I roll over onto my back and slowly inhale a choppy breath before reaching for my phone, hoping that mindlessly scrolling will distract me.
Before I open my apps, I check a few text messages that I got this morning.
Gosh, how is it almost noon?
I must have been in high school the last time I slept in this late.
My stomach drops when I notice that I have no missed calls or texts from Owen. I definitely didn’t expect him to come and knock on my door, but I thought that he might at least send a text.
A simple,“You awake?”
“You good?”
“Alive?”
He’s probably just asleep or giving me space.
Or maybe he just hates you now and is doing his best to forget last night ever happened.
Ugh… the silence is worse than my thoughts.
Just as I’m contemplating dragging myself out of bed and walking over to Owen’s room to get this over with, a light knock sounds from my door.
Every muscle in my body freezes.
A louder, second knock comes next.
Dressed in nothing but a pair of skimpy panties and an oversized t-shirt, I reach down and quickly pull the comforter up my bare legs.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to tame the tangled mess and rub beneath my eyes to wipe away the leftover mascara that I’m sure is smeared all over my face.
I don’t need a mirror to know that I look like a complete wreck right now.
My shoulders jump when the third knock comes.
Knowing Owen, hewillcome in here eventually, whether I answer or not.
I sit up against the headboard and clear my throat.
“Come in,” I call out, my voice raspy.
My pulse pounds against my neck as the handle turns and the door creaks open.
The second I see Owen, my lungs draw in a breath of fresh air. Even though I’m so pent up with anxiety, the sight of him manages to calm my bones.
Dang, he looks good.
How does he look this good?
After all the drinking we did yesterday, I feel like I got hit by a truck and then dragged behind it for miles. But Owen? He looks freaking flawless. Like a Disney prince.
His honey-brown hair is pushed back, slightly messy from the ocean breeze. He’s clearly been outside today. He’s wearing a faded blue t-shirt that clings to his tan arms, his sunglasses hooked casually into the collar. Board shorts hang low on his waist—hips that I got way too comfortable with last night.
He looks like a ray of sunshine. He fits in so perfectly here.
If we weren’t from Chicago, I’d swear I’d think he was some local surfer dude who’s spent his whole childhood on the waves.
My gaze lowers to his hands, and my chest constricts.
