Page 44 of Wish You Were Mine (Kings of Eden Falls #3)

LUCY

Theo’s surprise party went off without a hitch. He was happily surprised, the house was packed, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves—eating, talking, and playing games in different corners of the house.

Once I saw that everyone was having a good time and Charlotte was entertaining Theo and his friends with her somersaults, I slipped away from the main living area and into the big theater room at the back of the house.

When I walked in the back, Miles, Bash, and Ky were sprawled on the tiered seats at the front of the room, playing some interactive video game that involved lots of yelling and arm movements.

Trying not to disturb them, I sank onto a couch in the back row, kicked off my heels, and groaned quietly.

My legs were killing me. Coach hadn’t exactly murdered us in practice this week, but she’d definitely slow-baked us.

Lots of precision drills, balance corrections, and extra holds on beam to “lock in muscle memory” before Sunday’s big home meet against Yale .

The result: my body felt like Jell-O. Controlled Jell-O. With a side of bruises.

I leaned my head back, closing my eyes for just a second…

“Let’s gooo! Dunk on him!”

The shout came from the front of the room—probably Miles— jarring me out of the edges of sleep.

My eyes fluttered open, and that was when I saw Owen.

Sitting on the couch beside me, maybe a foot away. Casual. Relaxed. Like he’d been there quietly watching his friends play their video game while I was dozing off.

“You tired?” he asked softly, his voice low and close.

I blinked at him, still half-drowsy. “Exhausted,” I admitted, letting my head rest back against the cushion. “I just needed to get off my feet for a minute.”

He glanced down, eyes catching on my heels now discarded on the floor. “Feet sore?”

“My everything is sore,” I muttered with a faint smile, stretching out one leg in front of me.

He smiled, then looked around the room, making sure the guys were still caught up in their game. Then, without a word, Owen reached over and took my foot gently in his hands.

My breath hitched. For a second, I wasn’t sure what he was doing. Was he just holding it? About to make a joke? My brain scrambled to make sense of the sudden contact—of how careful his touch was. How warm his hands felt against my skin.

And then he started massaging.

And I nearly melted. Because ohhhh…it felt so good.

A sharp breath escaped me—half-sigh, half-moan—and I had to slap a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice low, rougher than usual. Like he, too, was having some sort of internal reaction to touching me like that .

“No.” I shook my head, barely able to form words. “That feels…ridiculously good.”

He smiled again, and I imagined I saw heat smoldering behind his eyes.

His fingers moved in slow, practiced circles over the arch of my foot, making me sink deeper into the couch cushion.

Then he slid upward, his thumbs pressing into my sore calf, kneading gently but firmly, coaxing out tension I hadn’t even realized I was holding.

Oh. Wow.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep another groan from escaping. This felt way too good—illegal levels of good.

I let my head fall back for a second, trying to gather myself, but it was no use.

Because then, I looked at him.

And just like that, the focus of my senses shifted—from how good his hands felt on me to how good he looked while giving my muscles much needed relief.

His brow was furrowed slightly in concentration, his strong hands deftly moving up and down my calf.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice husky as heat coiled low in my stomach, unbidden images flickering through my mind of what his hands might feel like on the rest of me. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“No problem,” he said, his eyes locking with mine. “It’s the least I could do.”

And in that moment, I forgot how to breathe. Because that look…it made me think that if I were to tell him I wanted more, he’d give it.

And boy, did I want more.

So much more.

Wished I could take his hand and pull him into one of Theo’s spare bedrooms and pick up where we’d left off in the hot tub all those weeks ago.

To go back to that magical night when the stars just seemed to align perfectly and there weren’t all these extra complications.

His hands moved to my other foot, his thumb brushing the curve of my ankle bone, and a full-body shiver rolled through me.

What is he doing to me?

Each stroke, each squeeze, each gentle press of his fingers melted into my skin like warm water on aching muscles. And it felt so good. Too good.

I glanced toward the front of the room where the guys were still hollering at the game. They thankfully seemed oblivious to the fact that we were even in here with them.

When I turned back, Owen was already watching me, his expression unreadable but intense.

What would he do if I lean over and kiss him right now?

He wouldn’t be touching me like this if he didn’t want more…right?

Would he pull me into his lap like he had that night under the stars? Would he trace his lips along my neck, his breath hot against my skin, sending shivers down my spine as he whispered that he’d been dreaming of doing that since we met?

I studied the way his chest was rising just a little too fast. The way his eyes had darkened to stormy slate, hunger flickering just beneath the surface.

When his gaze dropped to my mouth—and he licked his lips before meeting my eyes again—my heart nearly stopped.

Would it really be so bad if I pulled him away right now? For just a minute. One stolen moment in a quiet corner to take the edge off this unbearable tension simmering between us.

But just when I thought he might actually reach for me, just when it felt like this moment was about to tip into something reckless and unforgettable, Theo’s voice broke through the fog with a, “Hey,” and I jolted like I’d been electrocuted.

I snatched my foot back from Owen and straightened in my seat, my heart slamming against my ribs like I’d been caught doing something illegal.

“This party has been amazing,” Theo said, totally oblivious to the charged moment he’d just crashed. “Seriously, Lucy—thank you for putting it all together. I honestly can’t believe you were able to find the time with everything else you have going on.”

“You’re welcome.” I swallowed hard, my pulse still drumming in my ears with the adrenaline of almost getting caught in a heated moment with his friend—my professor. “Professor Park helped a lot, too. Gave me the contact info for the caterers.”

Hopefully, using his title in front of Theo would keep my brother off the scent—keep him from realizing just how familiar Owen and I had become these past six weeks.

“Thanks, man,” Theo said, stepping in farther and giving Owen a casual fist bump.

“Happy to help,” Owen replied smoothly, his voice perfectly neutral again.

But when Theo looked toward the front of the room a second later and I caught Owen’s eyes, his gaze seemed to reflect exactly what I was thinking: that we’d been way too close to getting caught.

After the party died down and most of the guests were gone, I stayed behind to help clean up while Theo got Charlotte tucked into her bed upstairs .

I’d just finished putting the leftover cake in the fridge when Owen stepped into the kitchen.

“What can I do to help?” he asked, sleeves pushed up, hands tucked in his pockets.

My heart jumped at the sight of him. I’d assumed he already left after helping the caterers from The Garden load up their van. But here he was.

“If you could take out the trash, that’d be awesome,” I said, nodding toward the near-overflowing bin, trying to keep the sudden spike of nerves in check.

Because we are alone.

I mean, Theo and Charlotte were upstairs, so we weren’t alone-alone.

But since Charlotte usually took at least thirty minutes to fall asleep—after convincing Theo to read her no fewer than three bedtime stories—it wasn’t likely anyone would be joining us anytime soon.

“On it,” he said, grabbing the bag and tying it off.

A few minutes later, he was back—liner replaced, water running as he washed his hands at the sink.

I grabbed the stack of paper plates from the counter and opened the pantry door, just as he stepped up behind me with a rolled-up bag of chips in hand.

“Sorry,” I mumbled when my arm grazed against his chest, the narrow space making it impossible not to brush against each other.

“It’s fine,” he said, but I didn’t miss the way his voice sounded huskier than usual.

I turned slightly, meaning to make more room, but all it did was bring us closer. His body was just inches from mine, and the air became instantly charged, making my skin prickle.

I could smell him, clean and warm, familiar now, and so stupidly comforting .

“You smell really good,” I said, looking up at him through my lashes, suddenly aware of every breath, every heartbeat.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking down at me with his dark eyes that always seemed to see into my soul. “So do you.”

And even though now would probably be the time to step out of the pantry…

He didn’t move.

And neither did I.

The silence thickened, stretching tight and taut around us, like the air itself was holding its breath.

My eyes flicked up to his.

And that was all it took.

Because the look he gave me wasn’t neutral. It wasn’t casual.

It was hungry.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, and suddenly, everything in me went still.

Was he thinking what I was thinking?

That maybe it was okay to steal a little moment after all?

Just one.

I mean, it’s not like anyone would find out…

As if reading my mind, Owen reached out. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, barely touching me, but it sent a jolt of heat straight down my spine.

I didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare.

One wrong move, and I’d shatter the moment.

But then his hand lingered, his fingertips trailing lightly down my jaw.