Edited June 17, 2012; 7:53 pm PST

Chapter Six

Day Five Hundred Eighty-Two

If he could have guessed at anything that would interfere with his relationship with Clare, Owen would have put good money on it being another person. Well, another man to be exact since the women who came into his life hardly lasted long enough to make any real difference. So if he was a betting man—luckily for him, that was one thing he never became—he would have figured the odds of their friendship coming to an end would have to do with Clare meeting her Prince Charming.

However, there was no Prince Charming in sight the day irrevocable changes began to take place in his friendship with the cinnamon-haired woman. There was only his best friend, her best friend and a pair of half-filled suitcases lying open on her bed. There was only excited chatter and a frenzied woman haphazardly throwing her possessions inside the suitcases. The picture they presented telling him that he should have called before showing up to her apartment for their Monday night ritual of takeout and pay-per-view movies.

"What's going on?" he asked, his inquiry falling on deaf ears. He felt awkward standing in the doorway to her bedroom and it bothered him because it meant he was out of the loop and he had never been before. "Clare?"

He knew then that a hurricane was brewing on the horizon, one that would completely alter everything he had come to know. He knew it because his best friend, the woman who was never at a loss for words, couldn't seem to choke up a response as she stood there. And those blue eyes were wide with that deer in the headlights expression that he had never quite understood until right then.

Alli, never one for awkward silences, was the one to speak up. "Owen, Clare got an interview as the features editor at a startup magazine. Isn't that awesome?"

He should have felt some sort of excitement like Alli obviously did. An interview could lead to a better job that would take her away from the one she currently hated. She would no longer be the low man on the totem pole, writing stories given to her by a spiteful woman and caused her to be looked down upon by her colleagues. Clare would finally have the recognition that she deserved from the journalism community. And wasn't it the goal of most reporters to become an editor and, one day, ultimately run their own publication?

Although he should have felt pride in her accomplishment, all he could feel was worry and a bit sick to his stomach. Because there were suitcases and clothes going into them which meant that the interview was far enough that she needed both.

"I didn't know you needed to pack for a job interview," he managed to choke out. He winced at just how shaky his voice sounded to his own ears.

Alli obviously noticed the odd tone where her friend did not. She narrowed her eyes. "You do if the job is in Seattle."

He swallowed hard. Seattle? "Why didn't you tell me you were looking for a job?"

Clare looked guilty. "I wasn't, well, not actively anyway. I mean, I've put some résumés out there—feelers, if you will, to see if anyone was hiring—but I never got any response. I didn't really expect I ever would."

"So how did you get the job interview?" Crap, now he sounded like a jealous boyfriend and from the crease between her brows, Clare obviously thought so too. He cleared his throat. "I mean—"

"I know what you meant." A soft smile cut some of the harshness from the statement. "It's actually a funny story. The guy starting the magazine is someone I went to school with. He was actually the editor of the school newspaper when I was started on it as a sophomore. He remembered some of my work back then, looked up what I've been doing now and just contacted me out of the blue. I guess he always thought I had a promising career and future ahead of me so why not capitalize on it. Those were his words, not mine."

"And now he wants to interview you," Owen surmised.

"Oh please," Alli exclaimed, ripping a dress from Clare's grasp and throwing it into a corner of the room. She proceeded to the open closet and began rifling through the garments. "The interview is just a formality and we all know it. The job is already in the bag."

Two rosy spots formed on Clare's cheeks and she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Two signs that she was secretly embarrassed by Alli's overly confident tone of voice combined with the words that none of them could deny. "Alli, you don't know that. Joshua is just being nice by giving me a chance. I'm sure he has other interviews lined up for the job."

"Yeah, right, he's going to have you travel twenty-five hundred miles just to give you a chance. You got the job, sweetie, even if you don't realize it. Ah-ha!" She pulled out a crimson-colored sweater dress and denim jacket. "This is what you should wear."

Owen watched as Clare took the proffered items and folded them carefully for travel. How was it that she was standing in front of him but he could already feel her slipping away? "You going to take the job if it's a sure thing?" he inquired.

She paused, the expression on her face telling him that she had never even considered the idea. "I guess I…I don't know."

"I should let you get back to packing. We'll meet up when you come back."

He slipped out of her bedroom and headed back out of her apartment. Clare might not have known with any certainty what she was going to do. But Owen did. And that was what he was afraid of.

- O-C –

Day Six Hundred Seven/Six hundred Eight

Not even a month since finding out about the interview that would irrevocably change both the lives of his best friend and himself, Owen found himself immersed in Clare Edwards's Bon Voyage party. And despite the fact that he would rather be anywhere else in the world, he knew that he had no choice but to show his support since she would not hesitate to do the same if the roles were reversed. Which was why he was sitting in a bar with a dozen of their closest friends, nursing his second beer as Clare and Alli downed their sixth shot of tequila and went on to make fools of themselves on the dance floor.

He wondered since finding out about the interview if he would have approached her that first day had he known he would grow closer to the woman than he had with anyone else in his life. If he would have given so much of himself to her if he had known she would wind up leaving not even two years later. Would he have relegated their relationship to the one that neighbors merely have, not stepping over that line of acquaintances? And if he had, would he have regretted that decision like he was regretting his current predicament?

"Owen," Clare called out, her voice slurred as she skipped over to him. He whirled around on his barstool and she came to stand between his legs, her hands coming up to land on his shoulders. He caught her gently around her waist when she swayed a little too hard on her heels. "Owen, are you having fun? I am."

"You're drunk."

Her eyebrows came together to form a crease above the bridge of her nose and she seemed ready to deny it before she shrugged. "I might be but only just a little bit."

"You need to go home and sleep it off."

"No, you need to come and dance with me."

"I don't dance, Edwards."

She scrunched her face as if what he said disturbed her. "But it's my party and I want you to."

"I think you've danced enough for both of us tonight." He reached up to take her hands into his and stood. "I'm taking you home now."

"But Alli—"

"I'll make sure she gets a ride home. But you're leaving."

He directed her out of the bar and to the parking lot, finding the task a bit harder with Clare giggling as she played with his ears and hair, making quick work of finding his car and unlocking the door. Once Clare was successfully deposited inside, he made his way back to the bar to fulfill his promise of finding Alli a designated driver for the night.

He walked over to a couple sitting at a table in the corner, his eyes straying to the woman grinding up against some unknown man. "Hey Eddie," he greeted them, smiling at the man's fiancée, Hannah, sitting beside him. "I'm going to take the guest of honor home."

"Yeah, she looked like she had a little too much fun with her friend," Eddie noted, glancing at the same scene Owen had witnessed.

"Do you think you could get Alli home? I kind of promised Clare that I would make sure that she was safe."

"I —"

"We'd love to, Owen," Hannah cut in. "You just take care of your girl."

He thanked them again and departed, anxious to get back to his car and the woman inside. He was worried about the amount of alcohol she had consumed and just what its effects would be, not only on Clare but on the interior of his car as well. Because he had learned at an early age that the smell lingered long after the vomit was cleaned up.

Relieved to find her apparently dozing in the seat, Owen unlocked his door and got into the car. He inserted the key into the ignition, started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. It was all but a ten minute drive but with the music playing and the scent of her shampoo mingling with the unmistakable scent of liquor, ten minutes easily felt as though it could have been ten hours. And when he parked the car in the usual space, he found that he had never been more relieved for a car ride to be over.

Getting out of the car and pocketing his keys, Owen jogged around to the other side of the car. He yanked open the door and unbuckled her seatbelt, gathering the sleeping woman into his arms. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty, time to get you to bed," he whispered, kicking the door shut behind him as he carried her to the apartment building.

While she wasn't what he considered heavy by any means, it was more than awkward carrying the dead weight during the short elevator ride and through the hallway that led to their apartments. Gently, he dropped her to her feet and leaned her up against the wall to be able to dig for the right key that would gain them entrance to her place. A job that would have gone over a lot easier if Clare would cooperate instead of just letting her body slump the moment he removed his arms.

"You're going to have go wake up, Edwards, so I can open the door. Do you think you can do that?" he cajoled, receiving a nonsensical moan in reply. He gave her a shake and placed his hands on either side of her face, her eyes slowly blinking open to reveal the crystal blue irises beneath her lids. "You think you can stand on your own so I can get the door open?"

Clare nodded tiredly, her body sagging against the wall but still supported by her feet. He made quick work of locating her apartment key, slipping it into the lock and pushing the door open. He drew the key back out of the lock and tucked it back inside his pocket.

When he turned his attention back to Clare, he found himself disconcerted to find her gaze fixated on him. Frozen where he stood, he could only blink as she took a few steps forward. "What—" The rest of the question was lost when her lips touched his.

Slowly, her lips massaged his despite his lack of response. It wasn't the most enticing of kisses; he had had better ones in his long history of romantic—and not so romantic—encounters, but he could feel his body reacting in ways it had never reacted before. He longed to take her in his arms and slam her against the wall, bringing the rating of their make-out session from PG to something closer to R, with no regard to the consequences that it would entail. He longed to wrap her body around his and continue the night in her bed or his.

However, the way her lips fumbled over his stopped him from taking that step over the line as did the scent of liquor still permeating the air.

Reaching up, he seized her arms and jerked her away from him. Her eyes were clouded but whether it was from lust or intoxication, he didn't have a clue. "Clare, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The Clare he knew would have looked down in shame. The Clare he knew would have stammered over excuses and apologies over her behavior. But this was not the Clare he knew even though the vision she presented was just as alluring as the original. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like?"

"Clare, you're drunk."

Clare giggled, holding her fingers up with just a space her pointer and thumb. "Maybe just a little bit," she admitted in a stage whisper.

"And that's why we shouldn't do this. You're not in your right frame of mind."

Clare laughed sardonically, a sound that originated deep in her throat and had to be one of the sexiest sounds he had ever heard. "My right frame of mind? And how exactly would you know what that is?" Her arms came up to lock around his neck. "Did you ever think I might want this? That I've been thinking about this for the last few months? I mean, there is a reason they say women and men can never be just friends."

With a groan, Owen closed the gap between them. The force in which he took her mouth with his was almost bruising, lips crashing with teeth, tongues battling for supremacy. How long had he actually been dreaming for this to happen? Not in these circumstances, of course, but to actually be feeling the woman in his arms and to have her touching him in a way that made his nerve endings feel as though they were on fire. And to not have to worry that it would all go up in smoke with the resounding ring of his alarm clock.

His hands drifted down her sides to her hips and past her hips to her thighs, tugging at them until the indication became clear and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Moaning at the heat that the intimate position created, Owen tore his lips from hers and nipped at her jaw before placing a series of tender kisses along the line that her jaw connecting with her neck created. When he had finished drawing a path from her lips to her ear and back again, he pulled away completely and was almost undone by the whimper that escaped her lips.

Pushing back strands of cinnamon hair, he made certain his eyes made direct contact with her. "You're sure about this?"

She leaned forward, capturing his lips for another tango that made him feel like his legs consisted of gelatin. No other words were spoken as they disappeared inside the apartment, Owen kicking the front door shut and proceeding to the room he had had fantasies about but never imagined would be a reality.

As he half-laid, half-threw her onto the bed, following not two seconds after, he ignored the niggling voice in the back of his head that told him this was all a mistake. Because for once in his miserable life, he was going to pretend life was going his way and this little piece of perfection was his on a permanent basis. Even if he knew to his core that it was all a lie.

- O-C –

He had been awake for hours, his eyes blinking open before the sun was even bright enough to pierce through the lace curtains in Clare's bedroom. With every other woman he had previously slept with, Owen could not wait to figure out some excuse to extricate his self from their arms and, ultimately, their beds. Call him cold or callous, but he had never understood the point of lingering by cuddling after the main event was finished. Or sticking around to reach that moment when nothing could fill the silence but awkward greetings followed by explanations that were even more awkward.

That was before he spent the night with Clare.

For some reason, he found he didn't mind the weight of her resting against his arm that was gradually falling asleep or the strands of her hair that were tickling his chest. He didn't mind the lingering scent of perfume mixed with the aroma produced by their previous night's actions nor did he mind the stickiness of the dried sweat on both their body. And he found that he definitely didn't mind the fact that she had held him in a vice-like grip most of the night or the feel of her breath ghosting over him from the sighs that escaped her lips while she dreamed.

Because with the sight of the creamy expanse of her back revealed by the sheet falling to her waist and the strange protective instinct that was being fed by the knowledge she had enough trust to be this intimate with him, he knew that he could stand all of that and more if it meant waking up to the same vision on a regular basis.

Clare began to stir as his fingers brushed the base of her spine and she turned to face him, the same blue eyes that he had spent a good amount of time staring into the previous night fluttering open. A shy but ultimately satisfied smile came onto her face and she grasped the top of the sheet, tugging on it until she was given a modicum of modesty before she snuggled closer to his side. It was a pity to cover up all that pale skin but he figured that it was wise to keep his mouth shut on that subject.

"Hey," she murmured, leaning forward the few inches to touch her lips softly to his.

Yeah, he could definitely stand to wake up to this every morning. "Good morning," he greeted her gruffly, running his fingers through the tangled mass of cinnamon waves.

"Mm, what time is it?"

Owen glanced at the clock on the nightstand behind her. "It looks like ten to one."

Her eyes widened almost comically. "Shit," she exclaimed, flinging the sheet off of them and jumping off of the bed. She ran over to the pile of clothes that appeared to be waiting for her on the chair in the corner, throwing on her undergarments followed by a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater. Stopping in front of the mirror, she let out a small scream and combed her fingers through her hair. "Alli is going to be here any minute and I have sex hair. I can't believe I have sex hair today of all days."

He should have found the uncharacteristic display of disarray and frenetic movement amusing but it was the panic that set him on edge. Standing, he wrapped the sheet around his waist and went over to seize one of her wrists, interrupting her frantic hair brushing. "Clare, what's going on?"

She jerked her hand out of his, returning to fixing her hair and throwing it into a ponytail. "Alli and Jake are going to be here any minute with the moving truck. I got to get ready."

Owen swallowed hard, watching as she continued to run around the room like a chicken with her head chopped off. The stark realization that their night was going to be a one-time deal and the dread that it entailed sank to the pit of his stomach like a stone. He swiped at her upper arm as she passed him, gripping it and successfully halting her motions.

"Clare, what's going on?"

"What's going on? Owen, I'm expecting them to be here in less than hour to get everything ready before Alli takes me to the airport. Which means I am incredibly late," Clare told him, trying to pull away but finding her strength to do so no match for his.

"You're still moving to Seattle?"

"Why would you think I wouldn't be?" Her eyes widened with comprehension. "You didn't think that…oh, God, you did. Owen, last night was great but…I don't think last night was the same for me as it was for you."

He dropped his hand as if her words had literally burned his fingertips. "Then what the hell was it for you, Clare?"

Clare shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know. I guess it was just a bit of fun. You know…a proper goodbye between friends. It's just…you were standing there and I was feeling uninhibited from the alcohol. And being with you was all I could think of at that moment. But Owen, the moment's passed and we've got to move on. That means I've got to finish getting ready before my ride gets here."

"Damn it, Clare, is that really what all last night was to you?" he demanded, his voice filled with equal amounts of anger and incredulity. He took five or six steps back as though it physically hurt to be close to her. "Just a bit of fun to tide you over until you get to your new life?"

"I don't understand you, Owen. You've been with other girls for that same reason and it never bothered you. Why the hell is this so different?" Clare questioned.

"It just was, all right?" he yelled bitterly. Noting the obvious shock his words brought, Owen knew without a doubt that she wasn't ready to hear what he was dying to blurt out. He shook his head and began to gather his clothes that had been haphazardly strewn around the room the night before. Throwing on his boxers and jeans, he tossed the sheet back onto the bed and balled up his shirt. "Never mind, Clare, you're right. That's really what all last night was about."

"I'm sorry. I thought—"

Call him masochistic or a glutton for punishment but he couldn't walk out of the apartment without touching her one last time. Stepping forward until he stood directly in front of her, he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead. "You're going to be great, Edwards. Seattle won't know what hit it."

And with that, he turned and exited the apartment for the last time like the dogs of hell were nipping at his ankles.

To be continued…