Wild Reckless Page 36
But Owen had a flash during that drive, his mind catching on something Mr. Chessman said the day before. DePaul—it wasn’t the only school interested. Owen’s always been bold. The only thing that intimidated him was the idea of forgiving himself for not being able to save his father and James. Calling his coach at seven in the morning, asking for names, schools, the list of people who have asked to see his highlight tapes and stats—that was easy. And when his coach mentioned that the University of Illinois had been calling a lot lately, that was all he needed to hear.
He stopped at a diner in Rockford, made a few calls, and mentioned to a certain scout that he was getting some serious offers from DePaul. Then he looked up the University’s music program, more specifically the jazz division, and saved it. Thirty minutes—and one speeding ticket—later, he found me.
“I still think the uniform’s sexy,” he says, making the few final steps to me, pulling both ends of my bright orange jacket into him until I’m fully in his arms. He kisses my neck and tries to work my jacket from my body, but I push him away.
“So, I’m late for warm-ups, and Jess and Will are here,” I say, tilting my head toward the end of the hall where my friends both raise a hand to say hello. Owen pulls his hat low on his head, feigning he’s embarrassed at being caught. I know he’s not—Owen still loves to kiss in public.
He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Okay, but we’re ditching them after the game, just for a little while.”
“Bright orange jacket just does it for you, huh?” I joke, spinning in my obnoxiously florescent uniform. He stops me mid-spin, wrapping his arms around me and pulling my back into his chest.
“You do it for me,” he says, his words always perfect.
We walk to the game, and I join the band while Owen guides Will and Jess over to the student section. He sits with the other guys on the basketball team, and they usually get shown on TV once or twice. I mentioned this to Willow, and I noticed she was wearing a lot more makeup tonight than she normally does.
We’ve performed for six home games, and every time, the thrill of being out here, of being a part of something like this, gets to me. I think I fell in love with this school the moment I stepped through the tunnel with Will and Jess—and Owen remembered. His season started a few weeks ago. I volunteered to play in the rally band for basketball games too, just so I could watch him. Last week, the crowd started chanting Harper. Owen says he didn’t hear it, but I know he did. I know because I saw it in his smile—the cocky smirk I fell in love with a year ago.
Much like in high school, our football team is only average, and Owen texts me that Willow and Jess are bored by the third quarter. They only wanted to stay for the band’s half-time performance anyhow. Willow’s never really been in it for the sports. I text Owen back and tell him to leave with them and head to the pub. I’ll meet up with them after. I want to change and clean up anyhow.
The game lasts another hour, and Owen sends me a few texts of pictures of Willow and Jess dancing. Owen snuck them in, like he usually does with me, and I can tell he’s also helped them get beer, Willow’s craziness amplifying a little more in every picture he sends. By the time I finally get to the bar, my friends are cuddling in a booth looking at stunt videos on YouTube that they for some reason find hilariously funny.
“I left you in charge of them for like, what? An hour?” I say, sliding up behind Owen, my hands moving around his sides over his stomach and up his chest.
“That better be Kensi feelin’ me up, otherwise my girlfriend’s going to kick your ass,” he jokes, pulling me around to face him, his trademark dark jeans and long-sleeved black shirt calling for me to touch him. I move in close, resting my cheek on his chest, his heart beating underneath. I put on his favorite outfit, too—a red shirtdress with black leggings and a pair of brown leather boots. Even now, a year later, I still want to be the only girl he notices.
“Come on,” he says, his hand sliding down my arm until his fingers find mine, his eyes drawing a line down my body. He walks toward the dance floor, a small wood-planked square crowded with pretty girls and guys on the prowl, and pulls me into the very middle, holding me against his body. He cups my face, stretching me up to my toes, and dusts his lips over mine, speaking against my mouth. “I want to dance with you,” he says, his hands reaching into my hair as he kisses me harder, with enough heat to draw a few whistles from the couples standing next to us. He can feel me blush and start to pull away to hide, so his hands only get firmer, his mouth curving into a smile against mine.
“Don’t you go run and hide. They’re just whistling at a guy kissing the prettiest girl in the room, wear that crown proudly, princess,” he says, his hands growing more bold, sliding over my hips, his thumbs flirting with the waist of my leggings, reminding my body of how quickly he can own me completely.
“I thought you didn’t dance,” I say, my face tilted up to look at him, his eyes peering down on me, both of us hiding under the shadow of his hat.
“Mmmmm,” he hums, pulling me close to him, his chin resting on my head. “This isn’t really dancing. It’s more like foreplay.”
Oh.
“Hey, have you heard from your mom? Did your grandpa get moved in yet?” I ask, and Owen’s body slumps in reaction.
“I say foreplay, and you ask about my grandpa,” Owen chuckles.
“Well, you always knew he’d steal me away from you. It’s kind of your fault when you think about it—you put us together,” I laugh. Owen shakes his head, then kisses the top of mine as he holds me against his chest.
“Grampa’s good. I still can’t believe your mom got him into that program near her hospital. Really, that was amazing of her,” he says, everything about his body so different from the stress and worry that always lived inside of him before. My mom started working on Gus’s case the day his mom sold their house. The Harpers moved into an apartment down the road until school let out, and by the time Owen graduated and the money had run out to pay for his grandfather’s current home, my mom had worked him into the program for veteran’s through her hospital downtown. Emma agreed to let Gus stay for a fraction of the cost until my mom could finalize his move.
“My mom has good connections, and I think she’s finally getting used to the fact that she can make demands for things, and people will listen. Besides, I think she’s a little smitten for Gus, too,” I say.
Owen squints at me, his lips pursed.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with all this obsession with my hot grandpa,” he says, unable to contain his smile, a laugh breaking through and ruining his character. I nestle back into his embrace.
“My mom has a date,” he says, his chin once again resting on my head, his thumbs caressing small circles along the small of my back.
“Oh yeah?” I say, having a hard time seeing Owen’s mom do anything other than work. In the year I lived next to her, I think I saw her ten times, her eyes always heavy, her body always thin and fatigued.
“You’ll never guess who with,” he says, his tone all I need to know. I can’t help but grin against his chest. I told Owen about what I had learned, about how Mr. Chessman knew his family. I wanted him to know how much he loved working with his father, and how much he respected them all. He needed to know that there were people out there that saw past the wild—people who saw the good. I didn’t mention my suspicions about how Mr. Chessman felt, the way I saw him look at Owen’s mom. But I think that will all work itself out without me.
“You’re kidding?” I say, stepping back and looking up at him again. I love how he towers over me.
“Not kidding. I just feel really bad for Andrew. His teacher is dating his mom, I mean…wow, right?” Owen says, his chest raspy with laughter.
“He’s only his teacher part of the time,” I say, as if that somehow makes it better.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, brushing his thumb over my cheek, his eyes doing that thing where they zero in on me and me alone, the rest of the world
fading away. We’ve quit swaying an entire song ago, the pretense of dancing long gone. We’re standing in the middle of the crowded dance floor holding each other, and looking at each other wanting more. I can tell by the way Owen’s breathing, by the way everything about him, about us, slows. Owen draws his finger down my chin to my neck, looping it under the small key charm resting at the bottom of my necklace between my breasts. He pulls the key up to his mouth, biting it in his teeth, his brow lowering and his lips curling.
“You think those two will notice if we ditch them, head back to my room?” Owen finally says, my body reacting as it always does.
“Willow has a key; I think they’ll be fine,” I say, glancing over at my friends, who are settled even lower in their booth, content to stay there until the sun rises I’m sure. My response is enough for him, and he sweeps his arm around me, tucking me against his side, guiding me through the crowd of football fans still pouring into the bar.
We walk the few blocks to his dorm, the same chill in the air that was there the first night I kissed him, the night he gave me the bracelet I still wear every day. I love it when he sees me in it, and I love how he kisses my wrist, like he is right now, as he slips it from my skin.
I love how he watches me, how he watches over me, fights for me, and makes me a better version of myself.
I love him.
Truth is, Owen Harper shot me through the heart that day he pointed his finger at me and pulled the trigger. I fell for him then, and I’ve been falling every day since. All I wanted was for him to catch me.
And he did.
THE END
Acknowledgments
This book. This book!
It was something that grabbed a hold of me, out of nowhere, and wouldn’t let me go until I finished. It had me, from the very beginning, and, while a mother shouldn’t choose her favorites, for me, this is it. This one; it’s my favorite. If I didn’t own up to it being my favorite, I would be cheating it. I love this book and am unbelievably proud of it, and I cannot thank you enough for the time you’ve given it.
This book scratches the surface of some extremely heavy topics—suicide, addiction and the struggles of living with mental illness. I want you to know that these topics, they matter to me. I put a lot of care in how I handled them, and above all, I wanted to be honest in the portrait I painted. And to those of you who work in a field that supports those suffering, I commend you with the absolute highest honor. You are angels—remarkable humans.
This is my seventh novel. That number astonishes me, and now I’m eager to watch it grow. I would not be here if it weren’t for the amazing readers out there who support me and champion me to continue, who lend their time and give me the ultimate gift—reading my stories. I thank you, from the depths of my heart.
I also must thank my amazing support team, starting with my husband and son, who only think it’s slightly weird that I carry my laptop around to baseball practice and make manic plot point notes on my phone in the middle of the Target electronics section. Thank you also to the amazing Wild Reckless beta readers: Jennifer, Shelley, Ashley, Debbie and Brigitte. You field my crazy questions when I’m not sure about something, and you push me when I’m afraid to go somewhere I really should—THANK YOU for making me take Owen to such challenging places. He wouldn’t be the man he is if I hadn’t, and you helped me accept that.
They say your words are only as good as your editors—Tina Scott and Billi Joy Carson, you are the A-Team of editors, so I always feel prepared going into battle. Also, Wordsmith Publicity—a million thanks for helping stretch the spotlight, encouraging it to shine on my stories whenever you can. Your team is mighty, and my thanks to you enormous.
While this book is my favorite work, I’m also quite in love with its cover, and I owe much of that to the talents of photographer Annabel Williams and models Jessica Slemmons and Jamie Connell. Thank you for helping bring Kensi and Owen to life.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Your reviews are often the only way small stories like this can be seen, and I for one know the power readers have. I’m so grateful for every post, mention, recommendation, book club, Tweet, pin and more that readers have given to my books. I hope to give you lots to talk about in the future.
Books By Ginger Scott
The Falling Series
This Is Falling
You and Everything After
(Coming Soon - 2015) The Girl I Was Before
The Waiting Series
Waiting on the Sidelines
Going Long
Standalones
Blindness
How We Deal With Gravity
Wild Reckless
About Ginger Scott
Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling author of seven young and new adult romances, including Waiting on the Sidelines, Going Long, Blindness, How We Deal With Gravity, This Is Falling, You and Everything After and Wild Reckless.
A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. (She’s also a sucker for a hot quarterback, catcher, pitcher, point guard…the list goes on.) Ginger has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at http://www.littlemisswrite.com.
When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).
Ginger Scott Online
www.littlemisswrite.com
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