Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
And beyond that, he looks content despite following me around all day, listening to lectures that pertain to my career field, not his.
“Still happy that you agreed to come with me?” I ask as we take our seats at a round eight top, a few other therapists and their guests seated around it.
Owen smiles softly at me. “Are you kidding me?” he asks. “Watching the way your brilliant mind works is one of my absolute favorite pastimes. I can't comprehend half of what all these experts were saying all day, but the way you speak on the subjects? The insight that comes out of that beautiful mouth of yours?” He lays a hand over his chest, breathing deeply. “Riveting.”
A giddy sensation bubbles beneath my skin, and there's no way I can stop the grin that shapes my lips. If it’d been anyone else, I might have called sarcasm, but I knew Owen well enough to know when he’s being serious, and the compliment sinks deep into my heart.
“I don't know how to thank you for what you just said,” I admit, taking a sip of my water.
“You don't have to,” he says with a shrug. “It's just facts.”
I study him as a server comes to our table, explaining the two meal options we have to choose from before taking our orders. I hate that there's still so much confusion about Owen and myself and what it is exactly that we're doing.
Not that I knew where we stood when we were texting as complete strangers, but now that we've been sleeping together? I can't help but wonder if that's all it is? That and the job he’s been hired to do?
My heart says no, but my brain—logical and analytical as it is—reminds me that we’ve never had any defining conversations.
And that's fair.
Honestly, this could be a convenience thing for Owen. His literal job is staying close to me to protect me. It’s a bonus that I happen to be physically and mentally attracted to him enough to sleep with him on the reg right?
That line of thinking leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and I know for a fact I'm not giving Owen enough credit.
I think it’s more fear putting awful thoughts in my head, but it's also my fear that's keeping me from asking him about it. He said it himself numerous times that his job has prevented him from having an actual relationship, and I understand why. Being gone for months at a time would hinder things, and just the thought of not seeing him for that long? It puts a heavy weight in my stomach.
The reality of that emotion brings me up short, and I do my best to ground myself in the present, listening to the idle chatter that the guest on Owen’s right has started up with him.
“What are the odds that I ended up at your table, Dr. Casson?” a familiar masculine voice says, drawing me out of my thoughts as he drops into the empty seat on my left.
I smile and shake my head, looking at my ex. “What are the odds, Dr. Katz?” I ask, doing my best not to roll my eyes. This is my event, and I’d made sure he’d been placed at a table far away from mine. He must’ve seen that earlier and swapped seats with someone.
“I can't be mad about it,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he looks me over. “What's it been? Five years?”
“Seven,” I correct him.
We dated in college for a year, and we'd ended things amicably. It’d never been ultra serious between us, but I could never get past his brand of humor, which included passive aggressively berating me for his own enjoyment.
“That's right,” he says, tapping the table. “I forget that you're always right.”
I do my best to give a fake laugh and sip my water, suddenly questioning my choice to allow him an invite to this conference. He was a prestigious therapist though, and it never felt right denying anyone access to this conference when so many skills could be sharpened and new ones learned from it.
Owen shifts next to me, likely hearing the fake laugh as his attention falls on me.
“Dr. Carl Katz,” Carl says as he reaches across the table, extending a hand toward Owen with a smug smile on his face that I'm not even sure he realizes he constantly wears. “And who are you to our Zoe?”
I shift awkwardly in my seat. I haven't been our anything to Carl in seven years. Where the hell does he get off?
Owen shakes his hand, glancing from me to Carl and back again before releasing his hand. “A friend,” he answers, shifting out of the way as the servers start to bring our dinner plates, setting them gently before us and thankfully breaking up some tension that has no business being here.