Page 59 of I Love You, I Hate You
“And what drew her to your dad?”
He winced. “I have no idea, really. But she’s on a mission to liberalize him and chill out the rest of his social circle, so I’m all for that. She even got him to utter the words ‘white privilege’ the other day, or so she says. And she’s a great mom.”
“You seem pretty close to your sisters,” she ventured, and Owen lit up. He was a doting brother, that much was for sure, and he walked her through the rest of the first floor while regaling her with tales of dance recitals and soccer games. It was adorable, seeing how much he loved them, and it reminded her of that day in the summer, watching him be completely at their beck and call and loving every second of it.
The fact was, Owen had a way of getting under all her defenses. He was so open, so loving, that it was hard to resist. She wanted a little bit of that for herself. It reminded her of Luke, in a way—the good parts of him, at least. The way he seemed to be able to draw her out, crack the walls she had so carefully built. She missed that with Luke, but maybe she could find it with Owen.
Victoria spotted a staircase that led downstairs. “Is the wine cellar down here?”
“Wine cellar, pool, and sauna.”
“Then that’s where the tour goes next,” she said, deciding. She would show him how she felt because words might be failing her, but their bodies never did.
The lights under the pool were bright enough to light up the area without Owen bothering with the overhead fluorescents. Humid warmth surrounded them and the scent of chlorine bit his nostrils, while the windows facing the lake carried an ever-present sheen of condensation. “A pool,” Victoria said under her breath. “A goddamn pool, while you live on a lake. What’s the point?”
“Well, for one thing, that lake is mostly frozen solid right now,” he pointed out. “And for another, some people think lakes smell bad and would rather not swim with the weeds.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What sort of stuck-up jackass thinks that?”
“This one,” he admitted with a laugh. She wandered across the tile floor and peered down at the water. It threw reflections across her face, lighting her up until she seemed to glow. He had been relieved when she reached out to him, excited to finally have a chance to clear their slates and start again on even footing. But he hadn’t accounted for how much she threw him off guard, and how much he craved her adoration. Making her laugh, seeing her smile—those were his favorite things before he knew she was Nora, and now that he did, it made it all the more potent to know that this was the same witty, kind, open woman he had fallen for online.
And she was wearing his hoodie. It made him feel like a high schooler to be giddy over that, but he had noticed it the second she shed her jacket and couldn’t stop staring. He wondered if she had worn it a lot over the time they were apart, or if this was a new thing. He hoped it was the former, and that her scent would linger when she gave it back to him. Or she could keep it—he was fine with that too.
“Do you swim here often?” she asked, and maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed as though her voice dropped an octave.
“Occasionally,” he replied, measuring her reaction.
“That’s a shame. Seems like a waste of a pool, especially with the house to ourselves,” she said, eyes suddenly dark.
Her hand lifted to the zipper, currently nestled between her breasts, and she eased it down. The noise seemed unusually loud in the echoey pool room, a metallic click for each tooth of the zipper. “I forgot to give you this,” she announced, her voice throaty, and shrugged out of it.
Owen barely caught it before the sweatshirt hit him in the face. Underneath she was wearing a blue jumpsuit. The halter neckline showed off her shoulders, and a slit of fabric down her sternum revealed a tantalizing slice of skin. She reached for the strings at the nape of her neck and his lungs completely stopped working.
It took forever for her to unravel the knot, or maybe he had just lost all grasp of the time-space-continuum. With one last tug it came undone and the bodice of her jumpsuit fluttered down to her waist, the material fluid and soft. She was wearing a tiny black bra underneath, more lace and strings than anything else, and she unzipped something at her hip to let the rest of the jumpsuit fall away.
Owen swallowed and dug his fingers into his palms, desperate for something to ground him. This was going faster than he anticipated, and he still had some rather big things to reveal. But then Victoria stepped out of the fabric with a flash of legs, and his brain ran straight into a brick wall.
Her black panties matched her bra—of course they did, this was Victoria—and she looked at him over her shoulder. His eyes trailed down the curve of her back, helpless, and she dove into the water with a dainty splash.
“You coming in?” she asked, resurfacing.
His hands were already gripping the hem of his sweater. “That was an impressive dive,” he observed, kicking off his socks and undoing his belt.
“My mom was a varsity swimmer, before—well, before I showed up and screwed it all up for her. But she taught me well.”
“She sounds like fun,” he said, hoping if he kept the subject light and neutral it would keep the situation from getting too charged.You have to tell her. Tell her now.Down to his boxers, he walked to the shallow edge and stepped onto the stairs, wincing.
“Are you kidding me? You’re going to walk in?” she groused.
“The water’s cold,” he whined. “I’ve never been able to do the whole cannonball-in thing.”
“On no planet can this water be consideredcold.My god, growing up on a lake was wasted on you,” Victoria retorted. With two strokes she was into his side of the pool and stood, water cascading down her shoulders.Bad idea, bad idea, his brain squawked. Even the water washing up his legs did little to cool the fire building in his veins.
“You’re telling me,” he agreed. He had finally reached his waist and he realized the water wasn’t going to do what he hoped it would, because it really wasn’t that cold—cooler than the surrounding air at first touch, maybe, but Ashley and Charles kept it warm enough for the girls, which meant it was actually quite pleasant. Victoria waded over to him, her nipples tight under her bra. Owen quickly redirected his gaze to her face, but that didn’t help either—her eyes were dark with lust, and a wave of his own threatened to draw him under. “One time, when I was thirteen, I—” he started, babbling, and she pressed her finger to his lips.
“I’m sure whatever story you were going to share is either very touching or very funny, but I’ll be honest, I don’t give a shit about your childhood right now.” Slowly, deliberately, she peeled her bra off and tossed it to the side.
Owen swallowed hard. Her hands wound into his hair and left droplets of water sliding down his cheeks. “What if—what if there’s other things we should talk about?” he asked, but his traitorous body stepped closer to her and his hand came to rest on her waist. God, he’d missed the feel of her skin, warm and smooth under his palms, and suddenly he was skating his hands everywhere, remembering every curve of her body.