Page 14 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

After breaking up with Bradley, I tried dating apps.

My strategy was to swipe left on any guy whose name began with a velar sound and to reveal in advance that I stuttered to those who matched.

Some men continued chatting, some disappeared, some met me and had a gazillion questions about stuttering—my favorite was, “Is it hereditary?” because at least it proved the guy wasn’t just looking for a hookup.

One guy told me after four dates that he couldn’t introduce me to his friends; and another loser I left without a ride home after he laughed and said I probably stuttered when I was “C... C... Coming.”

Owen’s fork hovered in the air before he set it down. His jaw tightened. “Can I tell you something?”

“You can try.” I smirked, chewing slowly.

“I didn’t like the way he made a fuss at the christening lunch. The table settings, the napkins, asking if the food was organic or sustainable or whatever the food police say.”

“Not everyone can be as easygoing as Bambi,” I shot back .

Owen scoffed, shaking his head with a wide grin—a wordless you got me .

“Models are part of the game, too?” I teased, tilting my head. “I’m surprised you even noticed him. We didn’t sit at the same table. Not that I’m defending him—he was an ass. But I really don’t think you’re in a position to give relationship advice.”

“Fair point, and the answer is probably yes,” Owen admitted with a half-smile, picking up a piece of pepper with his fingers. “But I was just looking out for you.”

“Because I’m Simon’s little sister?” I was pushing it, I knew I was, against every promise to myself. It wasn’t just my heart on the line, but his friendship with my brother.

“That, too.” He tilted his head, studying me.

A spark flared in my chest before I could stop it. I wanted it to be more than that. I wanted him to care, to be jealous, to want me like he did that night. Like it had meant something. Like it could still be something. No, Ruby, not ‘just’ sex.

A beat of silence stretched between us, laden with words unspoken. His gaze lingered, too searching, too knowing.

Before he could say anything—before I could risk hearing something I didn’t want to hear, or worse, something I did—I cleared my throat and forced a smile. Control the conversation , a learned strategy from my speech therapy.

“You know how I first met him? At the shop. He complimented our organic products and praised our teas collection. I used to tease him that he only got with me to get my employee discount. ”

Owen’s lips curled in amusement, but something unreadable blazed in his eyes.

“He actually came into the shop the other day, a few weeks ago. Wanted to let me know he was getting married. Thought I’d better hear it from him.”

Owen leaned back, arching a brow. “Pretentious prick much?”

I laughed. “Right? I mean, I appreciate the gesture, but I was so over him when we broke up that I was relieved some woman took him and his organic napkin obsession off my hands.”

“That bad?”

“June is particular about food and fabrics and body products, too, but with her, it’s genuine care.

With him, it was about superiority. He made me feel .

.. like my mom does sometimes. But she’s unaware and does it out of love.

He did it because it made him feel better than others.

Than me.” I paused, swirling my drink, watching the ice shift.

“It took me time to realize that he made me feel small. Incapable. Which is why ... the tutorials ...”

Owen leaned forward. “You’re anything but,” he said quietly, his voice gravelly but steady. His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering.

His words landed deep, sending warmth through me, like pressing a bandage against a pain I thought I’d buried.

Even after all these years, he still saw me.

And I knew then, at a restaurant in a non-date, that I was falling in love with him, whether I wanted to or not. That maybe I had always been, ever since that first smile in the kitchen .

He’d seen me then, and he never ceased to.

At nineteen, I had taken a huge risk with my heart by deciding to ask him—of all people—to take my virginity. I had been desperate.

I had sworn that college would be different than high school.

But a year in, it wasn’t. Guys who approached me at parties, in class, in the cafeteria—disappeared after two sentences.

A result of the fact that the most basic word in English—I—started with a glottal sound, making every introduction a battleground.

Some made an excuse and walked away. Others were too embarrassed to leave, so I had to watch the discomfort settle across their faces. And that made my stutter worse.

Rejection and disappointment led me to believe I wasn’t romantic material.

Ironically, the hottest guy in my circle—Owen, the epitome of unattainable—was the one who treated me like I hoped to be treated one day.

So when he came to Simon’s wedding, stayed at our house, and was Our Owen again, I took a chance. A risk.

One I couldn’t take now.

Back then, the chance outweighed the risk. Now, it was the other way around. And I had everything to lose.

EVERYONE IN OUR HOUSEHOLD was busy with wedding preparations. I was too, but not busy enough to be unaware of Owen’s presence in our house. He was right there—eating with us, helping calm my mom, joking with my father and brother, and sleeping in the room next to mine.

I found myself looking for every opportunity to be near him.

I hadn’t seen him in over two years. In some ways, he was just the same—open, friendly, funny, supportive of everyone.

But in other ways, he wasn’t. He kept slipping into a British accent mid-sentence, and his changed appearance—broader, more muscular—was that of a professional footballer, even though he told us he was still playing in a second league.

But something about him, something beneath the surface, told me he was going to make it big.

The idea had probably been brewing long before I let myself fully acknowledge it. But once it took hold, it wouldn’t let go, keeping me awake at night, aware that Owen was just a wall away. A door away. And with only one day left until the wedding—and him leaving the day after—time was running out.

As for courage, I took a few sips from my mom’s cooking sherry.

When the house fell completely silent and dark, I took a deep breath and tapped on the guest room door.

Owen opened it still dressed in jeans and a tee, his face marked with surprise.

We’d been chatting these last few days, but this was different—now I needed to find the right words, ease my way in, and hope he wouldn’t throw me out.

“Wedding jitters? Can’t sleep either?” he asked when I closed the door behind me and leaned against it.

“Yeah.”

I needed to be more expressive, bolder, if I wanted to get what I came here for.

My original plan was simple—just kiss him. But now, standing in front of him, I completely lost my nerve. Which, if I were thinking clearly, shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“So?” he asked, hands in his jean pockets, waiting for me to explain.

“I went downstairs for water and saw your light was still on. Thought I’d check how you’re doing.”

He smiled. “We already spoke yesterday, and today at lunch.”

“Right.” I glanced around, looking for another opening. “Wanna watch a movie?” I gestured toward the old, heavy TV on the dresser.

Owen sat on the princess-sized bed and gave me a knowing look. “Okay, what’s really going on, Rio Mio?”

I loved his nickname for me, but right now I needed him to see me as something more than Simon’s little sister.

I pushed off the door and stopped in the middle of the room. “I can’t sleep. Thought we could just chat.” I shrugged.

“Sure.”

Please don’t be nice. I need you to treat me like a woman, not a kid.

I sat next to him on the bed.

“I like this,” I said, pointing at the ornamented tattoo that extended from his right bicep to his forearm. “Is it new?”

“Kinda.” Owen ran his hand over the tattoo. My own hands tingled with the need to touch that beautiful bicep and the warm, golden skin.

When I raised my eyes, I met his gaze .

Swallowing, I opened with, “I read in a magazine—”

“ Nickelodeon magazine?” Owen smirked.

“No. Seventeen ,” I replied defensively, feeling about twelve years old next to him.

“Just joking. What did you read?” he encouraged.

“That any two people can become friends if they answer five questions honestly.” The article actually said “fall in love” but I couldn’t say that.

Owen scoffed, making me glad I hadn’t quoted the original headline.

When I remained silent, he nudged me with his elbow. “We’re already friends, aren’t we?”

I smiled.

“So? What are the questions?”

I knew he was just humoring me, but I answered anyway. “They were quoting a movie ... So, first one: Describe yourself in three adjectives, not all positive.”

He puckered his lips. “Um ... Ambitious, loyal ...” he paused. “And ambitious.”

“Hey, you said ambitious twice!”

Owen bit his lip. “Ambition gets me where I want to go, but it also means ... I always have to be working toward something. Like if I stop, I’ll lose track of who I’m supposed to be. I don’t know if that even makes sense.”

A twinge shot through my heart. It was only the first question, but I already knew that as for me, Seventeen was right. I could fall for him. Hard. “You said once that you couldn’t fail. Is that what you mean?”

“Is that one of the five questions?” He lifted one eyebrow and smiled in a challenge .

“No,” I admitted. “The next one is: Where do you see yourself at sixty?”

“So maybe you answer that one,” Owen said.

“Okay. Um ... I see myself living here, but in a beach house. Married, of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a playful grin.

“Three kids,” I continued. “None of them stuttering. And I’ll have a shop that sells ...”—I waved my hand—“something cool. And I’ll lecture people about how to overcome ... stuff. I mean, I still have to overcome it, but ... you know ...” My words trailed off, as did my gaze.

When I finally looked at him I found that special smile on his lips and in his eyes—almost tangibly soft.

He swallowed. “What’s the third question?”

I cleared my throat. This was the one I really wanted to ask him. “When was the last time you said ‘I love you’?”

“I never have.”

“Never?”

“Nope.”

“Not even to that girl you went out with?”

“Which one? No, not to anyone. Except maybe my grandpa.”

“Oh.” I genuinely hadn’t expected that answer.

“What’s the fourth?” Owen asked.

“What past action or decision would you change if you could?”

“Your turn,” he said.

“According to Seventeen , we’re both supposed to answer all five questions, but okay. I wouldn’t have eaten that second bag of chips. I need to fit into my dress, even though I hate the color Nicole picked for the bridesmaids. Salmon.”

Owen chuckled. “What’s the last one?”

“The last one is an open one—you get to ask whatever you want.”

“Ask.” He tilted his head like he was bracing himself.

I took a deep breath and shot the words out quickly, which was a small triumph in itself—I didn’t stutter. “Will you help me get rid of my virginity?”

The shocked look on his face ...

“I’m nineteen, in college, and I’ve never had a boyfriend and I fear I never will,” I rushed on, getting slightly stuck on ‘college’.

“I’m the only one of my friends who’s still a virgin, and I’m always left out on all the jokes and conversations.

I already feel like the odd one out. I want to be the odd one in . ”

“First of all,” Owen exhaled and looked like he didn’t know where to begin and which way to attack my barrage of words. “You will have boyfriends, I promise. You’re amazing, Rio.”

He shook his head like he was still processing. “Second, I can’t do that! You’re ... you’re Simon’s little sister, and you’re ... we’re friends, right?”

He didn’t say no . He didn’t say he didn’t want to.

I held onto that. “I’m not his little sister, I’m just somewhat younger. And I’m not that young anymore.”

“Rio ...” Owen breathed out, rubbing a hand over his face. “I still have one question left; an open one, right?”

“Is that your question?”

“No.” He looked straight at me, piercing me with his eyes. “Why me? ”

I bit on my bottom lip. Not in a sexy way.

In an I’m sorry I’m doing this to you way.

“Because we’re friends. Because I trust you.

Because you’ve always been great to me. And because you’ll be gone next week and I won’t have to face you.

” And despite myself, I added, “And look at you—you’re gorgeous. ”

A dry, embarrassed chuckle escaped his lips. “I don’t know, Rio.” He sighed.

“Think about it like this—if this were our third date, you know what happens on a third date.”

“When did we have the first two?” Owen now looked amused. This wasn’t going the way I’d planned.

“Well, that time in the pool, we were alone and talked a lot. Remember?”

He nodded, suddenly not so amused.

“And the homecoming dance.”

I still remembered the rush of excitement when he had asked me to dance and how it felt to be in his arms. Maybe he’d do the same for me now. To rattle myself back to coolness, I added, “And we watched Matrix Reloaded together.”

“Simon was there.”

“But he fell asleep,” I retorted.

We both laughed now.

“He’ll kill me,” Owen said when the laughter died down.

Again, he didn’t say no. He even thought about my brother’s reaction ‘after’.

“We won’t tell him. I know I won’t.”

“Rio. It’s not like I ... don’t want to. But it’s ... complicated.”

“I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to take my cherry,” I said, misquoting Notting Hill with a cheeky smile .

Owen laughed, shaking his head .

I scooted closer to him. His expression shifted—something changed in his eyes, in the warmth radiating between us. I held onto his gaze and leaned closer. Until Owen did, too.

And I kissed him.