The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 17

I watch a small boat sailing out of the port and wish I could throw myself on it, escaping along with my mortification.

"Mirren?"

Owen's voice is soft and concerned as he gently eases himself down next to me. I can't look at him, though; I'm too embarrassed.

"What's wrong?" He asks. A hand tentatively touches my knee, causing heat to flare through my entire body. I want him so damn much.

"I feel like an idiot," I admit. "Debbie said you were talking to an old female friend, and I . . . Had a wee fit of jealousy." I cringe at my own idiocy, risking a sneaky glance in his direction.

He grins. "I've never really been into much older women, as lovely as Sheena is." He squeezes my knee now, lightly. "But please, Mirren? Trust me when I say I'm definitely not interested in anyone else right now. I'm not going to tell you I want to be with you, then turn around and change my mind less than 24 hours later. That's not the kind of guy I am."

"Honestly?" I meet his eyes. "I know that. I think I knew that all along."

"I meant what I said last night. I'm still willing to wait," he continues. "To see if you will give us a chance."

"I don't want to wait," I find myself blurting out.

Golden eyes widen at my words. "You mean . . . ?" A hopeful smile tugs at his lips, dimples dancing in the fading light.

"I want to try this . . .whatever this is . . . with you." It all comes out in a slightly garbled rush of words. Hey, I never said I was smooth!

He grimaces. "Is this just because you got yourself worked up and jealous and were worried you'd missed your chance?" I think he's joking.

I shrug. "Pretty much," I say honestly. "But I was already leaning towards this decision. The idea that you might be stolen from me by an eighty year old with serious scone skills just pushed me over the edge."

He chuckles. His breath drifts over my ear, causing me to shiver, and he uses this an excuse to slide an arm around my back, although I'm sure he knows I'm not actually cold.

In silence, we watch the water lap at the shore for a couple of minutes. He pulls me closer and lightly strokes my side, while goosebumps rise all over my skin. I feel dangerously sensitive right now. "I'm not really sure where we go from here," I confess finally. "I've not been involved with anyone for a while."

He laughs again, burying his face in my hair. We may not have kissed yet, but he seems to be embracing the closeness already, and it feels good just to let myself go, relax into it. It's been a long time since I felt so content in a guy's arms. "I'm not exactly well rehearsed either," he says quietly. "And I wasn't sure if you'd give me a shot, so I've not even had a chance to overthink everything. Although that's probably a good thing!"

Another brief silence falls. I close my eyes, concentrating on the sound of the waves, the feeling of his warm body pressed into mine.

Owen huffs out air. "We should probably go back into the pub, I guess. Finish our drinks."

"That's what you want?" I'm disappointed. Part of me just wants to stay out here forever.

"I'm assuming you don't want your friends to know, right? After the way they keep meddling?" I nod. "So we don't want to raise their suspicions. And we've been away for a while now."

"That makes sense," I say. "So we go back there, drink and then . . . Do you want to come back to my room?" It feels odd saying this out loud, the words tasting weird on my tongue. Propositioning my teenage holiday crush after all this time.