Yikes. What in the world is wrong with me, thinking like this?
“So who’s your guest to our fancy party? She’s pretty.” Des smiles brilliantly at me. He’s cute. Dark hair cropped close to his head, warm brown eyes that are rimmed with red from the joint-smoking.
Probably that cloud of smoke that still hovers above him is why he doesn’t recognize me.
“Uh, this is Chelsea.” That’s all Owen says. Waves a hand at me like I don’t matter, which hurts a little, but I push past it. I guess he’s trying to not make this a big deal and I can’t blame him. I’m just his tutor. I’m not important to him.
“Hi.” I smile at Des, then cast a more wary smile in the blonde’s direction.
“This is Marcy.” Des shoots the blonde a lusty gaze, which she returns with gusto. “We just met. But we’re already old f**king friends, right, Marcy?” She doesn’t respond.
“Awesome,” Owen mutters with a jerky shake of his head. “We just stopped by to get my keys. I need to take Chelsea home.”
“Don’t go home, not yet! The party just started. Have a beer, smoke a bowl, f**king relax. Or maybe get relaxed by f**king around for a little bit. Whatever.” Des laughs when Owen shoots him a disgusted look. “Man, since when did you turn into such a downer?”
Owen doesn’t reply. I feel like things are being said without words and I’m not catching on. Not that I would. I don’t know anything about Owen beyond his school file and what little information I’ve gleaned since meeting him.
We leave the porch and head into the house, which is filled with smoke, lots of people, and loud music. The kitchen is especially packed as they all drink beer either from cans or the infamous red cups. There’s a keg on the dining room table, and I wonder just how spontaneous this party was.
Considering I have zero experience with keggers, I have no idea how easy it is to obtain kegs of beer.
Everyone in the room seems to look at me like they wonder where I came from, not that I can blame them. They don’t know me. I’m sure they all know Owen. They’re in his house, after all. And I’m just some silly girl pretending that she knows what it’s like to be young and easy and carefree.
The girls glare. The guys stare. I feel like I’m on display, that Owen is lord and master of the house and if they could, they’d all bow to him and thank him for finally coming home.
Heaving out a big sigh, I push past my dramatic thoughts and keep close to Owen, not wanting to lose him since the deeper we get into the house, the more crowded it becomes. When he grabs hold of my hand and yanks me close, I literally gasp, surprised that he’s actually touching me. His fingers curl around mine and I try to ignore the reaction that pulses through me from his touch, but I can’t. I swear my knees just went weak.
He pulls me closer and I feel as though I’m going to die. I can smell him, autumn and sweat and the slightly stale scent of working in a restaurant for hours on end. “My keys are in my room,” he yells into my ear. The music in the house is deafening. “Just keep close—we’ll grab them and then we’re out of here.”
I nod and give him a smile, which he returns. The sight of it makes my heart go pitter-patter and I try to ignore it. This crush I have on my freaking student is so not appropriate.
Owen entwines our fingers and leads me through the crowd and down the short, dark hall, stopping at the door at the very end. He pushes it open and glances around, probably checking to see if anyone’s in there, and then he’s walking inside, leaving me no choice but to follow him since he’s still holding my hand.
Disentangling myself from his grip, I look around, trying to take it all in while Owen goes in search of his keys. His walls are blank. The furniture is nondescript though the bed is massive, covered in brick-red sheets and nothing else. I take a step back from it, suddenly nervous. How many girls has he brought to his bedroom before me?
Ugh. No way do I want to think about that number.
I’m all alone with Owen in his bedroom. If I were bolder, I’d try to make a move. It’s the perfect opportunity to at least try and kiss him. Though I have no idea if he’d be responsive. I don’t think he’s that into me. He’s just being nice. Probably felt sorry for his poor tutor when he saw her getting harassed out in front of his workplace.
“Shit,” he grumbles as he kneels down and starts digging through a pile of clothes that sit on an overstuffed chair. “I always lose my keys.”
“Want some help?” I offer, because I’m a nice girl and I always offer help to someone in need.
If I could roll my eyes at myself right now, I so would.
“I’m good. They’re probably in a pocket in my jeans. That’s where I usually find them.”
I go to his dresser and check it out. There’s a mirror, a jar full of quarters, and a shallow dish full of miscellaneous change. There’s also a lighter, a discarded, faded dollar bill, and a picture in a frame. I pick it up and study it. It’s a photo of a really pretty girl with blond hair and the same green eyes as Owen. She’s wearing a wedding dress and smiling for the camera, her arm slung around Owen’s shoulders. He’s also looking at the camera, a big grin on his face that makes my breath catch. The guy who I can only assume is her groom is looking at the bride like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
It’s a wonderful photo, full of love and joy. I can only assume the girl is Owen’s sister, since they share a lot of the same features. And the guy is vaguely familiar.