Page 5 of Fragile Hearts (Hibiscus Hearts #3)

The day goes by so quickly, working most of it and then heading to classes. I love that today, after my test, our professor ended class early, and I’m heading back to Owen’s house right now. I need to get to work on a paper I have due next week, and this extra time will be useful.

When I walk in, I turn off the alarm, calling out to see if the house is empty. “Owen!” I yell, waiting to see if he responds. “You here?” Again, I wait, but he doesn’t respond, and I let out a sigh of relief to have the house to myself.

It’s not that I don’t like Owen. Actually, so far, things have been great, and I’m settling in, but it’s always hard for me.

Nothing ever feels like home; the fear of having to move is always in the back of my mind.

I can’t wait for the day that I buy my first house, and it’s mine—a place I can call home, a place where it feels like home.

I turn the alarm back on, setting it so it’s in the mode where I can move around the house; still a little apprehensive about being here alone. I often wonder when it will go away, when I’ll find a place that I’m comfortable in.

It’s times like this that I miss Mochi. Even though he weighs less than a cantaloupe, he at least barks when he hears something.

I’ve been checking in on him every day, missing him terribly and wondering if I should just tell Owen I have a dog.

See if he’s okay with me bringing him here.

But that feels like I’m asking too much.

He’s already letting me live here for basically pennies.

I can deal with being alone, even if it scares me. It’s stupid.

Brushing off the feeling as I always do, I head to my bedroom, dropping my laptop on my bed and grabbing my water bottle from my bag, adding it next to the laptop.

I stop for a second, listening, and peek out the door, finding the door to Owen’s room open. Out of my own stupid need to make sure the house is empty, I head toward his room, looking in.

It’s empty, and I step in a little further, moving to the attached bathroom and scanning it quickly. I let out a little laugh at how ridiculous this is. I don’t need to check every room, yet I still find myself doing it, out of habit, out of fear, out of complete irrationality.

Owen’s room is strangely spotless, not like a guy his age at all, and it smells amazing in here and suddenly want to lie down on his bed and cover myself with his sheets.

It’s so calming and quiet, not that my room isn’t.

But there’s something about the size, the oversized bed, the muted light gray on the walls, the white bedding , all of it, calls to me.

But it would be seriously fucking creepy if Owen came home and I was lying in his bed. Nothing like getting myself kicked out on day two of living together.

Going back to my room, I put in my earbuds and get to work on my paper. Typing away, pulling up research and opening a million tabs while I work. My music is playing in my ears, helping me focus and drown out any distractions.

Before I know it, it’s been two hours, and I’m nearly finished with my paper.

I don’t think I’ve ever worked so quickly on something, and I have to admit, it’s partially Daisy and Alana’s fault.

They were always so much fun, encouraging me to go surfing with them, or have a beer, or watch a movie.

Living with my best friends was amazing, but I’m not sure it can beat the silence of this house.

With a smile on my face, I grab my now-empty water bottle and leave my room to head to the kitchen to fill it.

As I step out of the room and into the hallway, I’m met face-to-face with a man. I don’t even hesitate for a second, wrapping my leg around his, I take him to the ground. My forearm is pressed to his throat, and I’m straddling his hips.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up, realizing I’ve just knocked Owen, my brand new and super helpful roommate, to the floor. His head thumped off the wooden flooring too, and now his eyes are scrunched closed.

“Oh my god, Owen, I’m so sorry,” I say, pulling my earbuds from my ears as I climb off him. “Oh my god.” The words are repeated over and over again in my head too.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Are you okay?” I ask, concern blanketing my words as he lets out a groan, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

I kneel down next to him, slipping my hand to where his head hit the ground, gently caressing it through his hair, feeling for a lump.

He swallows hard, his eyes focused on mine, and this electricity passes between us, crackling, and it sends a tingling sensation up my spine. When he wets his lips, his eyes falling closed at my touch, I quickly pull my hand away, missing the feeling of his soft hair woven through my fingers.

“Owen, seriously, are you okay?” Sitting back on my heels, I wait for him to answer. “I’m so sorry. I had my earbuds in, and I was listening to music. I thought I was alone, and then you were just, bam, there in front of me.”

I don’t even give him a second to answer my initial question, just rambling out of guilt.

I shake my head, and Owen lets out a low laugh, smiling up at me.

He has the most beautiful smile, all perfect, straight white teeth and these two dimples that dot his cheeks.

His tanned face has this surfer boy look, and he’s someone I would normally fall hard for, but he’s my roommate now.

But it’s more than that. Even before I moved in here, I just knew he was out of my league.

It's then that I notice he’s shirtless and covered in sweat, each droplet running down his toned and tanned chest, moving through the hard lines of his ab muscles. His T-shirt is tucked into the waistband of his shorts, and he sits up, grabbing it and wiping his face with it.

“Holy shit, Sloane, where’d you learn to do that?” he asks, again running the shirt over his face, his hand moving to where he hit his head.

“Foster care,” I mutter, and he narrows his eyes. Shaking my head, I blow it off, hoping he missed my comment. “Honestly, are you okay? Is your head okay? Let me look at it. I’ll get some ice.”

“I’m good. What I want to know is how the hell someone your size took me down. You weigh like a hundred pounds. Fucking impressive,” Owen jokes, and it doesn’t matter that he thinks it’s funny, I feel terrible.

“Owen, I’m so…” I start to say, and he just shakes his head, grabbing for my wrist when I go to stand up. “I need to get you some…” My mind goes blank the second his hand touches me, the warmth of his skin radiating through me, warming me and calming me.

“Let’s just promise not to sneak up on each other again,” he says, his thumb tracing a soft path along the inside of my wrist. I swallow hard at his touch, wanting more of it, but I gently take my hand away from him, standing and pushing my hair behind my ears.

“Okay, deal,” I reply, even though he didn’t sneak up on me. Even though I’m the one who behaved like I live in a prison. Luckily, he’s okay, and I didn’t knock him out or split his head open. Thank fuck that didn’t happen because me and blood don’t mix.

I need to get my shit together.

“I was out on a run. Next time I’ll leave a note or text you so you know,” he says, standing, and his words come out so sweetly that I feel like I might cry. He’s trying so hard to make this all good for me, and I don’t feel like anyone has ever gone out of their way the way he has.

“Thanks, I appreciate that, but it won’t happen again. I promise,” I reply, taking a deep breath. “Let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Owen says, but I shake my head, smiling at him.

I’m not going to take no for an answer, and as if he can sense that, he lets out a sigh.

“Fine. Do whatever you need to. I’m going to take a shower, but it really isn’t necessary.

” He winks at me, his bottom lip between his teeth, and I don’t think he’s ever looked sexier.

Standing there shirtless, his tanned skin glistening with sweat, his perfect smile now on display. And I find myself wanting to join him in the shower, to feel his hands on my body once again. All he did was touch my wrist, and I was falling apart. Just imagine…

But it’s not a good idea. It never will be a good idea.

I work at his parents’ luxury hotel. That right there is all I need to know.

I’m the front desk girl at a hotel his parents own, and not just one hotel, but multiple hotels all over the islands.

It’s the kind of money I’ll never know in my lifetime, and I’m not the kind of girl who ends up with a guy like Owen.

“Dinner?” I suggest, my brows going up as I wait for him to answer.

“Sure, dinner sounds great.”

An hour later, I’m back from the grocery store, and Owen is out of the shower.

He’s sitting on the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles, with the TV playing.

He’s watching highlights from a baseball game, but he switches it off when I walk in.

Hopping up from the couch, he meets me near the door.

“Here,” he says, holding out his hands and taking a few of the bags from me. “What did you get?”

“When I lived with the girls, we used to do pizza night. We’d make our own pizzas and watch a movie. I thought it might be…” I stop short, wondering if this is super lame. “Kinda dumb,” I add. “I can just make us a pizza.”

“Not dumb at all,” Owen replies, walking toward the kitchen. “Let’s do it, but I get to pick the movie.”

“Yeah, sure.” I give him a questioning look, curious as to what he’s thinking. The girls and I tended to stick with rom-coms, especially older ones from the nineties, loving them. That will not be Owen’s pick, but I’m good with that. He is letting me live here.

I begin to unpack the bags, putting the sauce and vegetables on the counter, while Owen puts the cheese and pepperoni in the fridge.

“We usually make our own crust,” I tell him, and he grabs a canister from the pantry, setting it on the counter in front of us.

“Guess we’re going to need some flour. What else?” he asks, smiling at me as he begins to rifle through the cabinets.

“Salt, baking soda, olive oil, and water. Got it all?”

“We do.”

Gathering it all, I look for a bowl and measuring cups. Finding them, I begin to measure everything out, with Owen standing by my side watching.

He calls out, asking the speakers to begin playing some music, and suddenly it’s filling the entire house. I look around, trying to find where the music is coming from, and Owen lets out a chuckle.

“The speakers are in the ceiling. Kinda cool, huh?”

“The whole house is amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever showered in a bathroom quite like the one here. It’s like I’m at a spa, not that I’ve ever been, but…” I shrug, laughing a little.

As I dump the flour into the bowl, it leaves a cloud of dust, and I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to clear it. Owen dumps in the water we measured out, the dust settling as I begin to mix it.

He’s watching me, his gaze moving from where my hands are mixing the dough and then back to my face. He smiles, reaching over, his fingers dance along my cheek.

“You have some flour,” he starts, his thumb pressing more firmly now, “right here.”

I gasp at his touch, his thumb lingering, gently moving to the corner of my mouth, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. He traces the outline of my lips, and I feel my entire body ignite, my thighs tightening of their own accord.

I wish I didn’t know what he looks like shirtless or the way his hips cut to the sexiest V, leading to a dick I’m growing more and more interested in. Hating that I can picture every muscle of his arms flexing when he paddles out on his surfboard or the way his ass looks in a pair of boardshorts.

Fuck my life.

“Um…” I say, swallowing hard, wanting to reach out and touch him, to slide my hands under his shirt and explore every inch of lean muscle.

“There’s a pizza oven outside,” Owen suddenly says, his words loud even over the sound of the music playing. He might as well have screamed them because that’s the way it feels, cutting off any dirty thoughts I might be having about him.

And that’s for the best.

“Okay, cool,” I mutter, returning to the bowl, my hands covered in flour and dough.

Trying to lighten the tension in the room, my thighs still squeezed together, my brain telling me to focus on the dough, I pull my hands out. Flicking my fingers in the air, flour and dough fly off them, hitting Owen right in the face.

“What the hell?” he calls out playfully. “Like it wasn’t enough that you knocked me on my ass, now you gotta throw pizza dough at me? I’m still recovering.” He pushes his bottom lip out in a pout, rubbing the back of his head.

“Come here,” I whisper, smiling at him as I hook a finger. “You got a little something on your face.”

Holy shit, as he steps toward me, I’m met with a smell of coconut and cedar, and it’s a smell that has my body crying out with need.

How the hell can he smell this damn good?

I can feel the warmth of his body in my space, and as much as I want to close my eyes and bask in him, I grab a dish towel from the counter instead.

Taking his chin in my hand, my fingers holding him in place, I wipe away the flour and bits of dough, smiling as I do.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his words low, and we are walking a fine line here, a line that we shouldn’t cross, but I want to, so damn bad.

I need to be responsible here. Now is not the time to make poor choices and ruin the good thing I have going living with Owen.

But it’s going to be damn hard.