I can’t contain the laughter that bubbles out of me, and when his grin grows, my girlie parts cry out for him. He winks and then heads off, like…like… I don’t even know like what, because what in the actual hell is happening here? Why is he being nice to me?
Damn it, I love it.
I shake my head, surprised by how hard I’m smiling. I watch the TV as I wait to eat with Owen. I nurse my vodka, thanking it for keeping me calm through all his smiles and quick wit. I’m not sure what is going on, but I’m enjoying myself immensely. I’m struggling waiting for Owen since I’m starving, but when I glance at my veggies, one carrot is looking extra juicy. It’s only one carrot, so I grab my fork, stabbing it, just as someone taps my shoulder. I look over to see a girl, probably my age and gorgeous. She’s tall, blond hair, big boobs, and a rocking body. Behind her is a table of girls who look just like her, and they’re all watching too.
“Hey,” she says sweetly, and I smile back politely.
“Hey?”
“Sorry to bother you, but is that your brother?”
I blink. I then realize what she is asking and hook my thumb to where Owen was sitting. “Who, the guy sitting here? No, that’s my friend.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. Very intrusively, she asks, “Boyfriend?”
I laugh. “No, just a friend. We grew up together.”
She nods. “Oh, okay. I was just wondering. He looks like Owen Adler from the IceCats.”
I don’t react. I shrug. Does she really expect me to tell her if it’s him? I’m his friend…ish. Kinda. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
She eyes me before she walks back to her table, and I look away, but unfortunately, I have hearing like a barn owl. To her friends, she says, “She wouldn’t admit it’s him, but I knew he wouldn’t be here with someone like her. They’re just old friends.”
I press my lips together, and I want to get mad. I want to tell her to go suck my ass or worse. Then I want to cry. I was having so much fun. I was enjoying his attention and our banter, but of course, it was short-lived.
Because like she said, Owen Adler wouldn’t be here with someone like me.
Someone fat.
We’re not even friends.
Chapter Nine
Owen
* * *
After washing my hands, I look up in the mirror to find myself truly grinning for the first time in weeks. Paxy doesn’t want to like me, but she does. I know she does. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to get involved with someone I grew up with, especially since I know her dad is a slight bit overprotective—and she has three huge uncles who are also very overprotective—but I feel good. I feel normal sitting with her. I don’t feel alone or lacking. I’m having fun and enjoying life. I like the way that makes me feel.
Before I can head out, my phone rings. It’s Evan.
“Hey, bro. What’s up?”
“Nothing, just checking in. Where are you?”
“At the GreenEar Pub,” I say, going out the door. “Getting some second dinner.”
“Didn’t like the food at Amelia’s?”
“No, wasn’t good.”
“Well, GreenEar is the best. I love the pickles there.”
“Right? They’re so good.” I head to the end of the hall where the bathrooms were and look out into the dining room. My eyes immediately fall on Angie. She has her dark hair up in a messy bun but with braids on the side that lead up into the bun. Her bangs are full, covering parts of her dark-rimmed glasses, giving her a naughty librarian look. She’s wearing her scrubs, and man, red looks fantastic on her. “Bet you’ll never guess who I’m with.”
“You’re with someone?”
“Not intentionally, but yes. Paxy.”
He scoffs. “Paxy is eating dinner with you?”
“I didn’t really give her a choice. I sat beside her and made her talk to me.”
He laughs. “I bet she’s loving that.”
“Um, she is,” I insist.
“Highly doubtful. She hates you.”
“Nope, she’s into me.”
He mocks. “Okay, and you’re into her?”
“You know I am.”
“I thought that crush ended a long time ago.”
“Dude, have you seen her? No way that crush is gone.”
Evan laughs. “All right. Just don’t play with her feelings.”
“I won’t. But let me tell you, I want to play with that body,” I say before sucking my teeth, much to his dismay. “She’s all thick and wearing the color of a candy apple. I want to take a bite.”
“I honestly just gagged. Please stop.”
I chuckle. “I’m going to get her.”
“Good luck. It’ll take a lot of work. She’s not a victim of the Owen charm.”
“I know this,” I announce. “We’re getting along great. Loads of easy talking. I actually told her about how Mom makes everyone eat clean at the house and I’m glad I can eat whatever I want now.”
Evan taunts. “I’ve gained five pounds. Mom lets me eat whatever.”
I glare, though he can’t see me. “How does it feel to be the favorite?” His laughter makes me smile and miss him so much. But then I watch as a girl from a table behind where we are sitting comes up to Paxy. She says something, Paxy jerks her thumb behind her, and then the girl says something else. The girl walks away, and I watch as Angie’s shoulders fall. The table of girls starts to laugh, all nodding, and I’m wondering what’s going on.
“Pretty damn great.”
“Huh?”
“You asked how it felt to be the favorite,” he reminds me, and I shake my head.
“My bad. Hey, let me let you go. Call you tomorrow.”
“Jesus. Don’t be an idiot.”
I hang up and tuck my phone into my back pocket as I head to the bar where Angie waits. The girls from the table behind us watch me, and I can tell they recognize me. Pretty sure they’re what my dad would call “child support.” I have yet to meet a good puck bunny who isn’t trying to get knocked up. I sit down and reach for my fork. I notice Paxy hasn’t started eating. “You didn’t need to wait for me.”
She shrugs. “Just trying to be polite.”
“Well, thanks. Sorry I took so long. Evan called.”
She doesn’t touch her fork. “How’s he doing?”
“Apparently he’s gained five pounds ’cause my mom is allowing him to eat whatever he wants.”
“Lucky.”
“That’s what I said,” I joke as I dig in. “So, ready to dive into our discussion?” I can tell something is off, and before she can answer me, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t look at me. “Nothing. Lost my appetite.”
I make a face. “I would too if that’s all I had. Here,” I say, taking some of my pasta and putting it on her plate.
She looks at it and then the plate. “I don’t need pasta.”
“Oh, you need extra sauce?” I ask, handing her the little bowl of extra I ordered.