Page 71 of Edged
“That’s what friends are for, asshole.”
He hung up on me.
I set the phone down on the arm of the chair and stretched my legs out, crossing them at the ankle. It was amazing how fast the sun moved in the morning. How many times had I sat out here alone and watched the sunrise, thinking about the man who was currently dead to the world in my bed? More times than I’d ever be able to count, but I didn’t think I’d ever thought about him being in my actual bed. Whenever I thought about Owen, I had imagined us a completely different life where we were both other—better—versions of ourselves. I had no idea where we lived or what we liked, but we loved each other and that was always enough.
Just one more way dreams were crueler than reality. Maybe I was an emotional masochist after all.
Owen slept through two full cups of coffee, and when I made my third, I made one for him as well and carried it back into the bedroom. The room was dark, thanks to my blackout curtains, and I sat on the edge of the bed. At some point, he’d rolled onto his back, one arm folded over his stomach and the other stretched toward my side of the bed. I didn’t want to read too much into that, but it was hard to not imagine him, half asleep and reaching for me.
Maybe he’d been dreaming about me.
I situated myself against the headboard again, using the remaining minutes of his sleep to make a mental catalogue of his tattoos. For some reason, the one that kept pulling my attention was the single arrow on his middle finger, pointy end alongside his fingernail. I reached out and traced my fingertip to the end, then went lower, toward the sheet that barely covered his happy trail.
“How long have you been watching me?” he asked, sleepy.
“Not as long as you’re thinking,” I assured him.
He pushed the sheet down lower, revealing his flaccid cock and the dark tuft of hair around the base of his shaft. I yearned to touch him, but Flynn’s biting commentary was still sharp in my ears. I tightened my grip around the coffee that I’d brought for him and pulled my other hand back toward my lap.
“Tell me about that tattoo,” I murmured.
Owen rolled onto his side, propping himself with one hand under his head, his elbow resting on the mattress. The sheet somehow slipped lower, offering me no grace when it came to my willpower to not fuck him back into the floor.
“Which one?”
“The arrow on your finger.”
He huffed out a soft laugh. “Why that one?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you believe I had forty dollars and fifteen minutes of free time?” he asked.
I handed him the coffee, and he took it with a happy little moan that went straight to my dick. I really needed to get my head out of my ass if I wanted to keep my dick out of Owen, because he made it damn near impossible without even trying.
“I’d believe that’s half the story.” I picked my coffee back up from the nightstand and took a sip, waiting for him to answer.
“Of all the tattoos, Arch.” Owen pushed himself onto his ass, leaning back against the headboard with his shoulder brushing mine. He turned slightly and pointed at me with his first finger, the other three curling back around toward him, which brought the arrow on his middle finger level with his chest. “Anything that’s your fault is also mine.”
“Owen.”
He let his hand fall with a shrug. “I needed the reminder sometimes that you weren’t the only villain in my story.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said.
“We both know that’s not true.” Owen closed his eyes and raised the mug to his mouth. Taking a tentative drink, his shoulders sagged and he nodded. “But it’s okay. I think the tattoo is a much better deal than the spray cheese.”
“Can we not?”
“After all this time, Archie?” Owen laughed, taking a larger swallow.
“I told you last night why I have it.”
“Flynn told me this wasn’t the first time you’ve gone on a cheese bender.”
“I’ll kill him.” I rubbed my fingers across my forehead, fighting back the tension that simmered just beneath the surface.“I already told you, it’s a stupid thing I did because it reminded me of you.”
“It’s not stupid.” Owen leaned over me and set his coffee down on the nightstand, then set mine down beside it. He took my face into his hands, and I would have given him all the money in my bank to know what thoughts went through his head when he looked at me.
