XOXO: A Bundle of Cozy Novellas

Owen

OWEN

Owen cursed to himself. Dammit, dammit, he couldn’t treat Edmund like one of his hookups. Edmund didn’t deserve that. He was, in Owen’s opinion, everything that was good and kind. Not selfish and shallow like the men he’d slept with in the past. Men who worried about their perfect hair, how their clothes fit, or if they were being seen with the right crowd. Owen resolved that minute to treat Edmund with the respect he deserved. He wasn’t a one-night stand.

Maybe even as recently as a year ago, Owen knew, he would’ve been foolish enough to care that Edmund was older, didn’t have a six-pack—didn’t have visible abs—that his hair was starting to go silver and he probably picked his clothes off the rack without really looking at them. None of that mattered now. When Owen looked at Edmund, he didn’t see any of that. He saw a man whose heart shone, a man who’d never learned to hide his feelings. A man who could break Owen’s heart—but he knew never would.

It was selfish of him to want more, to want to hoard what Edmund offered with his sweet glances. But, he mused as he dug through the refrigerator finding the onion and bell pepper they’d bought earlier along with some pre-grated parmesan cheese and put them on the counter, he wanted Edmund for himself. The capital-Q question was, would Edmund still look at Owen the same when he found out how much Owen had slept around. How cruel he’d been in the past, even if it was inadvertent. Careless cruelty was just as toxic as purposeful malice.

He began chopping the vegetables, the sound of the knife edge smacking against the cutting board louder than it should’ve been.

Dinner was simple but still tasted decent. Owen wasn’t exactly king of the kitchen, but he’d managed at least to get the basics down pat. Eggs, pasta, toast.

“This is fabulous,” Edmund gushed.

Owen rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me a big head. It’s nothing special. Basically the same thing we had last night, with added veggies and the salami.”

“It’s tastes better, since you cooked it.”

Edmund had started the next Bond movie in the DVD player, but neither of them was even pretending to watch it. The sound was muted. Owen was only catching glimpses of the actors flying across the screen. His attention was on Edmund.

Tonight, Owen had set the tiny dining room table for them to eat at. Instead of sitting across from each other, they sat side by side, knees bumping under the table. Owen wanted to ask more questions about Edmund and his life, but it was difficult to form a sentence when all he wanted to do was jump his bones. That afternoon in the hot tub they’d overcome their inhibitions with a little help from wine, but the alcohol had left their systems by now and there was still a constant ripple of awareness flowing back and forth between them. Owen knew he wasn’t the only one feeling it.

Owen wound the last of the pasta onto his fork and shoved it into his mouth, then pushed his plate away. Anticipation was driving him to distraction. Not even the random on-screen violence tamped his desire. He wanted to run his hands all over Edmund. He wanted to stick his nose in his armpit; he wanted to lick him—and claim him as his own. He had to admit it was kind of exciting and also frightening to be Edmund’s first. It was a big responsibility, and he wanted to make it right—and make it impossible for Edmund to ever forget him.

He caught Edmund’s gaze with his own. “We could turn the TV up really loud and pretend we’re listening from the bedroom.”

Silence.

Owen loved how Edmund blushed.

He shrugged. “Or we could pick out some music to listen to, from the bedroom. Alternatively, we could also make that hot cocoa you bought and sit down here and watch more movies—I’m not meaning to pressure you into anything.”

Edmund’s lips curved into a small, shy smile. “I think the bedroom sounds lovely.”

Owen picked up their empty plates and took them to the sink. Then he took Edmund’s hand, leading him up the stairs to the master bedroom.

“I don’t have any condoms,” Edmund said. “It’s not as if I’m fighting off throngs of men.”

Upstairs was a little chilly despite the fire in the living room. Owen searched and found a wall thermometer attached to the baseboard heat. He adjusted it upward before turning to face Edmund.

“I don’t have any either. We won’t do anything we need condoms for, but I bet we could’ve gotten some at the Mercantile. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that when we were there today—but also it would’ve been incredibly presumptuous of me. But just so you know, I get tested regularly, and I’m negative.” Owen hated the necessary conversation, but it was irresponsible not to talk about it.

“Me too.”

Owen knew Edmund meant he was negative because he’d never done anything that might have exposed him to STIs.

“I figured, from what you said earlier.”

“But I still needed to tell you.”

“Are you okay with this?” Owen asked him one more time, even though he was pretty sure of the answer.

“I’m so okay. I’m really, really okay. I’m just having a hard time with the part where I take my clothes off.”

He was looking off over Owen’s shoulder. Owen hated that people had made Edmund feel he wasn’t worthy—wasn’t beautiful. He wanted Edmund to know how amazing and sexy Owen thought he was, but he wasn’t going to be able to do it with words, it was going to have to be with actions.

“How about you let me do that?”