All the Sauce, page 8
“Their opinions don’t matter,” I say, and her eyes soften a bit. Before she can disagree with me or tell me they’re right or whatever else she might say, I take her by the back of the neck and bring her toward me, almost pulling her off the stool. Her eyes widen, but I’ve got her with my knee, holding her stool in place as I go for her mouth.
When I touch my lips to hers, I’m a goner.
Every fiber of my being explodes. My blood runs like lava, and my cock basically turns to stone. My heart rocks in my chest, but all I want is to taste her. Her lips are so soft and full. I run my tongue along her lips, and to my delight, she opens her mouth and kisses me back. She brings her hand up, cupping my jaw, and I devour her sweet mouth with nothing or no one holding me back. I can feel her pulse where my thumb lays against her throat, and it’s just as out of control as mine. I don’t know if this was a good idea, but one thing is for sure, she wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss her.
When we part, I don’t let her go far as her eyes flutter open to meet mine. Her lips are parted, her eyes are wide with surprise, and I know I match her.
I never realized how much I wanted to kiss her until now, and I sure as hell don’t want to stop.
Chapter Ten
Angie
* * *
I’m not dehydrated. I’ve drunk almost a gallon of water today.
Nor am I drunk. Two watered-down vodka Sprite Zeros won’t do that.
I’m for sure not dreaming because this is way too real for a dream.
Yet Owen Adler’s lips are on mine.
I feel completely unsteady, my thighs are quivering, and between them, it’s a flood zone. Even if I could breathe at this moment, I know I wouldn’t be able to. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to taste him, to feel his lips on mine, but not even my wildest dreams could have prepared me for this. He smells like freshly cut wood and spice. With my hand on his jaw, I find he isn’t as hard as I assumed he was. He’s soft. His lips are thick and feel like marshmallows against mine. His hand is rough against my neck, and the way he holds me tells me I’m not the first girl he’s held like this. I knew before that he was someone to stay away from. But now, it’s damn obvious I need to run.
Once I’m done with this kiss.
His tongue moves along my lips, and I open for him, because apparently, I don’t have control over my body. Our tongues touch, and I moan ever so softly into his mouth. He slides his hand up my thigh, his thumb moving along the outside, sending pure fire up my leg. Our tongues tangle and play in a slow but needy way. I’ve never in my life wanted to keep kissing a person. Usually, I don’t like kissing for long. I don’t like not being able to breathe, but I could pass out right now and be okay with it.
He pulls back first, thankfully, because I’m about to have a heart attack. My heart is truly about to come out of my chest, and I realize once my eyes flutter open that he hasn’t moved away from me. Owen’s lips are almost touching mine. His eyes are half-lidded, dark as storm clouds, and his lips are swollen from our kiss. He looks as if he wants more, but I know that can’t be the case. I feel people staring at us, and between the bartender and the women at the table, that was bound to happen. Needless to say, he’s made his point.
And made me explode in my panties.
No big deal.
“Thanks,” I mutter, searching his eyes. He moves in, but I stop him with my hand. “It’s okay. You are incredibly sweet to do that, but you don’t have to do it again.”
It’s almost as if he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. He stares at me, his eyes slowly narrowing before he asks, “I don’t have to do it again?”
“No, it’s okay. You showed them, thank you,” I say, leaning back and crossing my legs to put space between us. His arms drop to his sides as he stares at me, his lips parting a bit. The same lips I want to drown in. Fuck me, he can kiss. I force a chuckle as I down the rest of my drink. I side-eye him and laugh. “Stop staring at me.”
He glares. “What just happened here?”
I don’t look at him as I pop a cauliflower floret into my mouth. I hate that my heart is still beating out of control. I despise that I want to kiss him again. I’m only setting myself up for failure. “What do you mean?”
“No, what do you mean?” He’s basically staring a hole in the side of my head.
“I don’t know what you mean by that, but I was just saying thanks for being nice.”
“Being nice?”
“Yeah, to show them that…I don’t know, that I could sit with you or something.” The realization of that hurts me to the pit of my stomach. I wish he hadn’t kissed me; it would have been easier. Now I feel like it was a pity kiss. “We both know they’re right.”
I chance a glance and regret it instantly. He feels bad. He was trying to help, and instead, he knows I’m embarrassed. “Actually, no. I don’t know that.”
I bring in my brows, still unable to fully look at him because I don’t want the sympathy. I feel so pathetic as it is. “It’s okay, Owen. You don’t have to keep up the act.”
“I’m not acting,” he insists, so I laugh to keep from crying. “I kissed you because I’ve wanted to since we were younger.”
“Yeah, okay,” I jeer.
“Angie, look at me.”
“Rather not,” I say, unable to hold in my emotion. I reach for my purse and grab some cash from inside, throwing it down. “I’m gonna go.”
“Wait,” he says, stopping me.
But I pull my arm from his grip. “Thanks again.”
He doesn’t let me go that easy. He’s right on my tail. I don’t think he paid, not that I can care. My goal is to get to my car. ASAP. “Angie.”
I ignore him, picking up speed, but his one step equates to a slight jog for me. He stops me by standing in front of me. “Come on, Owen. Let me leave with what’s left of my dignity.”
Now, he’s mad. His eyes are wild as he looks down at me. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, or even what you believe, but I kissed you because I wanted to. Because it’s all I can think about doing. I would have done it sooner if you hadn’t acted like you hated me.”
I look down at the gravel, closing my eyes, unable to believe anything he is saying. “Owen, be real. There is no way any of that is true.”
“Why do you say that? Why is it so hard to believe that I want you?”
My eyes widen. He wants me? Now that’s comical, but also, it pisses me off. “Look at me!” I yell, gesturing my hand up and down my body.
“Oh, believe me, I do. A lot.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop. You don’t have to be nice or even flatter me. I know the truth.”
“I’m still waiting to learn this ‘truth.’” I glare, and he does the same. “What? Tell me since you apparently know and I don’t.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes and walking around him. “I don’t have time to play games with you.”
“Play games? I’m not playing games. I kissed you, and you thanked me for being nice. I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t trying to be nice in that kiss. I was trying to devour you.”
I pause mid-step because my kitty screams. Jesus Christ Superstar. I look over my shoulder at him in shock, but I keep my bearings. He is too damn good-looking to want someone like me. I know it; I’m not stupid. “It’s cool. You don’t have to keep up the ruse.”
“What the fuck? There is no fucking ruse, Angie!” he yells, his eyes wild. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening here, or what you’ve allowed yourself to think, but I happen to think you’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t want to ‘nice’ kiss you. Or use a ruse or whatever.”
Tears start to burn my eyes as I hold his. “People like you don’t like people like me.”
“I don’t know these people you speak of, because I fucking like you.”
This makes no sense. “I’m gonna go.”
“Seriously?”
I turn then, throwing my arms up. “What, Owen? I don’t know what to say or how to react to that. I don’t believe shit you say because I know the truth. I know what I look like. I see it. I’m not who I was—”
“Because we grow,” he interjects. “We change, things change, and that’s okay. Listen,” he says, coming close enough to hold me, but thankfully, he doesn’t. “I can sit here and tell you, over and over again, how fucking beautiful I think you are. That I love the color of your eyes and the little dip in your chin. How your glasses give me some naughty scientist vibes. That I love how juicy your ass is, how the size of your breasts and thighs makes my mouth water. I can tell you I have undressed you about a billion times in my head, and I know good and well that how I imagine your body to be is nothing compared to the real thing.”
Oh good lord, I can’t breathe. I’m lost in his eyes, his words.
“It doesn’t matter what I say, though. Until you love who you are, you won’t believe me.” He steps back, and soon he’s blurry from my tears. He shrugs as he shakes his head. “Let me know when you see what I see.”
My lips quiver as I watch him walk backward, his eyes never leaving mine. I’m speechless and, honestly, confused as fuck. Before, when I was younger and seventy pounds lighter, I would have jumped his bones without any regard whatsoever. I would believe he wanted me. I could see it in his eyes, and I would trust my instincts. But now, I don’t even trust my own brain. How can someone so fucking gorgeous want someone like me? He could have anyone and then some. Girls fall at his feet, and he wants me to believe he wants me? I’m frumpy, I’m covered in stretch marks, and I’m riddled with daddy issues and trauma. Not that he knows the latter, but what if he gets past the fat part of me and then sees I’m broken? Yeah, no. I’m not setting myself up for that kind of rejection.
But why do I want to believe him so badly? More than anything in this world.
I go to turn to get into my car when he calls out. “Oh. And, Angie?”
I look over at him, trying to blink back my tears.
“I don’t sling weight around for nothing. Not only am I built to throw guys into the boards—I’m built to flip you, lift you, and bend you over any surface imaginable.”
Yup, I came.
“And not in a ‘nice’ way,” he adds with air quotes before turning and heading inside like he didn’t just turn my fucking world upside down. I watch as he walks away, his ass ever so thick in those shorts. I’ve never wanted to squeeze a man’s ass in my life, but I want to squeeze Owen’s. The realness of his words and his actions plays over and over in my head, leaving me paralyzed in place as he heads inside. Tears fall down my face, not because I’m sad but because I want so desperately to believe him. To trust what he says. His body language told me he was being truthful. So did his eyes. I can ignore words, but those eyes, they’re hard to ignore.
So what in the living hell am I to think now?
What am I going to do?
And more than that, how do I let go of my insecurities so I can be flipped, lifted, and bent over the nearest surface?
By Owen Adler.
Chapter Eleven
Owen
* * *
I’m fucking pissed.
Beyond pissed, really.
I think the last time I was this angry was during my high school championship and I got hit in the mouth with a stick—twice, with no call. Dude almost broke my nose before they finally called him. It was beyond frustrating, but nothing can compare to the frustration I feel right now. I have known Angela Paxton most of my life. I have been attracted to and into her for years, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day. I finally get her to give me some attention, and then I get my mouth on hers, and bam! She slams the brakes on so damn hard, I basically have whiplash.
Livid. Yes, I am livid.
She wanted to kiss me; I could see it in her eyes. When I finally got to those lips, I could feel her wanting me. There was no denying it. So how in the hell did she go from being right there with me to feeling like she wasn’t enough? I have half a mind to cuss out the table behind me. Those girls are nothing compared to Paxy. I honestly don’t know how she can’t see that. Has she put on weight? Yes, but so have I! So has anyone who’s aged. We aren’t meant to stay in our child-size bodies. That’s what makes us adults. Some chunk? Fucking hell!
She’s infuriating, and fuck, I want more. Who has made her feel differently about herself? Is it truly all in her head? Because I know her family. They are like us; you love yourself because you’re a badass. They wouldn’t judge her, only love her and…
Wait. Is that why she hasn’t spoken to her mom on FaceTime or seen her?
What in the ever-loving hell is going on with that girl? Did she have a crappy boyfriend? Or a friend who made her feel like she is less than perfect? Don’t get me wrong; I’m not naïve to the fact that the world holds women to a different standard and forces them to think they need to be a size that is acceptable to them, but I was raised by Elli Adler. She’s always been thicker than other moms, but no matter what, everyone knew she was a force to be reckoned with. Everyone knew my mom was more than her size. Even my sister Posey is on the thicker side, and depending on the week, Shelli can be too. I see nothing wrong with this. Our bodies change to adapt.
Hell, if I don’t take a good shit every day, I look pregnant. I don’t care, because at the end of the day, my body is eventually going to be old and rotten. I refuse to regret anything. As long as I’m able to do my job and stay healthy, then my weight will level out. Why is it that I, a twenty-year-old dude, can realize this, but not a twenty-one-year-old female who has the power to bring me to my knees?
Why am I sitting here pissed off because a girl I like doesn’t see her worth?
Damn it.
I eat angrily until the bartender comes over, and then he points to Angie’s plate. “Did she leave?” I nod, not wanting to answer him. He grimaces. “Sorry, dude.”
I scoff. “Not because of me but because of the judgmental bitches behind us.”
He makes a face, looking past me, and I hope they heard me. It may be rude and I’m being petty, but I can’t shake this anger. “Yeah, they’re only in here to find a sugar daddy.”
“And see, I came for company, found her, and it got ruined.”
“Sorry, dude,” he says once more, cleaning her place. “She comes in once a week if you want to try to catch her.”
“I actually grew up with her and she works where I do, so I’ll catch her.”
He salutes me. “Good luck, dude.”
“Thanks,” I say, polishing off my food and chasing it with a drink. I throw my card down and lean back. The bartender cleans up my area and then takes my card before I pull out my phone to text Evan.
Me: Dude, Paxy is on a whole different level.
Before he can text me back, someone comes up beside me. I look over to find the girl who talked to Angie before. She must be a brave one, because even with my hat low, I’m not the most approachable dude right now.
“Hi,” she says sweetly. “My name is Rian, and I just wanted to introduce myself.”
“Why?” I ask bluntly.
She’s visibly taken aback. “Um, so we can get to know each other?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I know for a fact that you saw me with that girl before she left.”
“Yeah, but she said you two were just friends.”
“She may think that, but I think it’s more.”
Her brows come together. “Oh.”
I lean in, my eyes holding her blue ones. “Yeah, I like girls like her because they’re not judgmental assholes who make comments about someone’s size when it’s none of their goddamn business.”
She struggles to find words as I sign the receipt the bartender brought back, leaving him a good tip. Finally, she says, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just didn’t think you were a chubby chaser.”
I scoff loudly and so obnoxiously, my mom would have slapped me upside the head. “I’m a soul chaser. A girl’s body is maybe ten percent of my concern. Do I like to be attracted to someone? Yup, but when they open their mouths and show that they’re assholes, I’m good.”
With that, I nod to the bartender and head out of the pub just as my phone rings. It’s Evan.
“What do you mean? What happened?”
I shake my head and let out a long breath. I tell him the whole story, even the last part with the females I don’t know from Adam. Gone is my anger, and it’s been replaced not by sadness but disappointment. Angie wasn’t insecure when we were younger. Yes, she was skinnier, but she wasn’t built like the girls we hung out with. She was taller than everyone else. She always had wide hips, wide shoulders, and not thick thighs but super-muscular ones. Always. To me, she looks way better now than she did before. She’s actually filled out with curves that I never want to quit. Her face is fuller, rather than all narrow and sunken-in. I love her glasses and the bangs she has now.
How does she not look in the mirror and see what I see?
“Just like you said, she’s got body image issues.”
“Not good,” Evan says.
“Nope, but it doesn’t matter. She hasn’t seen the last of me.”
He groans. “Should I call and warn her?”
“No, don’t you dare.”
“Okay, but tread lightly. I don’t know why she feels like she isn’t beautiful anymore, but you can’t forget she did almost get raped. Or attacked—I don’t remember the details, only that it’s the main reason she left Nashville. To start over.”
I pause. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh. You didn’t know that.”
“I did not.”
“Well, that’s not good. I didn’t tell you that.”
“But you did. Spill it, brother.”
“I don’t know the details, only that some dude Ally was messing with assaulted Paxy or something, and then Asher went after him.”
“Fucking hell,” I say since I really didn’t know any of this. “Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like who she is?”
