This One’s For You Read online

  He took a small step back and ran his eyes over my body. His mouth hung slightly open, and I could see him struggling to say something. “You know what,” I patted his chest, “don’t answer that.”

  Owen clamped his mouth shut. He stared at me with wild fascination in his eyes. Growing impatient, I began to tap my foot.

  “Donuts?” he finally said.

  I nodded slightly and glanced down at my feet. “Let me grab some shoes,” I said. I took a second look and, noticing my threadbare gray sweats, I looked back at him again. “Better yet, let me change.”

  I was in and out in less than five minutes.

  Owen was leaning on the wall next to his door. “That was quick.”

  “Yeah, well, what can I say?” I said. “Some things are better when done quickly . . . others aren’t.”

  “Oh yeah, like what?” he asked, moving closer. His warmth surrounded me as our body nearly touched. I was aware of every inch of him. He caused my pulse to race. He brushed my hair to the side, his hand grazing my cheek.

  I was struck by a bolt of electricity. Leaning into his touch, I inhaled a sharp breath. “Rule number two,” I whispered.

  “We’re breaking all the rules right now,” he whispered back.

  “What’s the point of having them then?” I asked, pouting.

  “I don’t know.” His voice was thick.

  Reluctant to pull away, I took a step back. We were getting closer to breaking our rules, and if we did, there’d be no going back—and that would be disastrous. I wasn’t willing to risk losing him completely just for one intimate moment. But I couldn’t help but wonder if that one time would be worth it all, if it’d be worth not having never him around at again. I thought for a moment . . . No, I concluded, it’s not worth it.

  Owen’s face fell as he stepped back. The playful banter between us was over, but that was for the best.

  I started to rub my locket, the uneasiness in the air making me nervous. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes, so I stared at his black Converses instead, chewing on the inside of my lip as I rocked back and forth on my heels.

  “Anyways,” he said after what seemed like an eternity, “are you ready for that coffee?”

  “And donuts,” I added.

  Once we got outside, the brisk winter air stung my cheeks, and I immediately wished I’d worn a warmer jacket. The bright sunshine had tricked me into thinking the weather was warmer than it actually was.

  Instinctively, I rubbed my arms, trying to generate some warmth as my teeth chattered lightly. “Brr!” I said. Owen slowed his pace to match mine.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I answered. “It’s just a lot colder than it looked out my window.”

  He stopped walking. After a few steps, I slowed to a stop and looked back at him. He was shrugging out of his black North Face jacket. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” he replied. “I’m giving you my jacket.”

  “No!” I shouted. He looked at me like I was crazy. “Sorry . . .” I said. “It’s just, how are you going to stay warm if I take your jacket?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t take it,” I told him. He ignored me and pulled his arm out of its sleeve. “Seriously, I’m not going to wear it.”

  I crossed my arms, trying to make a point. He stared at me for a moment and then slid his arm back inside. “Fine,” he said, marching up to me. “Don’t want my jacket, so be it. But I’m not going to let you freeze.”

  Before I could ask him what he was going to do, he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me close to his side. I froze—I wasn’t sure what to think or do.

  The smell of his rich cologne engulfed me. I took another deep breath, inhaling his scent, and hoped he didn’t notice. He started to walk, and I followed suit. At first, our steps were awkward. His arm was around me, holding me tightly, and I had to hold my arms close to my chest, which made me feel off balance.

  “Relax,” he said softly.

  I sighed, and wrapped an arm around him. We walked like this until we reached the donut shop. For being so early in the morning, and the day after Thanksgiving, I was surprised to see how packed the place was. A line was coming out of the store, and it ran along the sidewalk for what seemed like miles.

  I started to slow my pace to get in line, but Owen pushed me forward. He’s not really about to cut in front of all these people, is he? I thought. I glanced up to him: he was staring straight ahead, but the corners of his lips were pulled up into a sly smile.

  We passed the entrance, and I was beginning to think this wasn’t our destination. We rounded the building, and stopped at a back door. Owen raised his hand and knocked.

  I looked up, and found him looking at me. He winked and turned his attention back to the door. A few seconds later, it opened, and a girl a few inches taller than me appeared.

  “Owen!” she exclaimed. “What a surprise to see you here!”

  “Hey, Jenny,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

  She looked over at me and smiled affectionately. She looked me over, and then flicked her eyes back to him. “And who is this beautiful little thing?”

  Her question was directed to him, but her eyes fell back onto me. “This is Brennan,” he answered. “Brennan, I’d like you to meet my cousin Jenny.”

  His cousin? I thought.

  “Sam’s older sister,” he added.

  I let out a sigh I didn’t realize I was holding. She wasn’t some girl he’d slept with—she was his cousin.

  “It’s so lovely to meet you, Brennan. You have no idea,” she said cheerfully. I churned her words in my head. Why did she seem so happy to meet me? “Oh goodness, where’s my manners? Come in before you two get frostbite.”

  Jenny moved to the side and Owen held his hand out, signaling for me to enter first. I was instantaneously overwhelmed by the sweet smell of sugar and fried dough. It smelled like heaven—a very sugary heaven. I couldn’t imagine working in a place like this every day. I’d gain a hundred pounds my first week.

  Jenny closed the door behind us and appeared with two aprons in her hands. She handed one to each of us. “I’m assuming you still remember how to make the batter.”

  Was she really saying that we were about to make donuts? Owen nodded his head like he had read my mind. I gasped slightly, and the both of them started to laugh.

  “Don’t worry. You’re going to do just fine,” Jenny said, patting my shoulder. I looked back at her. She kept glancing between the two of us, and it looked like she wanted to say or ask something but didn’t know how. Instead, she offered me a soft smile. “Well, I have customers waiting out front. You two have fun. And don’t make too big of a mess!”

  Once she was out of sight, I turned to Owen. “You said we were grabbing donuts—not making them.”

  “To-mato, to-mahto,” he teased.

  “I don’t know the first thing about baking!” I squealed. “I’m either going to make a huge mess, or burn the place down! And I don’t think your cousin would like either of those things.”

  “Trust me, you’re going to be fine,” he assured me. “You got the master donut maker by your side. What could go wrong?”

  Apparently, a lot of things can go wrong when trying to make donuts. An hour later, Owen and I were covered in batter. I was sure I looked like a disaster while Owen looked like a hot mess.

  “I told you to set the mixer to a slow speed”—he laughed—“and not overdrive!”

  “Well if a certain someone wasn’t so insistent on trying to tickle my sides, my hands wouldn’t have slipped on the spinning dial thingy.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “You should see yourself,” he said between laughs.

  “Oh really?” I said as sarcastically as possible. I reached into the bowl and grabbed a handful of leftover batter. Without warning, I chuc
ked it at him, catching him on the chin and his neck. “Who’s laughing now?”

  “That’s it!” he shouted. He scooped a handful of flour from a nearby bag and blew it in my face.

  I snatched an egg and smashed it on top of his head. Owen released a low, but incredibly sexy growl that made my stomach flip. He reached for an egg. I squealed, backing away.

  Slowly, he came for me. I ran around to the other side, putting as much distance between us.

  “Running isn’t going to keep you safe.” He tossed the egg, but I ducked, narrowly dodging the assault.

  “Missed me,” I taunted him.

  He snatched two more eggs out of the carton, and we moved around the table in a slow circle, Owen stalking me like a lion. I could see the determination gleaming in his eyes, and there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in my mind that this wasn’t going to end well for me. One way or another, I was going to become well acquainted with sticky, gooey yolk.

  I reached the other end of the table and suddenly saw that I was blocked in. I looked around, searching for a way out. Owen rounded the corner, leaving only a few steps between us. I squeezed my eyes, and waited . . .  but nothing happened.

  I opened my eyes just in time to see his finger dab my nose, leaving something behind. I reached up and, wiping my nose, saw that it was frosting. I looked to Owen, who was holding his hands up in the air, and saw he didn’t have any eggs. Still I didn’t trust him.

  “Did you really think I’d egg you?” he asked. He stopped in front of me, our noses inches apart, and stared down at me.

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted. “I did get you first.”

  A grin danced across his face. “Oh I’ll get you,” he whispered. “But it won’t be with an egg.”

  I swallowed. I had no idea what he meant, but I was sure I was going to enjoy it. He leaned in, his lips hovering over mine, and I shut my eyes again. He was so close I could feel his heat, his breath . . .  Then I heard someone clear their throat.

  My eyes shot open, and I saw that Owen had taken a step back. He was looking to his left, his cheeks flushed. I turned to see Jenny with her arms across her chest and a slight smile on her face.

  “We’ll clean this up,” he said. She nodded once, turned on her heels, and left the kitchen. I could feel Owen’s eyes on me and turned to meet his stare. “We better get this cleaned up before we end up in the fryer.”

  Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen wiping up the last bit of flour while Owen was in the bathroom cleaning the yolk out of his hair. I watched as he walked back into the room and over to a closet I hadn’t noticed, opened the door, and pulled out a small card table and two chairs. He set them up and motioned for me to take a seat.

  After I sat down, he disappeared through the double doors that led to the front of the store. He returned in a few seconds, carrying a small tray, and set it on the table in front of me. My eyes widened and my mouth watered at the sight before me. A stack of donuts was piled onto the plate, and they smelled like perfection. Not a single donut looked alike. One had bright purple frosting with what looked like eyes on it, another had chunks of bacon on the top, and another one had green and yellow frosting. Each donut was uniquely decorated, and that made them all the more tantalizing. I couldn’t figure out where to begin.

  Next to the plate sat two cups of coffee. I picked up the mug closest to me, and brought it to my lips. It was sweet and the perfect temperature—not too hot, not too cold. I noticed hints of cinnamon mixed with vanilla, and wondered how Owen knew what I liked.

  “Good?” he asked, smiling slightly.

  “Perfect,” I answered. I looked at the donuts, greedy with hunger, and sighed heavily. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “When in doubt, always go with the maple bacon donut,” he said.

  “Maple bacon?” I said, eyeing the donut with beige frosting and the chunks of bacon.

  “Trust me on this,” he said, noticing my hesitation. “It’ll be the best thing your taste buds have ever experienced.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I muttered to myself. I was absolutely certain nothing would taste as good as his lips against mine.

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, uh, nothing,” I replied. I felt my cheeks warm with embarrassment and glanced away. When I looked back, he was holding up a maple bacon donut in his hand. I grabbed it and took a bite. A soft groan escaped from my lips as bursts of maple and bacon exploded in my mouth. “You’re right,” I mumbled. “This is great.”

  He grinned from ear to ear.

  “So . . .” I said, setting down the fluffy, fried dough. I took another drink of my coffee.

  Owen popped a piece of the purple donut in his mouth and washed it down with his coffee. “So . . .” he repeated.

  I sat back in my chair. I had no clue where to start or what to talk about. Jenny poked her head through the door, and once again, flashed me a sweet smile. My head started spinning with curiosity again.

  “Okay, let me see if I got this straight,” I started. “Your cousin Sam goes to school with us, and Jenny owns a donut shop here. Any other family I should worry about meeting here?”

  “My aunt and uncle live in town too,” he answered. “Sam and Jenny’s parents.”

  “And my chances of walking into a five-star restaurant they own are . . . ?”

  “None.” He laughed. “My uncle is a biology teacher and football coach at one of the high schools here, and my aunt owns a floral shop.”

  “So if you have family here then why didn’t you spend the holiday with them?” I pressed.

  He sighed. “They went to San Diego.”

  “Why didn’t you go?” I asked quickly. The mention of San Diego made me think of Callen, and the fact that I still hadn’t asked him just how well he knew Owen.

  “It’s complicated,” he replied, not offering further explanation.

  “Hmm,” I said. “How far back do you know Callen?” Owen’s lips pulled in a tight line. “I mean, you two are friends. Both from the same city. I’m just curious to know how long you’ve known each other.”

  “Since elementary school.”

  “Wow,” I whispered, drawing in a deep breath. The room fell silent, but I couldn’t stand the quiet for long—I didn’t want things to be so tense between Owen and me. “So, what’s the deal with Classical Mythology?” I asked. “Anyone in their right mind wouldn’t TA for Prof. Livingston.”

  “It was my favorite class last year,” he said, his voice cold and detached.

  “Callen mentioned something about you meeting someone in that class,” I looked into Owen’s eyes, unsure of what I was trying to find. He jerked away, taking a deep breath.

  “What did he tell you?” he asked, anger rising in his voice.

  “N-nothing,” I stuttered in surprise. “But there was someone, wasn’t there?”

  I was pressing my luck, but I wanted answers. Who could Owen have met that would make him want to TA for such an absent-minded professor? Even then, what difference did it make? It’s not like the person was still in the class or anything—or least, I hoped not.

  “Rule number three, Brennan,” he growled.

  There it was. The unofficial answer I was looking for. So there had to be someone? But who?

  When Owen looked at me again, his eyes seemed different, like he was being haunted by something. Or someone. I knew that haunted gleam well; it was one I saw in my own eyes every day. I started to mess with my hair, working on pulling it back into a ponytail.

  “Leave it down,” he said, breaking through the silence. I stopped midway. “I like it down.”

  “You’ve said that already,” I told him.

  “And yet, here you are, trying to pull it away from your beautiful face.” A small smirk appeared on his face. I could tell his cool, playful demeanor was returning.

  I wanted to ask him questions. I needed to know more about him and the person he refused to talk about. I
wanted to know how he was able to switch his mood on and off with a snap of his finger. But instead, I didn’t ask anything.

  “I think you were dropped on your head as a child,” I said, easing the conversation into a new direction. “Either that or your cousin spiked your coffee.”

  “You could go days without showering, be wearing sweatpants, and have your hair be a total mess, and you’d still be the most beautiful being I’ve ever see.”

  “Oh, don’t you ever count on seeing me like that,” I replied.

  He laughed heartily. “I already have,” he teased. “This morning.”

  “Yeah, well, I hate to burst your bubble, but it hasn’t been days since I took a shower.”

  He chuckled again. If there were only one thing I could hear for the rest of my life, it’d be the sound of his laughter.

  “So, what about you?” he asked. “I want to know all there is to know about Brennan Daniels.”

  I looked away. “There isn’t much to know.”

  “I doubt that,” he whispered. “What about your parents?”

  “What about them?” I asked, slowly facing him.

  “Are they married? Divorced? What do they do for a living?”

  I wasn’t sure why he was interested in my parents, but I was going to let him steer the conversation. I didn’t want that awkward, gut-wrenching silence to swarm us again.

  “My parents are still married. My dad’s a pediatric surgeon, and my mom runs her own law firm. Other than their jobs, they’re your typical suburb parents—boring, stuffy, always in your business, but always there. They’re great.”

  “You miss them.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.

  “Yeah, I do,” I answered softly. “I’ll see them at Christmas.”

  “What about friends?” he asked. I sucked in a sharp breath, my chest tightened, and I picked at the donut.

  “I have them,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the shakiness in my voice. Of course I have friends back home, I thought. Not that I talk to them anymore. The moment I lost Reagan was the moment they lost me.