Page 51 of Wish You Were Mine (Kings of Eden Falls #3)

LUCY

Owen and I were both swamped over the next few weeks.

He was buried in his lecture load, lab hours, and the mountain of grant paperwork he was tackling with Dean Harris.

As for me, I was juggling midterms, a pile of marketing projects, and trying to add a higher-difficulty pass to my floor routine—something that could boost my score enough to (hopefully) qualify for Nationals on my own, in case our team didn’t make it.

Instead of traveling for meets those weekends, we lucked out with the last two of February being close to home—a tri-meet in New Haven and a home meet against George Washington.

The break from travel gave me a little more breathing room…

and a few more chances to see Owen on the weekends, even if we still had to keep things careful.

At school, we kept our distance. Not that it stopped my stomach from flipping every time our eyes met across the lecture hall or chemistry lab. But at night, after study sessions or late practices, he’d walk me home.

And even when the wind bit at my cheeks and my backpack dug into my shoulders, those walks were my favorite part of the day.

Because even without holding hands or stealing kisses in public, I loved being with him. Talking. Laughing. Listening to him share his hopes for his research project with that quiet, focused kind of excitement that made me feel lucky just to witness it.

Did I understand all the chemistry jargon? Not even close. But I loved the way his face lit up when he talked about it. The way his voice took on this low, animated tone, almost giddy in a still-totally-masculine kind of way, like he couldn’t help but be swept up in what he loved.

On the first Wednesday in March, after another long day, we were walking side by side in the quiet chill, the sidewalk shimmering faintly from the earlier rain.

“Do you have more homework waiting for you tonight?” he asked, bumping his shoulder gently into mine like it was second nature.

“A little.” I yawned, tugging my sleeves over my fingers. “But I was thinking of taking a break. Give my brain a rest.”

“Want to come over?” He smiled. “Watch a show or a movie?”

“That actually sounds really nice.”

We paused at the corner near his apartment. I checked around us, tugged my hood up over my head like I was avoiding the paparazzi, then we darted across the street to his place, laughing quietly the whole way.

Inside, he motioned toward the couch. “How about you pick something to watch while I pop some popcorn?”

He disappeared into the kitchen while I scrolled through the streaming apps. I settled on the newest romcom I’d been meaning to watch, then glanced over my shoulder to see him at the stove, turning the handle on some contraption I’d never seen before.

“Is that a…popcorn machine?”

“It’s a stovetop popper,” he said proudly. “Tastes better than microwave.”

The smell was amazing—salty, buttery, warm.

When he joined me on the couch with a big bowl in hand, I leaned in to grab a handful and curled into his side.

“You did well on your test today, by the way,” he said, draping his arm around me.

“You already graded it?”

“I did.” He nodded. “And I know you said you and chemistry don’t get along, but if you keep telling people that and they see your grades, they might think I’m inflating your scores.”

I laughed. “Does this mean I’ve officially surpassed my high school B-plus?”

“You had an A-minus when I checked today.”

“Well, imagine that.” I grinned. “Not the straight A’s my dad prefers, but…pretty good.”

“It’s more than good.” He looked at me like he meant it. “You’re doing really well.”

“I guess there’s something to be said for being interested in the professor’s lectures.”

He chuckled. “So, I’m not boring you to death with all my talk of reaction kinetics and molecular orbital theory?”

“I mean, I do occasionally get distracted by how your biceps flex when you write on the board,” I joked. “And how good you look in your button-downs and ties…”

He laughed, shaking his head, but I could see the pleased flush on his cheeks.

“Let’s just say I didn’t nickname you Professor Heartthrob for nothing.” I winked.

“Wait…is that my name in your phone? ”

“No.” I smirked. “You’re still ‘Theo’s Friend.’”

“Smart. Less suspicious.” He chuckled as he picked up a few pieces of popcorn. “Don’t need your dad seeing your phone and wondering who Professor Heartthrob is.”

“Exactly.”

“So…” Owen glanced at the TV screen. “What movie did you decide on?”

“It’s a romcom,” I said, giving him an innocent look. “About a girl who goes off to college and falls for her hot professor.”

“Seriously?” He blinked, then gave a soft laugh. “That feels…suspiciously on theme.”

I shrugged, fighting a smile. “It’s a total coincidence.”

“Mm-hmm.” He tugged me closer, his tone warm and teasing. “Well, hopefully it has a happy ending.”

“Hopefully.”

I pressed Play on the remote, and the movie started to roll. Owen leaned back against the couch, legs propped up on the coffee table, and I curled against his chest, tucking myself beneath his arm. It should’ve been the perfect way to unwind—movie, popcorn, warm boyfriend beside me.

But I barely registered the opening scene.

Because all I could focus on was him.

The rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.

The soft scent of his aftershave clinging to his skin.

His fingers trailing lazily up and down my side...then slipping under the hem of my shirt, brushing bare skin.

My breath caught in my throat.

Oh.

I liked that.

The quiet intimacy of it. The way it made my heart stutter and my body ache for more.

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, and I tilted my face up to look at him. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering there, and for a second, we just stared at each other.

We’d had a few kisses since that night in the pantry—sweet, fleeting moments stolen in private corners—but nothing quite as reckless and uninhibited.

And right now…I wouldn’t mind forgetting everything else again. Especially since we were actually alone in his apartment and no brothers could come downstairs and interrupt.

Owen’s fingertips trailed along my side again, slow and featherlight, following the curve of my back and gliding up my spine. I shivered, that simple touch making my breath hitch. And yeah, it had been a long time since anyone had touched me like that.

With care.

Purpose.

Want.

He shifted beneath me, laying flatter against the couch until his head rested comfortably against the leather armrest. I moved with him, instinctively adjusting so my body settled more fully on top of his, our chest and hips gently aligned.

It wasn’t necessarily the most optimal position for movie-watching, but it was definitely perfect for other activities I hoped he might be up for…

His other hand reached up, fingers tracing the edge of my temple before skimming down the curve of my cheekbone, then along the line of my jaw. When his thumb brushed across my bottom lip, I had to bite down gently just to steady myself against the shiver that rolled through me.

When I glanced up, he wasn’t even pretending to watch the movie anymore. Instead, his eyes were locked on me, dark with hunger and something deeper. Something that looked a lot like longing.

I shifted, scooting up just enough to nestle my face into the warm curve of his neck.

He smelled so good—faintly of his cologne that had faded over the day, but mostly just…

him. Clean, warm, familiar. I pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, and then, unable to help myself, I let my teeth graze lightly across the tender skin.

“Maybe we should try watching this movie some other time?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Good idea.” I laughed softly, then murmured against his skin, “Since the professor in real life is way more interesting than the one on screen.” I lifted my head slightly and added with a smirk, “Tastes better, too.”

“Pretty sure the real-life student is way more interesting, too.” His smile curved, slow and wicked. “But…I might need a refresher on how she tastes.”

“Guess you better refresh your memory then,” I whispered.

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed for him to let his hand slide beneath my chin and guide my lips to his.

His lips brushed mine—once, twice.

Then again and again. Each brush of his lips growing firmer. Somehow slower. Like he was determined to savor every second, memorizing the exact feel of my lips and imprinting it somewhere he could never forget.

My fingers curled into the soft cotton of his button-down, needing something to anchor myself as I shifted over him, aligning my body more fully with his.

He was all solid strength beneath me—warm, hard muscle—and when his hand slid to my lower back and pressed, guiding me closer, the sensation of our bodies fitting so tightly together knocked the breath from my lungs.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “this is definitely better than watching the movie.”

I couldn’t have agreed more .

His tongue swept gently across my bottom lip, coaxing my mouth open. And I let him in.

The kiss deepened, slow and sure, like nothing else in the world mattered but the way we moved together. Like he’d been thinking about this—about me—all day.

His other hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers gliding over the bare skin at my lower back, and I sighed into his mouth. The rest of the world fell away as we kissed again and again—long, slow, breathless kisses that made me forget everything but him.

His lips drifted from mine, trailing along the curve of my jaw before finding the sensitive skin at the base of my throat. When he kissed me there—soft and open-mouthed—I couldn’t stop the quiet sound that escaped me. A whimper of need.

“You feel way too good, Lucy,” he murmured against my skin, his warm breath grazing the curve of my neck. “Too good for me to think straight.”

“You too,” I whispered, struggling to draw in a full breath.