Owen was drinking a lot of alcohol in the evenings to soothe himself. He couldn't deal with his loneliness and regret any other way. He judged himself harshly for what he'd done to them both. It had been a little over three weeks since the date - twenty-three days exactly because he was counting - but he didn't feel any better about his decision. He rationalized that he might feel the same way if he'd told her about the bet instead. Owen would also tell himself that he was protecting Claire from feeling tricked into loving him.
After one or two drinks, he'd ruminate on how she viewed him now. After three or four drinks, he'd remind himself that she walked out on him. He'd vaguely comprehend that being a cop-out as he drank into oblivion. Owen conceded that he got drunk, in part, to prevent himself from driving to Claire's cottage. He'd also become addicted to B12 tablets. He bought a bottle and, in addition to truly being helpful for hangovers, the taste reminded him of their last kiss. He felt pathetic.
When intoxicated, Owen would inevitably take out Claire's football jersey. She hadn't returned his shirt, so he didn't feel obligated to return hers. He wondered if this meant she was considering patching things up with him. The jersey no longer smelled like her vanilla, but it was still a comfort to him. It helped him to imagine that she kept his shirt as a comfort, too.
On this Thursday night - closer now to twenty-four days after the date - and five shots of tequila down, Owen's phone rang. His eyes were too blurry to read the screen. His heart leapt at the thought that it might be Claire. Every time his phone rang now, he hoped it was her.
"Hello?" answered Owen, trying to sound as upbeat and sober as possible.
"You sound happy to hear from me...or did you think it was someone else calling?" It was Derek or Satan. Their laughter was indistinguishable.
"Why are you calling me?" Owen said with a slur. His brain wasn't fully functional and couldn't maintain the sobriety charade. "It's almost midnight."
"Why do you think I'm calling you?" Derek sounded impatient. The meaning behind the call suddenly dawned on Owen, and he felt completely sober. Sober and crushed. He forgot how to speak. After a long silence, Derek sighed, "I'm not planning to start anything back up again with her. It was a mutually agreed upon, one-time thing." It really bothered Owen to hear Derek speak so flippantly about sleeping with Claire. Sex with Claire had been something he took seriously to a fault. He was glad, at least, that Derek didn't provide additional details about the one-night stand. Owen wasn't planning on asking any questions. Derek eventually added, "Just so you know, she contacted me. I didn't go after her."
"Like shit you didn't," Owen snarled. He could feel bile rising up his throat.
"I swear, Owen. I would've waited at least a month, out of respect for you."
"Fuck you."
"Don't be a sore loser. You had your chance and couldn't seal the deal."
"I chose not to seal the deal."
"Same difference." This conversation was clearly awkward for them both, and Owen was on the verge of ending the call. "We can have a discussion later about how I collect on my prize."
"She was the prize," Owen replied with deep sadness.
Derek scoffed, "That's rich, coming from you. She was nothing more than a mark. If that changed for you, you should've called it off."
Owen was shaking and swallowed hard before asking, "You would've agreed to that?"
"We'll never know, will we?" Derek's voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Owen. A tidal wave of emotion threatened to drown him. Owen felt lost at sea. Hanging up on Derek was the last thing he remembered before the world fell away.
Owen sprang up at the shock of cold water splashing on his face. He gasped for air, and his arms frantically searched for something to grip. He felt his mattress, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Barry was standing before him, holding an empty glass in his hand, and shaking his head.
"You're alive, then," Barry snickered.
"Maybe," Owen groaned. He obviously forgot to take the B12 before crawling into bed.
"Were you at a football game last night?" Barry chuckled. Owen looked down and realized that he was wearing the Packers jersey.
"It belongs to Claire," he said sheepishly. Barry nodded and smiled sadly. Owen cleared his throat, "You were right. I love her."
"What finally got you to admit it?" Barry asked without mirth.
"Derek won the bet."
"Merde. You really did succeed in bringing out the worst in her." This comment made Owen squeeze his eyes shut in disgust. When he reopened them, he was closer to crying than he'd been in years.
"I'm a coward, Barry. I've never loved anyone before. It would've been too painful to tell her and have her still leave me. It was easier to just deny it was true and push her away. I lost so much more than a bet." Owen felt a weight lifting off him as he said this aloud. These were thoughts that he'd been trying to bury under bottles of alcohol.
Barry sat down on the bed and put a hand on his shoulder, "Go to her."
"Are you kidding?" Owen sputtered incredulously. "The day after she had a one-night stand with that asshole?"
"Is she damaged goods now?" Barry challenged.
"No, that's not what I meant. The timing is wrong. I don't know where her head's at today." He couldn't imagine what she had been thinking when she contacted Derek. His mind started going a million miles an hour. What pushed her to that point? It burned Owen to know that Claire maintained enough of a positive opinion of Derek to turn back after choosing him. He remembered what Lowery said about Derek having smooth moves. Derek probably treated her well - maybe even better than Owen, especially considering their three weeks of radio silence.
Barry snapped his fingers in front of Owen's face and said sternly, "Réveillez-vous. There will always be an excuse. It will never be the 'right time.' I know this. I have lived it. Then, one day, it's too late."
"I don't know if MY head's in the right place to do it today." Aside from being hungover, Owen wasn't sure if he could stomach seeing Claire so soon after she'd been with Derek. It was frankly humiliating.
"D'accord," Barry said with a nod of understanding.
"Thanks for checking on me."
"You are the boss, and I suspected it was something to do with Claire. That's why I came myself and didn't send a tech."
Owen winced then smirked, "I'm lucky to have you as my second."
"Tell that to Hoskins and get me a pay raise." They laughed. Owen's mind started to drift. Barry sighed, "I'll cover for you today. Get your head straight."
Owen nodded then started thinking aloud, "All this guilt I had about the bet, and now...it's over." He shook his head. "I didn't want to make her just a mark, but that's what she became anyway." He took a deep breath. "She deserves better."
"She deserves the best...version of yourself," Barry reminded him and stood to leave. "I've always been impressed by your fearlessness at the paddock. I know it's not the same, but you love the raptors. You love your work. Apply that same fearlessness to her."
On Friday evening, Owen didn't drink. He drove to Claire's cottage with the jersey. She wasn't home. He decided to leave the jersey on her porch, to let her know that he'd been there. It was hard to give it up, and he almost took it back with him. He didn't feel like he deserved to keep it. Owen was profoundly disgusted with himself. Disgusted that he didn't protect her from Derek, didn't prevent her from being made a mark. Leaving the jersey now also made it more likely that he'd finally tell her about the bet. The timing should be suspicious to her. Hopefully, Claire would contact him. Owen drove home and wondered how long he'd have to wait to hear from her.
Three days went by and nothing. He began to worry that, like the other insensitive things he'd done that Claire didn't acknowledge, the jersey would fall into the same category. Then, Lowery called him late Monday afternoon.
"Get home and stay there," Lowery said with uncharacteristic determination in his voice.
"Why?" Owen asked while descending the steps from the paddock's catwalks.
"Claire just tried to give me a bag of stuff for you. Don't worry. I didn't even look in the bag." Lowery seemed to be overflowing with the same excited energy from their Monday Night Football halftime conversation. "I flat-out refused. I told her to give it to you herself and stormed out of her office. I almost slammed the door, but I thought that would be overly dramatic."
"So...you think she's headed over to my place?"
"Obviously," Lowery scoffed then pleaded, "This is your chance to fix it!"
"Lowery, this isn't a romantic comedy. This is real life."
"It's happening."
Owen was alarmed by Lowery's tone and asked nervously, "Are you being my spy right now?"
"Yes. She just walked out to her car with the bag and looks pissed." Owen frantically looked around for someone to alert about his leaving early. He was still holding the phone to his ear but wasn't saying anything. Lowery eventually asked, "Are you going or what?"
"Yes."
"Awesome. You can thank me later." Lowery sounded more optimistic than Owen felt, but it was nice to have a cheerleader. Lowery ended the call, and Owen found a tech for sign-out.
The route from the raptor paddock to his bungalow included a long straightaway that was a relatively major back road for the island. The winding, dead end dirt path to his bungalow branched from that straightaway. As Owen was on the major road driving in one direction, Claire's Mercedes appeared from the opposite direction. It felt like they were literally playing chicken. His heart raced. He hoped he was ready to face her. Claire reached the turn-off first, so he followed her to his place.
Owen parked his bike next to the driver's side of her car and waited for her to get out. She appeared hesitant. When she finally emerged, she leaned against the door and tightly gripped a canvas bag in front of her. Claire was wearing a black dress that was fit for a funeral.
She avoided making eye contact and asked without any emotion, "Did Lowery call you?"
"Yes," Owen said in the soft voice he used with the raptors to soothe them. His fingertips were tingling, desperately wanting to reach for her. Claire just sighed and passed him the bag, still not looking at him. Owen opened the unexpectedly heavy bag and grimaced. In addition to his shirt, there was the tooth brush he used, the unopened box of condoms, and - breaking his heart - the N64 with Goldeneye. He felt sick and embarrassed. She just stood there staring at the ground.
"You could've thrown this stuff away," he said dejectedly.
"No," she answered sadly, finally bringing her eyes to meet his. "I couldn't." Owen saw the pain in her eyes. He wanted to hold her more than ever despite the deepening guilt he felt in the same moment.
"I don't want it back." Owen was specifically referring to the N64 and held out the bag toward her. Her brow furrowed. Her face contorted into a sneer.
"We're done," she said harshly. "You gave back my jersey without so much as a note."
"I was hoping you'd be home," he answered defensively. Claire started to tremble and crossed her arms. Their bodies were so close together. He could almost feel her shaking the tension in the air between them. She walked toward the front of her car and stared in the direction of the lake.
"Three weeks of nothing from you, Owen." Her voice was so cold. "Then, you leave it. The one thing of mine that you had." Her voice cracked. "What was I supposed to think?" He felt like even more of a coward than he did three days ago. His hope that she'd be suspicious about the timing was apparently false. He didn't know where her head was. Owen needed to get her to reveal something he could work with. He didn't want to say anything that might make things worse. He placed the bag on the hood of her car then walked over and stood in her line of sight.
"What DO you think about me, Claire?"
"You think I must be bad in bed," she said matter-of-fact.
"That's ridiculous," he answered with genuine surprise. "Why would I think that?"
"Most recently?" she scoffed. "How about you saying you didn't want to fuck me on our date?" It was a fair point. She sighed, "But there were signs of it all along. Mocking my inexperience. Pulling back from me time and again, blaming it on various things...feeling like a fluffer, Ronan Keating, telling me it was too early to be exclusive." She was angry and started pacing. "Saying I should've insisted on oral sex with past lovers, conveniently not having condoms for a week. Then when you do, I can't get you hard." Claire stopped pacing and faced him with her hands on her hips. "Do you know how degrading that was?"
"How do you think I felt? Do you think that was good for me? If anything, you should think I'm bad in bed."
"I know you're not."
"How would you know?"
"It's what Sophie Alexander whispered to me. That...that you were much better than..." Her voice trailed off. She stopped herself from saying his name, but Owen knew. Of course, that's what that bitch Sophie told her. Claire suddenly looked lost and exhausted. She stated despairingly, "I wasn't worth chasing after." She paused to look him in the eye. "I stood on the sidewalk outside that restaurant for TEN minutes with the vain hope that you'd come out for me. I never felt so humiliated in my life as I did standing there and then riding the ferry back alone." Claire shook her head and was fighting tears. "There was no attraction for you. You were just killing time, waiting for the next leggy blonde, and using me for blow jobs."
His initial reaction to her statement was intense nausea, and then his chest felt holed out with a jagged edged spoon. He never felt so deep an ache. How horrible a person was he? How badly had he screwed this up that the first woman he ever loved thought he had used her for blow jobs? He couldn't let her believe that. Owen needed to convince her otherwise. Lowery was right. He had to fix this somehow. He would show her.
Owen quickly traversed the space between them and pulled her into his arms. They locked eyes for a moment. Claire looked confused, but her body didn't resist him. He hoped his eyes conveyed the depth of his feeling. He'd never wanted anything so intensely as he did in that moment. He kissed her passionately. She tasted better than he remembered - every sensation was better, heightened. It wasn't just the time apart. This was different in the most phenomenal way. Owen couldn't hold her close enough. He felt her heart pounding.
He picked her up and carried her toward his bungalow. Claire snuggled into him. Her hot breath on his neck gave him goosebumps. Once inside his small kitchen, Owen pinned her against the wall and resumed kissing her. She roughly forced off his vest, and he tossed it across the floor. It was so hot but also much more. He ran a hand up her leg under her dress and stroked her inner thigh. Her resultant moan was the most gratifying sound he'd ever heard. He slipped his fingers around her panties and inside her. She was already very wet. Owen regained the feeling of power that being with her gave him. He picked her up again and brought her into his bedroom.
As soon as her feet touched the floor, Claire scrambled to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. She ran her hands over his bare chest and undid his pants. Her desire overwhelmed him. Owen felt himself falling under her spell once more, his love for her deepening with every heaving breath. She stroked his girth through his boxer briefs. Her delirious expression revealed how gratified she felt. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fervently. He had missed that acrobatic tongue. Claire pressed against him and ran her nails over his scalp.
Owen desperately wanted to be deep inside her but relished every beat. He unzipped her dress and delighted in running his hands all over her smooth, unblemished back. He knew this body so well and never wanted to let it go. After the dress fell to the floor, he quickly removed her bra. He flipped her around to take hold of both her breasts from behind and kiss her neck. All he could smell was Claire and her delicious vanilla. He felt her knees start to buckle as she whimpered into his ear.
Claire took control while he savored the feel of her soft skin against his. She turned around in his arms and slipped her hands underneath the waistband of his briefs. She squeezed his buttocks before moving her hands forward to encircle his length. Owen groaned in pleasure. He couldn't wait any longer.
"Take them off me," he commanded urgently. She smiled and took her time, trailing kisses down his chest and abdomen. As soon as she pulled down his briefs, he picked her up and laid her on his bed. Owen gave her a taste of her own medicine and slowly made his way down her body toward her panties. She giggled seductively when he tickled around her belly button with one hand. He reached into his nightstand drawer for a condom with his other hand.
Owen removed her panties and positioned himself between her legs before rolling on the latex. She was holding onto his pillow with both hands over her head. Her back was arched in anticipation. Her eyes were closed.
"Look at me, Claire." He was gentle but demanding. He needed her to see how much he wanted this. He needed to erase her doubts about his feelings for her. The moment her eyes flew open and locked onto his, Owen penetrated her. It took all of his remaining willpower to keep his eyes open. He did it for her. For them. He felt like they were peering into each other's souls. With every thrust and tender touch, Owen was attempting to convey all that he previously held back from her, from "I'm sorry" to "I love you." He never before understood sex as giving yourself completely to another. He wondered how he could ever view it otherwise again.
Owen worked to give her what she asked for on the night they were standing next to her washing machine. Their bodies were pressed together. He could let go if he wanted to, but he enjoyed prolonging it and needed to get her to the same point. He knew how to do it. He broke their entrancing eye contact to kiss her neck and move his mouth toward her breasts. His tongue laved each nipple in turn. He lifted her legs to rest on his upper arms and pushed deeper inside her. They both cried out in pleasure.
Owen could tell from her head movements and the rhythm of her panting that she was close. He reveled in feeling her body twitch and tense around him. Claire's fingers moved everywhere she could reach, and his entire upper body was tingling from her touch. The accumulated sensations were divine. He hoped this wouldn't be the last time he moved within her. He wanted to keep learning new ways to please each other. They knew enough already to not need words. Neither was the pillow talk type. Action was best. The relative silence erotic.
They locked eyes again, and Owen was mildly startled when Claire pleaded, "I want your mouth." He obeyed, crushing his lips to hers as she held him down with an arm across his shoulders. They came together shortly thereafter. He pulsed inside her, and she moaned into his mouth. It was more than amazing. When their orgasms had played themselves out, they continued to breathe heavily while staring into each other's eyes. She was mesmerizing. He didn't want to pull out of her just yet. She grasped his face to kiss him again.
They rolled onto their sides and continued kissing. Claire groaned when Owen slipped out of her. He was deeply satisfied but wanted to go again. It was clear that she did, too. He was already getting hard. He rolled over to dispose of the spent condom and grab another. When he turned back toward her, Claire took the wrapper out of his hand and forced him into the mattress. She hovered above him with the wrapper between her lips. She kept both of her hands on him - pushing him down, rubbing his nipples, tracing the lines of his muscles - as she slowly moved backwards. Claire finished preparing him manually while simultaneously ripping open the wrapper with her teeth.
They didn't break eye contact or utter a single word. It was, by far, the steamiest moment of Owen's life. He closed his eyes in ecstasy when she started putting on the condom. The feel of someone else performing that act was completely foreign and exhilarating. She was the perfect mix of gentle and firm.
"Look at me, Owen." Her words were soft and breathy. He opened his eyes and saw a subtle sadness in hers. He wished he could read her mind. In the absence of telepathy, Owen strove to make Claire feel loved. He possessively held her hips, massaging with his fingertips, and she shuddered at his touch. He kept her steady as she lowered herself onto him. The intensity with which he burned for her threatened to overtake him. When he was fully inside her, Claire gasped and almost fell forward.
Being one with her felt like nothing else he'd ever experienced. This was where he belonged. Owen blocked out everything except how she felt riding him. It was rapturous. He groped her breasts tenderly for stimulation and support. Claire appeared equally enraptured. As she was preparing to let go, she pinned his arms and entwined their fingers. Her face was very close to his, but she didn't kiss him. She was so beautiful. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. When she shattered around him, his name escaped her lips in that sexy, plaintive tone he adored. Owen was a goner.
"Claire," he whispered back while he tumbled over the edge. She collapsed onto his chest. He focused on her slowing heartbeat. Nothing else mattered in that moment. It eclipsed the blissful sunset on her patio by a mile. Owen would stay in this moment as long as possible. She was his, and he was hers.
Claire eventually moved to his side and pulled the covers over them both. He put an arm around her and remained silent. Now was not the time to talk, let alone hash out their issues. Owen lulled himself to sleep by counting her breaths and drawing patterns on her silky skin with his fingertips. He was utterly besotted with her.
Owen woke up with a start. It was dark and quiet. He reached for Claire, but she was gone. Calling out for her would've been futile. She had slipped out just like he did that last Saturday morning before their date. Knowing now how it felt, he deeply regretted doing the same to her. His heart ached. He sat up in bed with the bittersweet recognition that he made love to her. He never just fucked her or made her his mark. If it took Derek winning the bet to achieve that, so be it.
Owen also understood that he loved her unconditionally. He saw her bad side and accepted it. Time would tell if she could do the same. He didn't know when the opportunity would present itself to reveal the truth of the bet and explain his mixed messages to her, but he couldn't shrink from it.
He suddenly noticed his shirt - the one from her canvas bag - folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He picked it up, and nothing fell out. There was no sign of the tooth brush, the condoms, or the N64. Owen felt relieved and very happy. Claire still appreciated his grand gesture in the small box. He brought the shirt to his nose expecting to smell the fabric softener from the previous time she washed a shirt of his. He was euphoric to discover that it smelled like her vanilla instead. Owen had suffered enough. He put on his shirt with a renewed sense of hope and possibility. They still had time.
Let me know if this chapter left you satisfied. It's hard for me to let go and end this story - I've enjoyed writing it so much!
