Inhibitions

by Mattie Bowman

  He pressed his lips together. “I’ve loved her since I was sixteen. But she seems to have forgotten that fact.”

  I smacked his shoulder. “Then remind her.”

  “She should know I love her.”

  “Remind her why you fell for her in the first place. Remind her that you haven’t stopped. Whatever problems you two are having…those facts have to dwarf them, right?”

  He tapped the end of his stick on the floor. “I really hope so, man.”

  I waited a few moments to see if he wanted to elaborate, give him the chance to get it off his chest, but he remained silent. Oh well, I had tried.

  “How long do you two have left here?” He asked, quickly changing the subject.

  “Nine? I think.”

  “Dude, that means you’re missing the Rollins verses Cartwright fight?”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking in the direction I knew Presley was. “But she’s worth it.”

  “Still, it’s going to be one hell of a matchup.”

  “Most advertised all year,” I said, trying not to let the bitterness slip into my tone.

  “Ouch. Wouldn’t want to see what you’d do to either of them in the ring.”

  Guess I wasn’t as successful as I thought. I shrugged.

  “I’d bet on you,” Quin added which made me chuckle.

  “Thanks, man. Maybe next year I can be one of the big features. Now, come on,” I said, putting my stick back on the wall. “Let’s get out of here, and show these women a good fucking time. Because if you can’t have a good time here…” I shook my head, at a loss for words. “Then, I don’t know where you can.”

  “True,” he said, following me back toward the restaurant. “Thanks. For the pep talk. You should be a motivational coach or something. You know, if boxing doesn’t work out.”

  I laughed. “Nah, this is a one-time thing.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  We rounded the corner of the restaurant, and my stomach sank when I saw Presley. Her blue eyes were like ice, and her fingers were curled into fists. It took me a few quickened strides to see what terrified her so much.

  David?

  He stood off the side of the booth, looking down at Presley with a deer-in-the-headlights gaze, his arm snaked around the waist of the woman he’d cheated on her with.

  I resisted the urge to pummel the man, my hands clenching into fists as I rushed to Presley’s side. I slipped my hand into hers, tugging her out of the booth and tucking her under my arm, not bothering to look at David.

  Presley’s eyes were what concerned me, because where they had been open and full of love and possibility ten minutes ago, they were now the ice-cold, closed off eyes of the girl she’d been the day she’d caught him cheating on her.

  Just when I’d finally thought we were free to be together, he had to come in and remind her of every reason she’d shut people out in the first place.

  Son of a bitch.

  13 Presley

  David still smelled the same—like vanilla and soap. I don’t know why that stuck out in my head as he stared at me, standing next to the booth smiling down at me like we were old friends. Tara sat across from me, her words dying mid-sentence when she took note of my face.

  “Presley?” She asked. “Are you all right?” She reached over the table and squeezed my hand, forcing my brain to recover from the shock. I pulled my hands away and dropped them in my lap.

  “Yes,” I said, but it sounded like a whisper.

  “Is this who you’re here with?” David asked, eyeing Tara. His voice hadn’t changed either—still the same smooth talking tone that never fluctuated unless he’d had too much to drink. Then it would pitch in a moments notice if I’d said anything not to his liking. My nails bit the insides of my palms as I balled my fist.

  “No.” I rolled my eyes. Only he would be so vain as to think his leaving me had turned me off of men for good.

  He nearly killed the hope, though.

  “This is my friend, Tara,” I said, forcing my voice to be stronger and hoping she didn’t mind that I’d called her a friend. We had only met a couple of times, but we’d been on the verge of a scintillating conversation before my heart had stopped at the sight of David. As if the man had simply materialized out of my darkest memories—along with the twat on his arm—to torment me the same moment I’d felt sheer happiness.

  “David.” He shook Tara’s hand. “Sarah.” He motioned to the woman who stood silently with a look of utter annoyance on her face like someone had told her she’d have to wait ten minutes before she could get her teacup poodle died pink. He returned his focus to me, extending his hand like we needed to shake on something.

  I glared at him. Touch me and lose that hand. He jerked it back like he’d heard me.

  “So,” he glanced around the restaurant, his eyes the same shade of powder blue. How had he not changed even a little bit in the last year? I know I had. My hair was longer, and I was a hell of a lot stronger. And smarter. “Who’s the lucky man you’re here with, then?”

  I snorted, covering up the icy fear that slicked through my blood. This man had nearly destroyed me, shattered everything I’d ever thought about love. Why…why did he have to be here now?

  “I wonder if Quinn and Owen have finished their pool game yet?” Tara asked, looking toward the restaurant entrance.

  “Owen?” David didn’t snap, but his voice had pitched in the way only he could manage.

  I internally cringed but thankfully remained still as a statue on the outside. This man could not hurt me anymore. Right?

  Just when I thought I couldn’t hold my breath a second longer, Owen’s warm, familiar hand uncurled my fingers and tugged me out of the booth. He slipped an arm around me, never even glancing David’s way. His dark chocolate eyes were locked on mine and speaking as if I could hear his thoughts in my mind.

  I nodded, just barely, because that is all the reassurance I could give him that I was all right. David had blindsided me, once again, hitting me with a fresh dose of torture when I’d least expected it—his mere manifestation did that all on its own. If he kept talking to me, if I didn’t get out of here, I’d fucking lose it.

  “Let’s go back to our suite,” he said, brushing his free hand across my cheek.

  “Owen?” David repeated, taking his arm from around the woman. “You’re with him?”

  I stood up a little straighter, this realization fueling me. “Yes.”

  And it was the truth. I was his in every shape of the word.

  “I see,” David said, but I didn’t have a clue what the hell he saw. All I could see was Owen, his eyes still on me, promising me he’d hold me together again like he always had.

  Owen motioned toward the exit.

  “Bye Tara, Quinn.” I pressed my lips together in apology, hoping they could feel the bad vibes surrounding our once happy gathering and would forgive us our quick escape.

  “We’re right behind you,” Quinn said with a reassuring nod. “Good night.”

  Owen gripped my hand and turned to leave, but David stepped in front of him. He was several inches shorter than Owen and not as built, but he didn’t seem to realize that fact at the moment.

  David chuckled, looking up at Owen and shaking his head. “You weren’t lying. For a while, I thought you were.” He glanced at me; my eyebrows puckered in confusion. “Oh, well. I’m happy for the both of you.” He extended his hand to Owen, and I watched as his shoulder muscles tensed.

  I squeezed Owen’s fingers telling him he wasn’t worth it.

  “Go fuck yourself, David,” Owen said and pushed through his offered hand, dragging me behind him.

  A surge of pure gratefulness flew through my center, and it only amplified the farther we got from David. By the time we reached our suite, I was crazy—like certifiable with how many emotions swarmed my soul. Love for Owen and his constant protection of my heart. Hate for David and the darkness he brought with him wherever he went, like a shadow from my past that
had stuck a knife in my back. Loss over the future I’d had planned with David like he’d betrayed me all over again. Hope over the future I saw with Owen, the knowledge that he’d never put me in a position to get hurt…ever. And finally, want.

  The primal way Owen had claimed me in front of David without giving the man a spare glance, the way he’d challenged him over me because of the way he’d hurt m—it made me want him more than I ever had before.

  We’d barely made it in the door before I pounced on him, hopping up to lock my ankles around his hips. He caught me but fought my kiss.

  “Wait,” he said between my lips. “Presley.” He groaned as I slipped my tongue into his mouth, stroking the edges of his teeth.

  He shut the door and walked me to the living room where he gently grabbed my face with one hand and forced me to look at him.

  I smirked at the lust in his eyes, which I knew matched my own. “What?” I teased, pressing my breasts against his chest.

  “You know what.” He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. “We should talk.”

  “That is the last thing I want to do right now.”

  “Presley,” he groaned my name again. “I know you. I saw it in your eyes. The shock of seeing him…it hurt you.”

  My shoulders dropped a fraction, and I closed my eyes. “So?”

  “So,” he said. “Talk to me.”

  I unlocked my ankles, and he let me slid against him all the way down to the floor. “Talk about what, Owen? That just the sight of him made it feel like no time had passed? Like he’d shredded me all over again? That I saw him and remembered the blind girl I’d been when I was with him?” I flung my arms in the air. “What does it matter?”

  “You can’t keep all that in,” he said, reaching for my hands but I stepped away. “It’s not healthy.”

  “I’m fine!” I snapped and raked my fingers through my hair. “I am, okay?” I made my voice softer. “I’m done talking about him, thinking about him, about what he did. I’m so done.”

  “Are you, though?” He asked, his eyebrows knitted together. “You two never had it out. Never had a conversation…”

  I cut my eyes to him. “Are you suggesting I should’ve asked him to sit down so we could get closure?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and took a step backward. A new wave of pain crashed over me, sinking my stomach. Owen only did that when he was hurt. I crossed the distance he’d put between us, my fingers lightly touching his ripped forearm.

  “Owen,” I said, sighing. “There is nothing to close. He cheated on me. Did it at our house so he’d get caught. He wanted to hurt me. There is nothing mysterious about the reasons why I left him.”

  “You loved him for a long time,” he said, his voice so low I almost didn’t hear it.

  How could he possibly think there would be any sort of feelings left over for the asshole who’d broken my heart?

  “I don’t know,” he said as if he could read the question in my eyes. “This is so new to me, Presley. You have to understand that, right? I don’t have a clue how this works.”

  “How what works?”

  “Loving you!” It was his turn to fling his arms in the air. “How am I supposed to know if I’m doing it right?”

  A smile cracked my tight lips, and a laugh ripped from my throat.

  “Don’t laugh!” He yelled, but a grin broke his firm words. “Don’t you dare fucking laugh!” He came after me then, and I ran through the living room and into our bedroom, taking refuge beside the bed. He darted, and I moved, giggling as he gave up and leaped onto the bed, cutting across it to yank me to him.

  “That’s cheating!” I squealed as he tossed me on the bed and tickled me until I screamed. “Stop!” I cried, laughing so hard my sides hurt, and there were tears in my eyes.

  “You’re too easy,” he said, supporting himself above me. He wiped the tears off my cheeks, his eyes darting over my face like he was memorizing every curve. He shook his head as he pushed a lock of my hair back.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I just can’t believe it took me this long to…” He pressed his lips together as if he didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

  “I know. Me too.” I arched up enough to brush my lips over his. Pure pleasure rippled underneath my skin as he pushed back, parting them with his tongue. Kissing him was like breathing. Like without his skin on mine I wasn’t truly breathing as deep as I was capable.

  He quenched every thirst I didn’t know I had. Soothed every ache that clenched my body.

  Owen was the only one capable of redefining ecstasy for me, because he knew me, understood every piece of my soul. Knew just how to touch me to make me laugh, make me moan, make me scream. He owned me.

  I slipped my hands underneath the fabric of his shirt, smoothing my fingers over the ridges of his abs. We’d made love twice today already, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

  He grabbed my hands and pinned them over my head, breaking our kiss to look me in the eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

  “You,” I said instantly, arching underneath him. “Looks like you want me too.” I smirked, shamelessly rubbing against his hard cock through his jeans.

  “I always want you.” He sucked in a breath. “Tell me what you need.”

  I stopped pawing at him.

  “Tell me, Presley,” he said. “I want to be what you need, not just what you want. You need me to make you come so many times you can’t even remember your name? I can do that. You need me to hold you all night without touching you so you can get an emotional recharge? I can do that. Need me to go make you a stack of those Nutella pancakes you’re crazy about? Done. But you have to tell me.”

  Tears bit the backs of my eyes, making his face glitter through the water. This entire stay Grant had told us we had to be honest with each other—that was the key to everything, he’d said.

  I dug deep, explored and sorted each overwhelming emotion trying to crush my chest at that very moment. It only took a couple of breaths to figure out why fear had pulsed at the heart of each one.

  I held his face between my hands. “I need you to not break my heart, Owen.”

  His lips popped open, the shock in his eyes not lost on me. “I would never—”

  “Then kiss me,” I cut him off.

  He slowly lowered his head, pressing his lips to each of my eyes, my nose, the back of my jaw, the shell of my ear. He kissed every inch of my skin before finally reaching my lips. Then he stroked me with his tongue, angling me to get deeper until he’d kissed me so fiercely, and with such passion, I was certain he’d branded himself on my soul.

  14 Owen

  “I had no idea,” Grant said, doing another round of too-tight-pants yoga in his office. “I’m deeply sorry he is here.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Presley said, her eyes flitting all over the place in an attempt to not look at how he had his leg behind his head.

  I understood the struggle—how did the dude get his body to do shit like that? He wasn’t a small guy by any means, and I couldn’t imagine hiking my leg up that high. I’d fall flat on my ass. Keeping my eyes on Presley, I watched her as she’d told Grant about David after a good amount of prodding.

  I tried to ignore the sting of jealousy that bit my gut when she’d relented and opened up to him when last night I’d tried to be there for her in that way, and all she’d wanted was for me to make her forget. Not that I was complaining about her choice of coping, but I wanted her to know I was here—with her—for more than the sex. More than the fantasies.

  “Well,” Grant said, “I at least wish the weeks hadn’t lined up.”

  “I have the worst luck,” she said, and I laid my hand on her thigh, her bare skin warm underneath my fingers. She wore a loose skirt and blouse outfit that made her look downright edible. Not all about the sex stuff, remember?

  Right. I couldn’t help it. The woman had me in any way she wanted, but I couldn’t be blamed for the response my bo
dy had to hers. We were perfect in every other facet of our lives together, of course we’d be even better in bed.

  “Or maybe it’s a sign,” Grant said, and I snapped my eyes to him. He tipped backward, contorting until he’d placed his hands on the floor.

  “What?” Presley sounded as confused as I felt.

  Grant rolled back up slowly, shaking out his muscles. “What are the odds that the one man who obliterated your heart shows up to this resort the same week you’re here?”

  “Like I said, rotten luck.” Presley crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me like I’d said something. I, in turn, glared at Grant who’d reopened the anger she’d had at me last night for even hinting that she might need closure on her past.

  I didn’t want her to ever lay eyes on the asshole again, but he was here, with that woman. And Presley had appeared as crushed as the day I’d brought her to my place last year, holding her the night through while she bawled. If the simple act of seeing him did that to her, well, I didn’t have to be an expert on relationships to know the wound would never close unless she allowed it to.

  “I’d look at it as an opportunity.” Grant spun the cap off a water bottle and took a swig, patting his forehead with a white towel. I wondered how he kept his eyeliner on through the sweat? “He can’t escape you here. You have Owen as a force of strength. It’s the perfect place to confront him for the pain he caused you. You’d be surprised how much better you’ll feel after the fact and how quickly the memories fade once you’ve shut the door on it for good.”

  “I have shut the door on it.”

  Grant and I both glanced at her with unbelieving looks.

  She shrugged. Defiant.

  “You don’t have flashbacks of the event? Memories hit you without even a trigger?” He asked, and I shifted to face her, completely curious. She never talked about it much, and I’d been happy to let her bury it—if she knew I’d had a hand in the worst day of her life…I shuddered, shutting the thought down as quickly as possible. There was nothing I could do to change the past and from where we ended up, I wouldn’t even if I could.