Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

35. Callie

35

CALLIE

Public service announcement: the walk of shame feels much less shameful when it’s only three feet away.

I feel kind of bad sneaking out of Owen’s apartment in the morning and quietly tiptoeing back to Kennedy’s. Although the tiptoeing proves to be pointless when I gently press the front door closed, only to have the bejeezus scared out of me before I even have time to turn around.

“Well, look at who finally found her way home.” I nearly jump out of my clothes—or, in this case, Owen’s clothes—and whip around to find Kennedy standing in the entryway two feet away.

“God.” I huff out a breath. “Have you just been waiting there for me?”

She scared me, but it’s less of a jump scare than I would’ve gotten had Spencer Santos greeted me at the door, instead.

I know she’s alone, but I still catch myself peeking around the corner just to be sure.

She smiles, walking fuzzy-slipper-clad into the kitchen to set her coffee cup in the sink. “No. I’m leaving to have breakfast with my friend Emily because she caught her boyfriend cheating on her and wants to drown her sorrows in a pitcher of mimosas.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“Terribly convenient. Saturdays are half-price pitchers. We are getting plastered. You should come!”

“As fun as that sounds, I have to pass. I already have plans.”

“With Hockey Boy? Way to play hard to get, Cal,” she teases.

I shoot her a look to kill. “Nope. Something better.”

“Intriguing. Do tell.”

“I’m going apartment shopping.”

This time, I smile.

She frowns. “That’s not better. I don’t see why you have to move out.”

Make that a full-on pout. I duck my way into the bathroom to rein in my sex hair and do my makeup. My cousin stomps down the hall behind me.

“Because I need to have my own place, Kennedy. You know that.”

“But isn’t it convenient here? I’m almost never home, so you have the place more or less to yourself. Plus, it’s conveniently located next to your boy toy.”

I open my mascara, talking to her in the mirror. “But I’m sleeping on your couch. And when you do come home, you’re usually not alone. Which is great for you, but awkward for me.”

She ignores my point and doubles down on her own. “Did I mention Owen lives next door?”

I offer her a warm smile in the mirror. “I’m going to miss you, too, Kenny. But I need to do this. For me.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “But I hate it.”

I give Kennedy a hug, and she goes to her room to get ready.

Kennedy’s sex life is one reason to move, but the other one was grinding against her on the dance floor last night.

I knew Spencer was crazy. With everything going on in the tabloids, I knew he was probably fuming about the damage to his reputation.

But I liked to pretend he wouldn’t do anything about it.

Now, though, I can’t lie to myself. I can’t sit still. I can’t wait for him to find me.

Moving means I’m less easy to track down. If I’m never in one place for too long, I’m less traceable. Is running away the best way to live my life? Probably not. But it’s not like I’m lousy with options right now.

Plus, Kennedy’s other reason to stay is that Owen Sharpe is right next door. Which is great for the next few weeks as we continue tap dancing on the ashes of the “no sex” rule we put into place, but this arrangement is temporary.

Isn’t it?

Then again, I fell asleep on his bare chest last night, and despite the way I snuck out of his bed, I would’ve been happy to stay there permanently. Those feelings have me wondering just how temporary this all is.

And, even more than that, how temporary I want it to be.

I lose myself for a few dreamy moments in the image of a long-term fling with Owen. Maybe even a relationship. There would be a lot of nights like last night, and a lot of mornings where I didn’t have to sneak out of his bedroom in his clothes.

The trouble is, one thing that is not temporary in any way is the baby growing inside of me. Telling him our random hookup resulted in a baby might be the nail in the coffin for whatever this thing brewing between us is, and it’s only a matter of time before I can’t hide it anymore.

An apartment of my own and being more independent will make figuring that whole mess out much easier. At least for a while.

I bring the collar of Owen’s shirt to my lips and take a sniff. I bite my bottom lip to hold back a groan. God, that man smells good.

And there’s my cue to get dressed. It’s positively indecent to still be wearing it.

I strip down completely before realizing I didn’t bring my clothes for the day into the bathroom. They’re still in my suitcase in the living room next to my quote-unquote “bed.” Another reason I need to move out: I am living out of a suitcase.

I hear the front door open and close, which must mean Kennedy has left and the coast is clear.

So I make my way out to the living room in my birthday suit.

“Well, that’s certainly one way to say, ‘Good morning.’”

This time, I nearly come out of my skin (since it’s the only thing I’m wearing) at the unexpected deep voice coming from the couch.

“Jesus Christ!” I scream, whirling to find Owen lounged back on my pull-out bed. “How did you get in here?”

“Kennedy let me in as she was leaving.”

“I’m naked!” I announce, pointing out the painfully obvious.

“I did notice that.” He is ballsy enough to grin.

I try to tug the throw blanket off the couch so I can cover up, but he’s inconveniently sitting on it. “Do you mind?”

“A bit, actually, yeah.”

“Owen!”

Chuckling, he lifts his ass off the throw so I can wrap it around myself like a toga. I snatch my things from my bag, skewer him with the nastiest glare I can muster, and stomp back down the hall.

“What are you doing here?” I demand from the bathroom.

“I’m going with you.”

“With me where?”

“Kennedy said you’re going apartment hunting. I decided I’m coming, too.”

I peek my head out the door. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No,” I grit through clenched teeth. “You are not.”

Part of the reason I’m doing this is to get some space from Owen Sharpe. I’m hunting for a secret lair where I can grow a baby in peace. Him helping me find it defeats the purpose… I think.

“Can we play a different game? Like, why did you leave without saying anything this morning?”

“Because I need to look at apartments!” I stomp back into the living room in a short, black summer dress and slip into a pair of strappy flats I left at the end of the couch.

“Perfect. I can help. I know where all the good ones are, which ones to avoid, all that kind of stuff.”

“I can figure that out on my own.”

“How do you feel about Windshire versus the Meadows?” he asks.

“What?” I ask.

“Or the Commons at Greenway? Or the Ello House on South? It’s been popular, but I heard?—”

“Okay, fine!” I snap just so he’ll stop smirking at me with that deliciously distracting mouth. “You know the area better than I do. You can come.”

“Thank you.” He holds the door open, a smug grin on his face.

“But under one condition: you don’t talk the whole time. You let me look for myself. And you keep it within my budget. Don’t make me fall in love with something I can’t afford.”

“That’s three conditions.” Before I can change my mind and tell him he actually can’t come, he continues. “But I’ll keep my mouth shut, let you lead, and three stars only—like the Holiday Inn. Got it.”

“You promise?”

Owen draws an X on his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

Here’s to hoping.

Owen glances over at me from the driver’s seat. “So this guy at Pour Boys…”

I whip my attention over to him. “It’s been ten minutes, and you’ve already broken rule number one. You’re really bad at this, you know?”

“And you’re really bad at downplaying something that obviously is a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal, Owen,” I snap back. “He was there, he left, and it’s over now. Besides, I’m moving. I’ll be harder to track now.”

“Do you actually believe that? You’ve heard of the internet, right?”

I let out an angry sigh. “It’s called optimism—you should try it. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to smack you, but only because you’re driving and might crash the car.”

Owen sucks in air between his teeth. “Fine. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Thank you.”

He sticks to his word—mostly. For the next two hours, we ride around town, touring one apartment after another.

Also for the next two hours, Owen has a complaint about every one of them.

By hour three, I’m ready to leave him on the side of the road.

“Well, I think this is going swell,” Owen has the audacity to say as we pull up to what I’m hoping is the final complex.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“We’ve narrowed it down substantially. That’s progress.”

“If by ‘narrowed down,’ you mean I’m no closer to having a place to live than I was this morning, then yeah, we’re doing wonderful! Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“It’s not my fault every apartment turned out to be a dud.” He puts the car into park and unbuckles.

“They weren’t duds! I was ready to put a deposit down on the first place we saw!”

He arches a brow. “You’d pay for that shit view? There were trees everywhere. You couldn’t see anything.”

“So?! Maybe I like trees! Maybe I want privacy. Maybe I don’t want everyone to be able to see me when I’m standing on my balcony.”

He bobs his head, conceding my point. “Considering your history with going pantless on balconies, that’s probably a good call.”

I want to hit him. Can I hit him? I might hit him.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” I grit out instead. “What was wrong with the second one?”

“The kitchen didn’t have a garbage disposal.”

“I can scrape the food off in the trash before I put my dishes in the sink. I hardly think that's a make-or-break problem.”

Owen holds his hands up. “Listen, we all get lazy and just toss plates into the sink, half-eaten pizza rolls and all. If you plan on being perfect every hour of the day, sign the papers. Also sign away all future Friday night plans, ‘cause doing the dishes by hand every day of your life is gonna take a lot of time.”

I put my head in my palms and mumble, “And the others? What was wrong with them?”

He starts to rattle off the reasons one by one, counting each on his fingers as he goes. “Too close to the freeway. Too far from work. Too many cabinets. Not enough cabinets. Too many stairs. Too?—”

“Okay! Fuck. You know what? This next place, I get to decide.” I jab a warning finger at him, eyes narrowed. “You keep your mouth shut and let me pick out my own apartment, got it?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

I undo my seatbelt, and we make our way up. The property manager greets us outside the door.

“I think you’re really going to like this place,” she gushes. “It's an open concept, fresh paint, new appliances…”

“Garbage disposal?” Owen asks, and I shoot him a look.

What? he mouths.

I run my fingers across my lips in a zip it motion.

“Garbage disposal and icemaker,” the manager boasts proudly. “Not to mention, it comes with a robot vacuum. It’s like living in an episode of The Jetsons. ”

We follow her in, and I make a massive effort to avoid acknowledging Owen’s existence in any way, shape, or form. I will not let him talk me out of this place.

Everything the manager says sounds perfect. “There’s an extensive patio with a beautiful view of the city and the park. Updated bathroom, huge walk-in closet…” She guides us through each room.

And honestly, as I look around, it really is perfect.

Too good to be true even.

“Price?” I ask with a barely-concealed wince.

“Twenty-one hundred. That’s below the average in Houston right now, especially for a two-bedroom. And speaking of two bedrooms…”

I look at Owen with a smile. It’s on budget, too. It truly is perfect.

“… the other one could even be a nursery!”

My heart stops in my chest. The smug grin wilts from my face. The manager’s eyes dash down to my stomach before flitting back up to meet mine.

Can she tell? Does she already know?

“I… I mean, we…” I stutter, suddenly feeling off-kilter. I reach out, grabbing for the closest thing to brace myself against, which just so happens to be Owen’s thick bicep. He takes my arm to steady me.

“Callie…?” he rumbles.

“Miss, are you alright?” the manager asks.

“I’m fine, I’m just…”

“Give us a second,” Owen orders, pulling me closer to him. “We’ll look around on our own.”

“Oh. We don’t— Potential tenants can’t be in our units unattended.” the woman explains.

Owen pulls out his wallet and hands her a wad of bills. She silently looks at the offering before she slides it from his hand and walks to the door. “I, uh, forgot something in my car. I’ll be back in exactly fifteen minutes.”

After she’s gone, Owen grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him. “Hey, what’s up? Talk to me.”

I do feel better now that we’re alone, but the woman’s words still echo around the empty house.

This is the house where I’m going to raise a baby.

Potentially by myself.

I knew that, but being here, actually seeing the place—it all feels so overwhelming.

“It’s nothing. I just felt a little dizzy, is all.” It’s not a lie, though the omission is.

The way she looked at me, it was almost like she knew. I’m terrified Owen caught it. Even though, if I’m being honest, part of me would be relieved if the jig was up. Keeping this a secret is becoming nearly impossible.

He grips my chin. “You look like you’re in another world right now, Cal.”

I swallow and try to pull myself together. “I just have a lot on my mind. This is a lot to take in.”

“I could help with that, you know?” Owen pulls me against him with a smirk. “I could erase whatever is on your mind.”

“Oh, really? And how are you going to do that?”

He looks around before the smirk broadens to a grin. Then he grabs my hand and yanks me into the walk-in closet. “She said the closets are spacious. I think we need to check it out.”

Before I can protest, he wraps his arms around my thighs and hauls me into his arms. Then he lays me on the floor and crawls on top of me, kissing a trail of fire up my throat.

“Owen, we can’t.” But the words are muffled by his lips on mine. I groan into his mouth, already internally combusting.

“Why not?” He nibbles at my neck. “She said we have fifteen minutes.”

“That’s not enough time for sex!” I shove at him, but my hands still fist in his shirt. My brain and body are at war right now.

“Alright, fine. I’ll call an audible.” He kisses across my collarbone, along the space between my breasts, and down the flat-for-now expanse of my stomach. Then he tugs my dress up, kissing his way to my underwear line.

I know where this is going. Where that mouth of his is going. And what it’s capable of doing once it’s there.

I thread my fingers through his hair. “Owen, we can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, looking up at me. “Real question.”

I try to find it in myself to push him away and stand up, but try as I might, I don’t have that kind of restraint.

“Real answer? Not a chance.”

“That’s what I thought.” He pulls my underwear aside and covers me with his mouth.

One flick of his tongue, and I cry out. My hips tilt forward. Wanting more. Needing more. Owen runs his tongue up and down me, slowly at first. Then he starts to suck, his tongue exploring and swirling in a circle.

I swear to God he’s going to suck the soul from my body.

“Oh my—” I bite down on a moan, pulling at his hair.

“God, you’re so wet for me.” He licks his lips. “And so sweet.”

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Owen bands one arm under my hips, lifting me to his mouth at a new angle that pulls a sinful moan out of me. I don’t even live here yet and the neighbors are going to have noise complaints.

With his other hand, he slides two fingers into my wetness. He hooks them inside of me, beckoning. That, plus his lips still kissing and suckling my clit, has me seeing stars within the span of a couple of minutes, if that. My back bows off the floor as I arch up and up and up and then boom, O-Town, population: me.

He eases me back down to Earth with more kisses to the slick insides of my thighs. I exhale a soft, fluttering sigh that takes some of the heaviness away with it.

He sits up and licks his lips with a grin. “So what do you think?”

“Shut up, Sharpe. You know you’re good.”

“Obviously. I meant the apartment.”

I laugh, propping myself up on my elbows to toss him a sassy smile. “Where do I sign?”