Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
A smile. “Are you worried about me, Jason?”
“He broke you before. I-I don’t want it happening again.” Jason shoved an arm into each sleeve and headed across the parking lot to Owen’s car. Owen caught and steadied him at a misstep. Jason paused and rubbed his forehead. “I understand that first horoscope of yours now. About fearing history repeating itself.”
“If I recall, that horoscope suggested Libra be brave and not fear history repeating itself. And Jason,” a finger lifted his chin. “I don’t fear it. Especially not after tonight.”
Because . . . of him?
Or because Hayden had shown himself truly remorseful?
He couldn’t ask. His smile ached. “As long as you’re happy.”
“I will be.”
Owen opened the door for him and Jason crumpled inside. The drive back home was quiet, Jason leaning his head against a vibrating window. The pricklish heat of Owen side-eying him every other minute made him fear the loss more. What if soon he wouldn’t have it?
What if tomorrow Owen let him know he was returning to Hayden? He groaned when Owen led him into the house. “Do we have to go to the beach? Do we have to talk?”
“What’s that, Jason?” Owen said, helping him out of the jacket, his shoes.
He leaned against the wall so the hallway would stop swimming. “Just . . . please don’t invite me to the wedding.”
“Wedding?”
“You know, if you and Hayden tie the knot.”
Owen stared and stared at him, and then Jason’s world tipped upside and he was head-butting Owen’s back. A smart smack met his arse, and a few steps later, he was deposited on Owen’s bed. “That’s my limit of you for tonight.”
Chapter Seventeen
Well done, Jason. Things were really under control now. Crapity crap. How did he get into this mess? They were supposed to be fake boyfriends with a clear end date, but Jason had gone ahead and lost himself in the act until it didn’t feel like an act at all. The ache when he thought they’d have to create a break-up scene . . . It was enough that he’d lost all rhythm when Owen had so fervently rejected the idea of seeing him in Wellington. The only good in it was how it’d . . . it’d put things into sharp perspective.
A bitter-sweet realisation; it’d been beautiful and hopeless in a single breath, until . . .
Until Owen had puffed out his chest and got all wonderfully ‘mine’ in front of Blake. Owen had at least some feelings. Whether he knew them . . . whether he wanted them . . . But it meant there was a chance, right?
Or there had been until Hayden showed up.
Hayden.
Scowl, scowl, scowl.
Were there not enough obstacles to overcome? Telling his brother that he’d fallen for his sort-of-nemesis, breaking it to the town that Jason had been fooling them, bracing for Cora and Patricia’s reaction—and possible rejection. Not to mention that tiny wee issue of, oh, telling Owen what he was feeling.
Could he convince Owen to give him a real chance over Hayden?
And before any of that, could he maybe, just maybe, delay Owen taking him to his beach spot to potentially break up with him?
“Enough frowning into space, Jason.” Owen picked himself up off the adjacent armchair where he’d been showering Mary with cuddles. “Let’s go for a drive.”
To the beach? Jason gulped and scampered behind him. “Only if I drive!”
Owen tossed him the keys and they slipped into the car. Jason opened his mouth and closed it, then leaned forward for a kiss but his heart rammed too much in his throat, so he veered to the glovebox instead. He pulled out one of the chocolate bars Owen stashed in there and ripped into it like he hadn’t eaten breakfast an hour ago.
Owen clamped a palm on his thigh and Jason jumped.
No one was watching, Owen didn’t really have to do that. But he did do it. He always had, with or without an audience. Hope and fear were a nauseating mix in Jason’s stomach.
Owen seemed to be profiling him. “I think there’s something we want to talk about.”
“No, no! Who needs talking?” Jason started the car. “Comfortable silence is all the rage, you know.”
“Jason—”
Jason pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhh. There you go.”
After a good five minutes sharing in this ‘comfortable silence’ while Jason drove as far inland as possible, Owen folded. “You’re acting all out of sorts.”
Out of sorts. Yes, that would most definitely delay the departure speech. “Actually, now you mention it, I am feeling . . .”—Jason looked at him—“sick.”
“Sick?”
“Very sick.”
Owen directed him to the nearest safe place to pull over and as soon as the engine cut out, he had his belt off and was clamping a hand onto his forehead. “No fever. What are your symptoms?”
“Oh, you know . . .”—unrequited feelings of passion—“headaches. I don’t seem to have an appetite.” He eyed the chocolate wrapper in the console. So did Owen. “Much of one, though I’m trying to keep up my sugar intake. You know, to help combat the body’s stress.”