Maybe It's Real Page 6
“Oh,” she said. “You mean now-now.” Everyone had stopped talking at Owen’s sudden movement. Chloe smiled, reached for his hand, and laced her fingers through his. “Looks like we’re leaving,” she said to the table. “Great to meet you all. Shannon, I’ll see you at yoga on Thursday? You’ll love the class. Jim, I will check my calendar and get back to you about the barbecue. Rick, I’ll give Owen my clinic information. You should come in and see me or a colleague, we can definitely help you with the knee—”
Owen’s hand squeezed hers.
“—and I hope to see you all again sometime. Okay. Yep. We’re going. Bye!”
She got a chorus of friendly goodbyes as Owen drew her after him.
* * * *
The waiter brought their food and strutted away. Silence fell.
The small Italian restaurant was Chloe’s choice. Owen would have taken her anywhere she wanted to go, since he owed her—owed her big—for not exposing him as the giant dork he in fact was in front of his coworkers, but she’d dragged him into the restaurant closest to Roscoe’s and sat across from him expectantly.
How to start? How could he possibly explain to this bright, vibrant woman that, yes. He, a respectable police detective, a man in his thirties and supposedly in his right mind, had in fact been pretending for a whole month that he was dating her. Chloe Abbott, the same woman who had kicked him out of her apartment, and he hadn’t heard from again.
He had reasons, sure.
The problem was, they were really fucking stupid.
When he’d seen her standing there next to Jim, Owen had thought, ah hell. Here we go. He’d never live it down at the station. As he didn’t think it would be a good career move to request yet another transfer before he’d even made it a full year in this job, he faced a future of being the butt of many a joke.
But instead, she’d played along. Trust me, she’d said. Enjoy your beer.
He hadn’t enjoyed his beer, and trust didn’t come easily to Owen at the best of times.
Tonight had not been the best of times.
Owen broke the silence. “You probably have a few questions.”
“Nope. One big one.”
“Why have I been pretending to date you?”
“That’s the question.”
Owen sat back in his chair and rasped a hand over his jaw. “It’s my mother-in-law’s fault.”
“Uh-huh.”
He shook his head. “No, I can’t blame it on Janet. I’d like to. And she is definitely the primary motivating factor. But I’m the idiot who threw her your name when she started the interrogation. The blame is mine.”
“Interrogation? Sounds rough.”
“It was rough. You don’t know.”
Chloe grinned. “What was she interrogating you about?”
“My love life and whether or not I had someone I could take to a wedding.”
“You must have an interesting relationship with your in-laws if you’re discussing your love life with them after a divorce.”
Grabbing his fork, Owen scooped up some pasta. “I never got divorced,” he said, and shoveled the food in.
“Your note said you’re not married.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Do not tell me you’re ‘on a break’. Oh, god. Was I right about you the first time?”
Owen shook his head, chewing. He swallowed hard and forced out, “Widower.” The food lodged in his throat. He fumbled for his water glass and took a long draught.
“Oh.” Chloe’s outrage deflated. “Owen, I’m so sorry.”
Silence fell again, and it was even more awkward. Great.
This time, Chloe was the one to break it. “Will you tell me about your wife?” she said. “Then fill me in on my imaginary dating life. Because my actual dating life has been less than spectacular.” She sent him a meaningful look.
Owen felt a smile hitch his lips. “You want to hear about my ex?”
“See, that’s where you’ve been confusing me,” Chloe said slowly, as if she was afraid of offending him. “You’re a widower and you didn’t divorce, but you call her your ex. And you call your in-laws your ex-in-laws.”
Owen stared at his plate.
“I’m sorry.” Chloe waved a hand as if she was trying to erase her words. “Ignore me, it’s none of my business what you call anyone.”
Owen glanced up. Chloe held his gaze without comment or judgment, and Owen lost his head. He shared something he hadn’t shared with anyone. “May was planning to divorce me when she died. I found out two days after the accident. It was Highway 1, some asshole on the phone while driving... Anyway, I got back from making arrangements at the funeral home, a pimply kid in a bad suit was waiting in my driveway, and he served me the papers.”
“Oh, Owen.”
“Yeah.” He laughed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I had no idea. That’s why I’m still close with my in-laws.”
“Because they didn’t know about the divorce?”
“Just me and her lawyer. And probably the guy she was having an affair with.”
“Wow. Complicated.” She hesitated for a second before reaching over to cover his hand with hers briefly.
Fighting the sudden urge to flip his hand over and hold on, Owen nodded.
Chloe sat back. “So, okay.” She gestured between them. “How did we get here from you telling Janet that I’m your wedding date? How did your coworkers get in on the mass delusion?”
Owen’s cheeks heated. “Jim might have gotten the wrong impression because of the flowers. Apparently they were extravagant?”
“They were beautiful.”
He considered her expression. “They were too much, weren’t they? Sorry. I didn’t realize. I never did the flower thing. I didn’t know what was appropriate. May was more for jewelry and champagne.”
“They were beautiful,” Chloe said again. “And sweet.” She bit her lip. “And I’d have texted you that, except I deleted your number two seconds after I called you asshole and slammed the door in your face.”
Owen laughed. “Jim was with me when I dropped them off. Turns out, he thought I was saying a big thank you rather than apologizing. A big thank you. I let him think it. And then I told Janet I was dating you. Then I found out Jim had told people at work about you, and I’d missed the opportunity to come clean. And that—” he sat back with a flourish, “—is how I managed to end up with everyone in my life thinking that I am dating a woman who in reality kicked me out of her house for being a shitty date.”
The waiter came over to clear their empty plates, and they ordered dessert. While they were waiting for it to arrive, Chloe asked Owen about the wedding.
“It’s in August,” he said, “which is plenty of time for our brief fling to run its course. I think it only fair to warn you, Chloe, that I have plans for us to break up about a week before the happy day.”
They both smiled at the waiter, who’d let out a shocked little gasp at Owen’s statement, and waited for him to leave before they continued.
“Why are we breaking up?” Chloe asked, cracking the caramelized sugar on the top of her creme brulee with a businesslike smack of her spoon.
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Hmm. I might know.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s because, a week before the wedding, I’ll be swept off my feet by a handsome billionaire, isn’t it? Ah, yes. Marcus, my billionaire cowboy lover, who is six foot five and an MMA champion in his spare time, when he isn’t being an avant-garde artist whose canvas is the naked human body. I can’t make the wedding because Marcus whisks me away in his private jet to his private island in his private ocean somewhere desperately exotic and private, where I embark upon a sensual journey of erotic discovery. And depravity, hopefully.” She took a big bite of her dessert. Owen’s spoon had frozen halfway to his tiramisu. “What?” she said. “You’re the only one who can make up a relationship?”
“No, I’m jealous. Your imaginary relationship sounds way more exci
ting than mine. Keep talking. I liked the bit about erotic discovery. Would you care to expand on that? Feel free to add as much description as you like.”
“I’m sure our imaginary relationship has had its moments.” She lifted her brows, inviting him to play along.
Owen opened and shut his mouth a few times. “We had ice cream.”
“That’s…a moment, right there.”
“It was at Bi-Rite Creamery.”
“There you go,” Chloe said. “Ice cream, erotic billionaire cowboy artist sex. Really, it’s the same thing.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Please continue. I want to hear about all the other exciting dates we’ve been on.”
“We don’t go out that much, actually.”
“Well, of course we don’t. We’re still in the honeymoon period of our relationship. Everything is magical. We can barely drag ourselves out of bed.”
“And we’re both busy with work.”
“Magical. Although it’s been at least a month and I’m beginning to think that perhaps you’re being cheap, refusing to take me out on the town and show me a good time.”
“I show you plenty of good times.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I come over to yours and crash maybe four times a week.” He thought of her cozy apartment. He thought of his apartment. “Four or five times.”
“Four or five times?” She sucked her spoon clean and set it down. “That’s a lot.”
Owen relaxed back in his chair. “You can’t get enough of me.”
“I guess not. I suppose, as well as having you sleep in my bed, I also make you breakfast every morning and then send you off to work with a packed lunch, waving from the doorstep?”
“You do what you can to show your appreciation for all the orgasms.”
“Have I had many?”
“So many.”
Her smile widened. “Don’t I ever sleep over at yours?”
“My place isn’t all that nice,” Owen said. “Besides, yours is closer to work.”
Chloe shook her head. “You don’t know it yet, Owen, but this moment right here is where the cracks in our relationship begin. The fact you’re even thinking about the length of your commute rather than the wild gasping passion between us is what will give Marcus the opening to seduce me away from you when I run into him a few weeks from now. He’ll sense that, despite all the many orgasms you bestow upon me, I am unfulfilled in our inexorably fragmenting affair.”
The waiter interrupted them to offer coffee. Chloe asked for a peppermint tea. Owen ordered his coffee black and no, not decaffeinated.
“You’ll be awake all night,” Chloe pointed out once the waiter had left.
Owen snorted. “I’ll need the help if I’ve got to keep you fulfilled enough to prevent your shady billionaire Marcus from tempting you away.”
“It’s not all about the sex, Owen.” Her eyes danced. “It’s about the romance. If only we did more romantic things.”
“We do lots of romantic things. Like…uh…” Dammit. All he could think of was ice cream again.
And since when did he think ice cream was romantic?
“You must be talking about last weekend,” Chloe said. “Remember? You rented a convertible and we drove up the coast, stayed in a cute little B&B?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I was referring to. Some people might think a weekend away together after a few weeks dating is too soon. But you’re impulsive. I like that about you.”
“You’re grounded and serious. I like that about you. And how can it be too soon, when we feel as if we’ve known each other forever. Am I right?”
Owen finished his coffee and set his cup in its saucer. He gave a slow nod. “You’re right.”
“We clicked the instant we saw each other in the bar. Remember the sparks?”
He did, in fact. “When you hissed at me? Yeah.”
“Ugh.” Chloe slumped in her seat. “I swear I wasn’t hissing at you. It was at Anna, and it wasn’t even a hiss, it was a psst. No, sorry,” she said to their waiter. He had stiffened at the noise before turning and stalking with disapproval to their table. “Not you. I was pssting at him.” They watched the waiter leave, then Chloe said, “I am never making that noise again.”
Owen insisted on paying for dinner, and offered to drive Chloe back to her apartment. They were companionably quiet for most of the journey. Chloe seemed preoccupied, although the couple of times he glanced at her and caught her eye, she smiled.
This evening hadn’t turned out even remotely as Owen had expected it to.
Jim had nagged him into accompanying some colleagues to Roscoe’s for someone’s birthday. Rick Monahan’s? Or was it Shannon’s? Owen had expected to drink a couple of beers, then head out once he’d put in enough social time to satisfy his partner.
And then Jim had returned to the table with Chloe in tow and Owen had prepared himself for ridicule of epic proportions. Except Chloe had his back, even though she didn’t owe him a damn thing.
Somehow, he’d ended up having the best Friday night he could remember having in a long time.
He pulled up outside Chloe’s building and got out to walk her to the door. She was waiting for him on the other side of the car, hands tucked behind her as she leaned against the panel. When he started for the house but she remained where she was, he stopped and sent her a questioning look.
“You should know I had a great time tonight,” she said. “You fake-date way better than you real-date, Detective Vance.”
“I’m not convinced that’s a compliment, but thanks.”
“So. I was thinking…”
When she didn’t say any more, he asked, “Is that why you went so quiet on the ride over? Busy thinking?”
“Yes.”
“What were you thinking about?” He shifted closer. “Marcus?”
“Who?”
Was she looking at his mouth? “Marcus,” Owen said. “Billionaire cowboy artist. Your future lover?”
“Oh. Marcus.” She touched her fingertips to her collarbone, and sighed. “Actually, I was thinking about you.”
He waited.
“You don’t really want to date anyone, do you?” Chloe said.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it until first Jim then Janet started bugging me. I guess it just isn’t something I’ve prioritized.”
“The people in your life seem pretty keen to get you dating.”
“Yeah. I don’t know why it matters so much.”
“Because they want you happy, Owen. You’re a nice guy. In fact, you’re such a nice guy, I’ve only met you three times, and I want you happy.” She pushed herself off the car and straightened. “I have a suggestion.”
“I’m listening.”
“Don’t break up with me. I enjoyed our fake date. If you want to take someone to the wedding but you’re not ready to date, I’ll do it. I’ll go with you. For real. Wait, I mean I’ll fake-date you for real.”
“You will?”
“Sure. It’ll be fun. I love weddings.”
Owen made a face.
She smacked him gently on the arm. “You’re a wedding hater, aren’t you? I should have guessed.”
“I’m not a hater. It’s not my idea of a good time.”
“D’you think that’s because you don’t have a single romantic bone in your entire body?”
“Hey, I know romance. I took you for imaginary ice cream, Chloe. At Bi-Rite Creamery.”
“How could it have slipped my mind?”
“Beats me.”
They were quiet for a moment, smiling at each other, until Chloe said, “So? Are you in?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Great. Now come here.” She took out her cell phone. “Come on. Come down here.”
“What are you doing?”
“Taking a selfie. With you in it, if you feel like doing as you’re told and coming down here so we can both be in the picture.”
Sh
e positioned herself with her back to his chest, held up her phone, and with her free hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged.
“Okay.” He bent his knees.
“That’s it. Freeze!”
Owen laughed, tipping his head down to look into her face at the same moment as she looked up. “Freeze? Are you arresting me? In a 1980s cop show?”
She snapped the picture and examined it. “No, that would be, ‘Freeze, scumbag’.”
Uh-huh. “Chloe?”
“Yes, Owen?”
“Why are you taking photos of us?”
She snapped two more. “To commemorate this glorious night.”
He eyed her doubtfully as he straightened.
“Because I want to set a picture for your number. Which I deleted, so you’ll have to text it to me and…wait. Did you delete me, too?”
“No.”
“Great. Text me.”
He took out his phone, texted her, then crooked a finger. “My turn. Come up here.” Owen pulled her up onto her toes. Chloe threw an arm around his neck to keep her balance, and laughed up at him. He snapped the photo.
“Let me see,” she said. “Oh, that’s better than any of mine. Text me that.”
He did.
“We are amazing at this fake-dating thing,” she said as Owen walked her to her door.
“We’re naturals. If there was anyone around to convince this was real, I’d be kissing you goodnight right now,” he said. “Just so you know.”
She leaned toward him as if she was confessing a secret. “And I would be swooning. Just so you know.”
“I always wondered what swooning looked like.”
“You’ve never seen a swoon?”
“I’ve seen a lot of drunks pass out. And my grandmother fainted at my cousin’s wedding. Either of those count?”
“No. Blackouts and fainting aren’t the same as kiss-induced swooning. You want me to demonstrate?”
“Go ahead.”
“Okay. You ready?”
“Yep.”
She reached up and placed her hands on his shoulders, her eyelids fluttering closed. “Owen.” She sagged against him with a breathy sigh. “Your kisses make me dizzy. My knees are weak. Hold me close.”