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“Perfect timing,” I crowed, giving him a saccharine-sweet smile. “That’s your boat, Owen.”

“The rest of my shit is still at my hotel,” he blustered.

“Too bad. I hope you travel light. Call Lost and Found tomorrow. You’re getting on that ferry.”

“Make me.”

I shook my head slowly, tutting quietly. “Oh, Owen. You were home-free. So long as you didn’t fuck with Anya. But what did he do?” I asked, looking to Lee and Clay.

“Fuck with Anya,” they responded like an obedient little choir.

“Exactly.” I smoothed the lapels on Owen’s jacket. “So, your time here is forfeit.”

“You can’t make me leave,” Owen insisted.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve known most of the ferry workers my whole life. Call it the benefit of being a homegrown fuck boy. They will tie you to a chair if I ask. But even if I have to knock you unconscious and stuff you in Anya’s trunk to get you on board, you’re leaving. My only question is, do you want to go under your own power, or get a little rug burn from the carpet fibers in the trunk as a bonus souvenir? Your choice,” I added magnanimously.

Chapter 28 – Anya

Watching Drew force Owen onto the ferry left me feeling floaty. Not in an I’d-had-too-much way, but in a cloudy, not-sure-this-is-real-life kind of way. I’d met with Owen, and the world hadn’t collapsed. Sure, he’d been a dick and taken a swing at Drew, but what else was new? I hadn’t let it get to me. And Drew was great. Not that it was surprising, but his need to protect the people he loved shone through.

The second confrontation with Owen outside Harbor Brews came out of nowhere. Having Drew and the guys rush to my defense left me feeling emotional. Loved. And a little grateful there hadn’t been too many witnesses.

Did I believe Owen would truly slink away and leave me alone forever? Not really. But for the first time in days, I could fill my lungs without feeling constricted by fear.

Drew squeezed my hand, smiling down at me as we walked up the hill. Reminding me that my feelings for him were anything but sisterly. Big and sure, he was more than a safe port in the storm.

“Your place or mine?” he asked as we reached the corner between The Anchor and my place.

The floating sensation magnified. “Yours. I don’t want to scandalize your sister.”

“What, Vi? Pretty sure she knows we’re having sex at this point.”

He stopped on the sidewalk, gathering me close. I huddled into his warmth, my hands on his broad chest. The strong muscle beneath my fingers made me want to explore.

“Yeah, but I already feel like a bad roommate. It’s one thing to fall for her brother; it’s another to rub her nose in it. You know she thinks she’s cursed, right?”

“She can’t help it if she has older brothers who are too hot to stay single.”

His faux-modesty was endearing, but it didn’t stop me from rolling my eyes. “It’s not all about you, handsome. Her last three roommates moved out when they coupled up.”

A broad grin stretched across his face. “So you’re saying we might find a place together when my commitment at The Anchor is up?”

It was a giant leap forward, but it felt right. “Something like that,” I said cagily, wanting to give him space if I’d overstepped.

He squeezed me tight. “Nothing would make me happier,” he rumbled in my ear, his deep voice sending a delicious shiver down my spine and gooseflesh pebbling across my arms and chest. “I meant what I said earlier. Sword. Shield. I just want to be with you.”

I turned toward him like a flower to the sun, soaking up the heat in his gaze. His full lower lip drew me forward, and I leaned into him, arching for his kiss. The first graze was sweet. Chaste. He groaned, deepening our kiss, leaving me out of breath when we finally broke apart.

I followed Drew into his apartment. He locked the door and backed me up against it. The cool wood at my back grounded me. He crowded forward, his hips pressing until I could feel how much he wanted me. Every place he touched burned with fire, leaving a trail of destruction in its path. My focus was wholly on him, which was my only excuse for not seeing it sooner.

“Aack!”

My involuntary scream spun Drew around, his fists at the ready. He swung a microsecond before I realized exactly who orwhatthe man behind us in the kitchen was: the cardboard cutout from the farm. The force of Drew’s blow decapitated the cardboard Beetlejuice, sending Michael Keaton’s head flying across the counter and into the sink.

My knees gave way, and I sank toward the floor, laughing. It sounded a little manic, even to my own ears. My pulse raced, a rushing in my ears that made it difficult to think straight. Drew turned back toward me, smile sheepish.

“I guess I showed him.”