“Here you go.” The cook hands over our bowls and we go to the register to pay, Owen taking care of everything. I stand behind him, declining when he asks if I want a soda.

I want to run and hide. My appetite has left me, and that never, ever happens when I come here.

When we finally sit at a small table near the back of the restaurant, Owen leans toward me, his expression earnest and full of regret. “Hey, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I just … I’m trying to be better. It’s hard, you know?”

No, not really, but I’m not going to hold it against him. “Apology accepted,” I say, grabbing my fork and stabbing it into the steaming-hot bowl of food. “I have no business judging. I’m only … watching out for you.”

“I know.” He sighs. “You sound like my sister.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good thing.” His gaze meets mine, warm and green, and I forget everything else. He’s all I can focus on. “You’d like her.”

“Tell me about her.” I’d rather direct the conversation so he does all the talking and I do all the listening.

I don’t want him to ask personal questions. The last person I want to talk about is Dad. Or Mom, for that matter.

“Fable is five years older than me. She’s married and she just had a baby.”

Such an unusual name, Fable. Makes me wish I knew the story behind it. Because you know there’s a story. “Right. I saw the picture and you told me about the baby. Is it a girl or a boy?”

“A girl. Her name is Autumn.”

“Ah, that’s so sweet.”

We talk as we devour our food, my appetite back in full force once I caught a whiff of the delicious, mouth-watering scent wafting up from my bowl. Owen tells me about growing up here, that his sister means everything to him, and the influence her husband had on his early teen years.

He doesn’t mention his parents once. He doesn’t seem to even know who his dad is, but what about his mom? Where is she in this picture? Did she ditch her children? Was she always working? She’s a mystery, and I find it weird that he never talks about her.

Of course, I never talk about my father, so who am I to question him? Our first date isn’t the place for me to divulge to Owen all about the convicted felon who just so happens to be the man who raised me.

“What about you?” he asks, knocking me out of my thoughts. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Uh-oh. Here come the personal questions. “No,” I say, shaking my head.

“You’re an only child?”

“Yes.”

He studies me, his gaze narrow, trying to figure me out, I’m sure. “You don’t like talking about your family?”

I shrug. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Hey. I get it,” he says softly, then takes a sip of his soda.

And that’s it. He doesn’t press, doesn’t ask for more. I almost want to collapse with relief. He makes me feel so wonderfully normal.

“So you never did tell me how it was,” Owen says as he pushes his empty bowl away from him. For someone who’s as fit as he is, he can certainly pack it away.

“How what was?” I’m stuffed. I did my best to finish everything but as usual, my eyes were bigger than my stomach and my bowl is still practically half full.

“Your dinner. With the magical, crazy I’ve-never-tried-this-before sauce.” He smiles.

“Oh.” Crap. I almost hate admitting how delicious it was. “It was all right.”

“Uh-huh. You didn’t finish it.” He nods toward my bowl.

“I’m full. I guess I don’t have a big appetite like you do.” I wave my hand toward his very empty bowl.

“Hmm.” He snatches up my bowl and takes a bite that consists mostly of noodles. The look of pleasure that crosses his face is unmistakable. “Damn, this is good. Better than mine.”

“Give me a break. I pretty much copied you.” I roll my eyes.

He laughs and continues to eat my dinner. Where does it all go? “Maybe you have the special touch. Because this shit is amazing.”

I watch, enraptured with everything about him. He laughs and talks and eats like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but I know that’s somewhat of a façade. What Owen wants all of the world to see. There’s more beneath the surface. I can sense it, have seen glimmers of it, though he’s pretty secretive.

But then again, so am I.

My gaze drops to his lips, and I see the tiny bit of mushroom clinging to the corner. “You have something right there. On the corner of your mouth.” I point right at his face and he smirks, a sexy glow lighting his eyes as he studies me.

“Yeah? Maybe you should lick it off, then,” he suggests.

Now I’m really shocked. “Are you serious?”

He tilts his head. Doesn’t bother removing the bit of vegetable hanging off his lip and I swear it’s taunting me. Just begging me to lean over the small table and lick the corner of his mouth. “What do you think?” he asks.

“No. You’re definitely not serious.” There’s just … no way.

“What if I told you yes, I was?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

Owen

Well, she should believe me because I’m dead-ass serious. We’ve been going in circles all night. Dinner was good, though it got tense at one point with the pot talk. But that quickly became a non-issue and I actually talked to her. Told her a little about my private life, and I never do that. I’m not one to open up, especially with girls.

She hardly said anything. I’d try to ask her a question and she’d deflect it with another. Or she’d give me those bogus one-word answers. I thought I was secretive. This girl won’t give an inch, no matter how subtle my questions, or how blatant. No information about her family, where she’s from, nothing. I figured out she’s from the Bay Area and that’s about it.

I want to know more.

We’ve been flirting, having fun. I like giving her shit for going out on a limb and breaking a rule here and there. She’s so damn orderly and in control, she needs to learn how to let loose. Be free. I might be a little too free sometimes, but that’s better than being so rigid you don’t know how to enjoy life.

I think Chelsea’s been on such a tight schedule of studying, working, then studying some more, she doesn’t know how to relax. And I want to help her. I want her to relax.

With me.

Since I know there’s no way in hell Chelsea’s going to lick my freaking face in the middle of a restaurant, I’m ready to go. Take her for a drive and kiss her in the quiet confines of my car. Wade’s home tonight and has a few friends with him. I bet Des is there, too. They’re probably drunk as fuck or worse, high as kites.

Forget that shit. I need to avoid it.

I grab a napkin and wipe the mushroom off my face, ending that little discussion. I’m over it. It’s time to kick this date into the next level. “You ready to go?”

Chelsea nods and tosses her napkin on the table before she stands, her purse slung over her bare shoulder since that sexy-as-hell sweater slipped again. She did something to her hair between the time I saw her at school and picking her up at her place. Gorgeous waves that fall past her shoulders tempt me to run my fingers through her silky hair. Cup the back of her neck and draw her in close. So close our lips are almost touching but not quite. I want to breathe her breath, anticipate the kiss for long, trembling seconds before I finally move in and close the deal.

I have never been patient. If I’m interested in a girl, I go for it. There’s no holding back. But with Chelsea, I’m taking it slow. I’m afraid I’ll scare her.

More than anything, I’m scared I’ll somehow fuck it up. I … like her. A lot. I actually want to spend time with her, and that’s not normal for me.

At all.

I follow her out of the restaurant, resting my hand on her lower back when we walk outside. She’s warm, even through the thick fabric of her sweater, and I slip my hand down slightly, wishing I could slide it over her backside.

But I wait.

The night air is cold and misty; a high, thin fog has settled in, and little sparkles of moisture dot her hair by the time we end up at my car. I open the door for her, feeling all gentlemanly for once in my life, but then all thoughts of being a gentleman fade as I study her ass when she slides into the passenger seat.

Get it together, Maguire, I tell myself as I round the front of my car and open the driver’s door, slipping inside.

“Where to now?” she asks, chewing on her lip in that nervous way she has as she reaches for the seat belt.

“Can’t go to my place unless you want to deal with Wade, and most likely Des.” I start the car and let the engine idle. “They’re both there, and I’m sure other people are over, too.” They can’t ever be alone. Always got to turn everything into a party.

“Oh.” More chewing of the lip. Poor thing. I should probably kiss it and make it better. “My roommate’s home and I think she was having her new so-called boyfriend over, so that probably won’t work.”

“So-called boyfriend?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a casual thing that I think she wants to make serious.”

“Ah.” Sounds familiar. I’ve been that guy not willing to make it serious.

I’ve never been in a real relationship, ever. Mom screwed me up in that regard. Though seeing Drew and Fable through the years made me realize that a solid love can last, I’m still full of doubt.

Insecurities. I’m a mess. What girl would really want to deal with me? What with my mommy issues and minor drug problem, I’m no prize.

“Since we can’t go home, want to go for a drive?” I ask her.

She turns her body toward mine, her scent wafting in the air, making me inhale as discreetly as possible. “Where to?”