Page 36 of Pick Me

I woke up to find Owen snoring softly beside me, his arm thrown over his eyes.

We’d stumbled up to his room in the darkness at who knows what time and fallen asleep the moment we pulled the sheet up over

us. With Wes and Claudia two floors below us, I knew they wouldn’t catch me sneaking out of his room, although there was a

slim chance they’d heard some of the prior night’s festivities and already had some idea of what was up.

Owen must’ve felt me watching him sleep because he rubbed his forehead and opened his eyes slowly, immediately focusing on

me.

“Good morning,” he said sleepily.

I had to hold myself back from cuddling up against him despite the fact that he’d spent plenty of time nestled between my

legs the night before. We were in an unknown middle place, undefined after what we’d shared and where we’d come from.

“Good morning.”

When Owen reached out to grasp my arm and pull me across the bed to him, I figured out that we weren’t quite as undefined as I’d assumed.

I snuggled up against his bare chest and nuzzled my nose against his neck.

His soapy scent had faded into pleasant, familiar Owen-ness.

He planted a kiss on the top of my head as he wrapped his arms around me.

“I need to be a good host and get the coffee started,” he said softly against my hair. “As much as I want to stay here.”

He slid his hand down my back to cup my ass, and it was enough to make me have to squeeze my legs together from my instant

need for him. I raised up on my elbow and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“They’re probably still asleep. Wes sleeps like the dead.”

I slid my leg over the top of his to sell my point, and he groaned a little.

“Doubtful,” Owen answered as he moved closer to me. “They had a canine alarm in their bed. Marti is part rooster.”

And then, as if to prove how well he knew his dog, a single sharp bark echoed through his house.

“She needs to go out.” He sighed. “They’re definitely up now.”

We kissed quickly, too quickly, and scrambled to get dressed. I made the pretense of going into the room where I was supposed

to sleep to brush my hair and teeth and try to not look like I’d been well fucked the night before.

Owen was already acting like a barista at his complex coffee machine by the time I walked down to the empty kitchen. He was

in a T-shirt and shorts that actually fit him, looking adorably disheveled with his hair standing up in some patches and flattened

in others. I was proud that I was the reason.

“I was half wrong and you were right,” he said as Marti ran over to greet me. “She managed to pry the basement door open,

but they’re still asleep. I already took her out.”

Marti twisted back and forth in between my hands like she couldn’t figure out which side of her body needed the most petting.

“I’ve got to wake them soon,” I said as I stood up. “They have to catch a train to make it back for the rest of Murphy activities

before they head to the airport tomorrow. I think he said something about a nature hike with my parents? They like to keep

every minute scheduled.”

He paused with his hand on a lever. “Are you sure you’re not adopted?”

“Hey.” I tried to play-kick him, but he grabbed my ankle and held on to it.

“Hey, yourself,” he murmured, making me hop on one foot as he pulled me closer to him.

Owen grasped the underside of my thigh and pulled me close for a kiss that I never wanted to end.

Our confusing middle place was shifting into a defined one.

I was about to jump on the counter, pull up my skirt, and suggest a quickie, but Owen’s phone pealed with a series of chimes.

“Damn,” he said as he reluctantly pulled away from me. “Someone needs to talk to me now . Four texts in a row.”

I watched him with a full heart as he reached behind me to grab his phone and scroll to the messages. His eyebrows went up,

then slowly furrowed. He turned to me with an expression that set off alarm bells in my head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked quickly. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Kai,” he said flatly.

I squinted at Owen, searching his face for the laugh I was hoping would come. Was he that good of an actor?

“Asking about you,” Owen continued in a wary voice. “He said you made plans to meet up last night and you flaked. You didn’t answer his text. He wants me to tell him what I think of you, since you train with me and I probably have a sense of what you’re like.”

Owen’s face went blank in a way I’d never seen. Like he was looking at a stranger. Cold eyes, granite jaw.

My stomach turned inside out as I tried to find a way to explain.

“No, hold on. We didn’t make plans,” I said quickly, taking a step closer to him. “It was nothing.”

Owen moved away so smoothly that I almost didn’t notice, because I was so focused on the hurt in his expression.

“I passed him outside the locker room at CPA, and he asked what I was doing later.” My words mashed together. “I was vague,

because I didn’t want him to meet up with us, but I guess he assumed I was serious about it? It wasn’t planned or anything.”

Owen stared at the ground.

“Hey,” I said softly. “I didn’t want to be with him. I wanted to be with you . That’s why I didn’t text him back.”

He nodded, still refusing to look at me.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, gently grasping his arm.

Owen continued nodding while staring down, like he was having a conversation with himself, sorting things out in his head

before he opened his mouth.

“This is feeling way too familiar,” he began. He pulled away from me to refocus on the coffee machine.

An unexpected wave of seasickness rolled through me. “Owen, no. Oh my god, it’s not like that.”

I just wanted him to look at me, so he could see how desperate I was to convince him that he was wrong.

He flipped handles on the machine with increasing ferocity.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that line before.”

My mouth went dry, because from his perspective, it probably did mirror what he’d been through before. But this was different.

I was different. All the muse bullshit didn’t matter, because I was falling for someone real, and wonderful, and even more

inspirational than some stranger I’d decided to fixate on.

“Owen, come on. Let’s talk. Please.”

He whirled to me, his eyes flashing and his expression grim. He started to say something right as the basement door crashed

open.

“Good morning, party people,” Claudia sang as she walked into the kitchen. “Who wants brunch?”

She froze when she saw our expressions, and Wes collided into her from behind.

“What’s up?” Wes asked, glancing between us. “Is everything okay?”

There was no way I wanted to get into it with them, or worse, fake our way through a meal while Owen glowered at me.

“Yeah, we were just... figuring some stuff out,” I said, flicking my eyes to a very barista-minded Owen.

“Morning, folks. Coffee?” he asked without looking over at them.

“We, uh, should probably get going,” I said nervously, because the last thing I wanted to do was leave the conversation without

resolution. “We need to get your stuff from my place and see how bad the fire damage is.”

“Right,” Claudia said slowly. She was intuitive. She knew something was up. “Of course. We’ll strip the bed.”

“Hey, Marti was a phenomenal bedmate,” Wes added, oblivious.

“Yeah, she’s a good girl,” Owen agreed. “Very loyal.”

He was already checked out, but he’d managed to get a little dig in at me.

Wes and Claudia retreated to the basement, and I took advantage of being alone to get right in Owen’s face.

“We’ll talk more once they leave, okay? Please.” I was practically begging him. “Let’s figure this out. Just trust me.”

I reached out to try to take his hand, but he slipped away under the pretense of getting mugs.

“Same damn script.” He chuckled mirthlessly as he opened cabinet after cabinet, like he was a guest and not the owner of the

home. “For fuck’s sake, why didn’t I listen to my gut?”

I tried to come up with something convincing enough to at least get him to listen to me, but Marti barked and scratched at

the back door, and Wes came up clutching a ball of sheets and towels.

The morning was moving on, but I was stuck staring at the mess I’d accidentally made. I needed to fake that everything was

normal so I didn’t hijack what was left of Wes and Claudia’s visit.

Our apartment was habitable but slightly smoky, which felt fitting given my state of mind. Meredith was spending Sunday with

Colton, and before everything went to shit, I’d planned to camp out at our kitchen table and get back to writing.

There was no way I could focus on HEA vibes now, deadline or not.

I hated saying goodbye to Wes and Claudia. There wasn’t enough time to explain everything that had blown up in the past twelve

hours, so I faked happiness until I dropped them off at Penn. Claudia had given me an extra-long hug, and when she pulled

away, she’d murmured, “I’m here if you need me.”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from tearing up.

A text buzzed in and I grabbed at my phone like it was a lifeline. It was from Claudia, not Owen responding to my three increasingly

desperate messages.

Forgot to send this to you. Very cute!

It was a slightly off-center photo taken out on the street on our way to the restaurant, an unguarded moment between me and

Owen in the misty darkness. The rain forced us to share an umbrella so we were huddled close, and based on the way our bodies

were aligned and our strides were matched, it looked like we were dance partners heading out to wow the judges. Owen was talking

and smiling, and I was looking up at him with a slightly awestruck expression, like he was revealing the secrets of the universe,

or at least how to improve my backspin. We were illuminated from behind by a passing car’s headlights, making the falling

rain sparkle like a million diamonds all around us.

I stared at the photo for a long time, scrutinizing every detail. Whatever we’d shared was something worth fighting for.

Thanks for sending. Safe travels. XO

I padded across the room to leave my phone on the kitchen counter, because I needed zero distractions for what I already knew

was going to be a crappy writing session. Lately, I’d been excited to tease out the details of Austin and Abby’s shifting

relationship, but today I felt zero pull to open the document. Even Einar and Zandria couldn’t get me into the right headspace.

I propped my elbows up on the kitchen table and stared at my laptop, willing myself to say off Reddit so I could focus.

Then I remembered that I had the perfect diversion that actually needed my attention and could be a way back to Owen: his

chapter outline.

He hadn’t told me the direction he was taking for his book, but I assumed it would be a universal sporty angle, so he could

tweak the content to fit any audience. I could already see him on a stage, delivering keynotes to various corporate sales

teams across the country. If he packaged it right, he could make a killing, not only in speaker fees but also in back-of-the-room

book sales.

I opened the document expecting some sort of vague, punny title, but his book was called Athlete-Centered Coaching: The Importance of Balance and Empathy in Sports Mentorship .

I cocked my head like a dog hearing a siren. This most certainly was not a universal, broad-appeal topic. I kept reading.

What Owen wanted to write was sports psychology for coaches working with everyone from student athletes up through adult trainers,

not a pithy pop-psych book for corporate managers. The chapters included topics like intrinsic and external athlete motivation,

resilience, emotional awareness and stress management, the myth of the obedient athlete, and the importance of observation

and intuition.

He’d included a two-page reference section as well, citing various studies he planned to incorporate.

I stared into space as I considered his approach. Owen didn’t care about writing a bestseller. He was pitching a heavy, niche

topic that might not find a home with a major publisher.

But it was important . And if he could strike the right tone, he could transcend the psychology speak and write from the heart about his own experiences as a young athlete with a tough coach, as well as incorporate vignettes from other athletes.

I couldn’t call myself a true athlete, but even I had insights on how a long-ago throwaway comment from a coach figure had altered my self-perception.

Owen’s book needed to happen, with or without me.