inside Hannah.”
Harrison spins around, wide-eyed. I shrug off my insult and he laughs before returning his attention to my drink. When he’s finished making it, he sets it on the bar in front of me. I begin to frown, but he reaches to his right, plucks an umbrella out of a jar, and places it in the drink. “See how you like this one.”
I bring the margarita to my lips and lick the salt off first, then take a sip. My eyes light up, because this is so much better than the shit Owen ordered for me. I nod and motion for him to go ahead and make me another one.
“Why don’t you finish that one first,” he suggests.
“Another one,” I say, wiping my mouth. “It’s my birthday and I’m a responsible adult who wants two drinks.”
His shoulders rise with his intake of breath and he shakes his head, but he does what I ask. Which is a good thing, because as soon as he finishes making my second one, I’m ordering a third one. Because I can. Because it’s my birthday and I’m all alone, and Portland is way on top of the country and I’m way down here, all the way at the bottom, and Owen Mason Gentry is a huge asshole !
And Lydia is a bitch.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Owen
T here’s someone here who belongs to you.”
It takes me a few seconds to adjust to the middle-of-the-night phone call. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. “Harrison?”
“You’re asleep?” He sounds shocked. “It’s not even one in the morning.”
I swing my legs to the side of the bed and press my palm to my forehead. “Been a rough week. Haven’t slept much.” I stand up and look for my jeans. “Why are you calling?”
There’s a pause and I hear a clatter come from his end of the line. “No! You can’t touch that! Sit down!”
I pull the phone away from my ear to salvage my eardrum. “Owen, you better get your ass over here. I close in fifteen minutes and she doesn’t take last call well.”
“What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?”
And then it hits me.
Auburn.
“Shit. I’ll be right there.”
Harrison hangs up without saying good-bye and I’m pulling a T-shirt over my head as I make my way downstairs.
Why are you there, Auburn? And why are you there alone?
I make it to the front door and kick a few of the confessions that have piled in front of it out of the way. I average about ten most weekdays, but the downtown traffic triples the number on Saturdays. I usually throw them all in a pile until I’m ready to begin a new painting before I read them, but one of the confessions on the floor catches my eye. I notice it because it has my name on it, so I pick it up.
I met this really great guy three weeks ago. He taught me how to dance, reminded me of what it feels like to flirt, walked me home, made me smile, and then YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, OWEN!
PS: Your initials are so stupid.
The confessions are supposed to be anonymous, Auburn. This isn’t anonymous. As much as I want to laugh, her confession also reminds me of how much I let her down and how I’m probably the last person she wants to see come rescue her from a bar.
I walk across the street anyway and open the door, immediately searching for her. Harrison notices me approaching and nods his head toward the restroom. “She’s hiding from you.”
I grip the back of my neck and look in the direction of the restrooms. “What’s she doing here?”
Harrison lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Celebrating her birthday, I guess.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Could I feel any more like shit?
“It’s her birthday?” I begin making my way toward the bathroom. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“She made me swear I wouldn’t.”
I knock on the restroom door but get no response. I slowly push it open and immediately see her feet protruding from the last stall.
Shit, Auburn.
I rush to where she is but stop just as fast when I see she isn’t passed out. In fact, she’s wide awake. She looks a little too comfortable for someone sprawled out
Harrison spins around, wide-eyed. I shrug off my insult and he laughs before returning his attention to my drink. When he’s finished making it, he sets it on the bar in front of me. I begin to frown, but he reaches to his right, plucks an umbrella out of a jar, and places it in the drink. “See how you like this one.”
I bring the margarita to my lips and lick the salt off first, then take a sip. My eyes light up, because this is so much better than the shit Owen ordered for me. I nod and motion for him to go ahead and make me another one.
“Why don’t you finish that one first,” he suggests.
“Another one,” I say, wiping my mouth. “It’s my birthday and I’m a responsible adult who wants two drinks.”
His shoulders rise with his intake of breath and he shakes his head, but he does what I ask. Which is a good thing, because as soon as he finishes making my second one, I’m ordering a third one. Because I can. Because it’s my birthday and I’m all alone, and Portland is way on top of the country and I’m way down here, all the way at the bottom, and Owen Mason Gentry is a huge asshole !
And Lydia is a bitch.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Owen
T here’s someone here who belongs to you.”
It takes me a few seconds to adjust to the middle-of-the-night phone call. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. “Harrison?”
“You’re asleep?” He sounds shocked. “It’s not even one in the morning.”
I swing my legs to the side of the bed and press my palm to my forehead. “Been a rough week. Haven’t slept much.” I stand up and look for my jeans. “Why are you calling?”
There’s a pause and I hear a clatter come from his end of the line. “No! You can’t touch that! Sit down!”
I pull the phone away from my ear to salvage my eardrum. “Owen, you better get your ass over here. I close in fifteen minutes and she doesn’t take last call well.”
“What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?”
And then it hits me.
Auburn.
“Shit. I’ll be right there.”
Harrison hangs up without saying good-bye and I’m pulling a T-shirt over my head as I make my way downstairs.
Why are you there, Auburn? And why are you there alone?
I make it to the front door and kick a few of the confessions that have piled in front of it out of the way. I average about ten most weekdays, but the downtown traffic triples the number on Saturdays. I usually throw them all in a pile until I’m ready to begin a new painting before I read them, but one of the confessions on the floor catches my eye. I notice it because it has my name on it, so I pick it up.
I met this really great guy three weeks ago. He taught me how to dance, reminded me of what it feels like to flirt, walked me home, made me smile, and then YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, OWEN!
PS: Your initials are so stupid.
The confessions are supposed to be anonymous, Auburn. This isn’t anonymous. As much as I want to laugh, her confession also reminds me of how much I let her down and how I’m probably the last person she wants to see come rescue her from a bar.
I walk across the street anyway and open the door, immediately searching for her. Harrison notices me approaching and nods his head toward the restroom. “She’s hiding from you.”
I grip the back of my neck and look in the direction of the restrooms. “What’s she doing here?”
Harrison lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Celebrating her birthday, I guess.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Could I feel any more like shit?
“It’s her birthday?” I begin making my way toward the bathroom. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“She made me swear I wouldn’t.”
I knock on the restroom door but get no response. I slowly push it open and immediately see her feet protruding from the last stall.
Shit, Auburn.
I rush to where she is but stop just as fast when I see she isn’t passed out. In fact, she’s wide awake. She looks a little too comfortable for someone sprawled out
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