lights back on—I’d go without the motion sensor for one night. It would leave me and my scorned self hidden in the shadows, where I felt at home.
I tried not to shed a tear as I got ready for bed. They didn’t need to be wasted on Owen and my inability to experience anything further than kissing tonight.
Owen was sweet and attentive the entire evening, but just like every other relationship I’d been in, we never made it farther than second base. There was one singular time I gave Tony DiComaro a blowjob the summer after high school graduation, but for me personally, I’d never felt anything past second base. Which was hilarious in my mind, since Owen played shortstop for the Coyotes. It was like he had been subliminally blocking me since childhood.
If this had been a lifelong prank, Owen definitely had the one-up. Now, I just had to figure out how to pay him back.
***
I made it five days before I saw Owen again. I tried to stay on the farm, and when I had to venture out, I did my best to steer clear of everyone.
My mom had already harassed me about the rumors involving me and Owen. Someone embellished the dating rumor so much that the town of Ashfield thought we were engaged to be married. Thankfully, that gossip hadn’t made its way to the magazines… yet.
I didn’t pride myself on the fact that the last time I was at Chuck’s Grocery, I grabbed the few tabloids that had a grainy picture of Owen and me alongside a picture of his distraught ex-fiancée. She was playing the role of an innocent victim.
I wondered if Owen had seen the articles yet, but I didn’t want to reach out to him. I couldn’t. Everything that happened Tuesday night left me embarrassed. I wasn’t even sure I could follow through with our charade any longer. I could hide at my farm, but Owen had to go back to that life. And if Vanessa was going to play the casualty of their botched wedding, then it was only going to get worse for him.
The magazines sat in a stack on my coffee table, staring at me every time I walked into my living room. Vanessa’s watery eyes focused on me everywhere I went. It was like living in my own haunted house.
A knock sounded on the door just as I stepped out of the shower. I spent the weekend mucking the cattle stalls, and surprisingly, Carrie gave me no issues. It was the first time in history.
Wrapped in a towel, I went to answer the door, surprised to find Andrew on the other side of it. A part of me wished it was Owen, but seeing my half-brother was a much-happier shock.
“Andrew! What are you doing here?” I exclaimed as I hugged him with one arm and held my towel together with the other.
“Just returned from California and Florida. Man, I’m beat,” he said as he crashed onto my couch. “Maybe I’ll stay here tonight. Traveling is exhausting.”
Chuckling, I added, “Especially at your age.” Andrew had just turned forty-two. Not old by any sense of the word, but he’d been single as far back as I could remember.
“You’re hilarious. I’m thinking of cutting back. Talking to Dad about hiring someone to handle contracts. It’s just… a lot.”
Sighing in desolation, I shifted my towel tighter. “Yeah, I could see that.” I mentally added one more thing to my massively overfilled plate.
“You want a drink while I get dressed? I have a beer or two, I think.”
“Sure, that sounds good, snowflake.”
Andrew called me snowflake since I was born as platinum-blonde “towhead” in the middle of a snowstorm. He was eighteen years older than me, but he was the sibling I was closest to. And probably the only one who understood the pressure of taking over the farm.
As I dashed up to the loft to change, I shouted down to him, “I wanted to talk to you about the farm, actually.”
Struggling to pull my jeans up my slick legs, I hobbled around, knocking into my dresser a few times as I explained my thoughts on hiring more staff and freeing up my time. The night out with Owen and Jenna transformed something inside me. It was like I saw a movie playing in fast-forward, and it was my entire life… spent on the farm. I wanted more than that.
