Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,74

those high-school guys you aren’t going to be dating much longer. I’d kind of like you to put an end to that career. Starting now.”

She had her hands on her hips. Not a good sign. “Uh … Owen? Excuse me? You aren’t going to date me, not for real, but I’m not supposed to date anybody else? Could you be any more … Mom, what word do I want?”

“Romantic?” Jennifer suggested.

“It is not,” Dyma said. “It’s like that dog in the manger story in the Aesop’s Fables book you used to read me when I was little. Like—you don’t want me, but nobody else can have me, either? Why, exactly? And why do you get to decide that?”

“I can go out with you,” Owen said. “I’m planning to do it, too. I just don’t get to sleep with you. And I don’t get to decide that. I get to ask you. Which is what I’m doing.”

“So, what can we do?” she asked. “Is there some number of … of …”

“Bases?” Jennifer suggested.

“What is this,” Dyma demanded, “the … the … I can’t even think of an old-timey enough movie. Bases? You kissed me back, Owen. You keep on kissing me back.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I did. I’m probably going to do it some more, too, because I might not be as tough as I’ve always thought. You really want to negotiate how far we’re going to go and when in front of your mom? I mean, I’m down, but …”

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to negotiate it at all. What happened to letting things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like?”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t make choices,” Owen said. “Or set limits.”

“I hate you right now,” she said.

He grinned. “Yep. I get that. I kind of hate myself, too. And I want to go swimming with you anyway. Seems I’m a masochist that way. So come on. Change into your suit, grab those clean underwear, and let’s go.”

Dyma said, “I’m doing it because I want to. That’s why.” And Owen grinned some more.

Jennifer said, “Advil’s in my toilet kit, in my bathroom.”

Dyma disappeared into her bedroom, and Owen said, “Know what? I think I’ll wait out in the hall. Sorry, guys. Swimming, then dinner. I plan to take my time, so you know. Make the most of my date. At least two hours. Probably more.” And then he was gone.

Jennifer told Harlan after a second, “She actually is embarrassed. That’s why she said all that.”

“You know,” Harlan said, “I think I got that.”

“I keep forgetting that you’re perceptive,” she said. “Also, I’m pretty desperately embarrassed myself.”

He put an arm around her, and she leaned her head into his chest and sighed. Dyma came out again wearing a hotel robe and carrying a plastic bag, and said, “Not looking. Leaving.” Another wave of her hand. “Carry on. We’re gone. Swimming. Restaurant. Not having sex. Et cetera.”

“So,” Harlan said as the door closed behind her. He kissed Jennifer on the forehead, then pulled back and smiled into her eyes. “Remind me. Where were we?”

23

Not Letting Go

She tried to think of what to say. All she could come up with was the truth.

“I always have … too many thoughts,” she tried to explain, aware that her hair was messy, and she was wearing a not-closed-enough hotel robe and absolutely nothing else except some body lotion, and he was still completely dressed. Jeans. Belt. Plaid flannel shirt, the kind that felt so wonderfully soft under your fingertips, and probably another shirt under that. Boots, the Western kind. So many clothes. All she could really see of him was his face. That mouth.

Those hands.

And she was almost naked. Like she was throwing herself at him. Which, of course, she had been.

“Go on,” he said, not making any moves. In fact, he sat back, which was odd. Surely, it was odd. “Too many thoughts. Which doesn’t exactly surprise me, by the way.”

“Yeah.” She shoved a hand through her hair, messing it up some more. She was still so tired, and possibly drunk enough on a glass and a half of wine, that every motion felt languid, her movements delayed by a half-second as her sluggish brain tried to process, and she didn’t have nearly enough control over her thoughts. “I’m a multitasker. It’s my life. My job, money, chores, Dyma, her school, my grandpa, my mom …” She could feel the tears welling up. Too many conflicting feelings, too close to the surface. “She was