Swallowing down another mouthful of wine, I set the glass back on the table and tell myself it should stay there the rest of the meal.
“This is amazing,” I tell Owen after I’ve taken a few bites of my pasta. “It tastes just like something I’d order back in the city.”
“Do you miss it?” he asks.
“The pasta? Or the city?”
“Both.”
“If I can have this at least once a week,” I start, using my fork to point to the food on my plate. “Then no, I wouldn’t miss the pasta. And the city…not at all. It wasn’t for me. I’m not a city person.”
“No, you’re not. Though I suppose you get more cases and more interesting ones in the city as opposed to here.”
“Oh, for sure. It’s a lot faster paced and so much more competitive there too. I kind of miss that, but the city can be hard to live in. Not everyone is terrible like some movies make it out to seem, but I did work with a few of the most entitled, stuck-up people I’ve ever met.”
Todd included.
“You’re home now. You can breathe easy.”
I take another bite of pasta and nod. “So, other than the bar, what else have you been up to these last few years?”
“That’s pretty much it. We put a lot into Getaway to get it started, and then again recently to turn it into more of a bar and grill instead of just a bar.”
I nod, feeling like this conversation is contrived and I’m pretty sure I’ve already asked him this.
“How is it at home with everyone under one roof?”
I reach for my wine again. “It’s a struggle, and I feel bad saying that.”
“Why do you feel bad?”
“It reminds me how privileged I am when I’m complaining about how hard it is to live in my parents’ three-thousand-square-foot house with clean water, air conditioning, and a fully stocked fridge.”
“Good point. But you’re allowed to recognize that it’s not easy as well. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“Yeah, I know. I still feel bad complaining about it, though.”
“You could just stay here and you won’t have to feel bad,” he suggests.
I cock an eyebrow. “Nice try.”
“I really don’t see the harm in it. I have no dogs to terrorize your cat. And my bedroom is down the hall so when you change your mind in the middle of the night, I’m only a few yards away.”
“I’m not changing my mind. Been there, done that fully applies to us, Owen. It was fun while it lasted, but it’s over.”
“It can start again.” He leans forward, dropping his eyes to my cleavage. “Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”
I swallow hard and somehow that damn glass of wine ends up in my hands again. “Miss what?”
Smirking, he runs his eyes over me, and I know I just asked the worst possible question. The next best thing to having sex with Owen is hearing him describe it to me.
“You think I haven’t enjoyed sex since we’ve been together?” I blurt and take another gulp of wine. “I have. Multiple times.”
“And I have too. Many, many times. Yet no one compares to you, Charlie.”
Dammit, Owen. I glare at my wine, which is almost empty, and set it back down. Owen refills my glass, and my body is reacting to memories of him. Owen was my first and only for so long. It took me a long time to get back into the dating world after we broke up, and my next sexual encounter is something I actively work to repress.
My friends convinced me a one-night stand was all I needed to get Owen off my mind. So we went out, I got drunk, and I went home with someone. The sex was good, but once I sobered up and realized what I did, I was totally that girl who cried after sex.
“Tell me then, was Todd as good as me?” Owen’s top teeth sink into his bottom lip for just half a second. It’s playful and sexy, and I honestly don’t know if he’s aware of exactly what he’s doing or not.
“He was good enough for me to accept his marriage proposal,” I retort, and the words fall flat. Dammit. It sounded much better in my head. I shove a forkful of pasta in my mouth to keep me from saying anything more.
Todd and I had a good sex life at first. Kind of. There was a lot of pounding and him fumbling around my vagina, not quite able to find my clit without me guiding his fingers. And then he’d rub it too hard or too fast, but hey, he got the job done most of the time.
“I suppose I should apologize,” Owen goes on, and that cocky grin shouldn’t turn me on like this. “I set you up for disappointment.”