Owen Moore

“When you phoned me and asked to meet up with you, I wasn’t expecting to commit an entire crime!” Reese whisper-hisses, her nails digging into my forearm.

Stifling a laugh, I navigate us around the open building in the dark. Our steps are quiet, careful, but a faint echo continues to sound from each thump.

“You told me you wanted to feel alive. Is the adrenaline rush here not enough?” I question, turning around to face her.

She rolls her eyes and then narrows them. “Do I detect tone, Owen?”

Grinning like a dope, I shake my head.

“No, ma’am, you do not.” I tell her, prying one of her arms off of my arm and raising it to my mouth, placing a soft kiss to it, all while looking her in the eyes.

Her features seem to relax a bit. “Good. I didn’t think so.”

“Never,” I agree. “But, if it came down to it, meaning we get caught, you’d look real good in an orange jumpsuit.”

The corner of her lips tick upwards. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

She snorts, fully smiling now, as she loosens her death grip entirely on my arm. “You’re such a romantic.”

I shrug nonchalantly. “It happens when I’m with you.”

Without responding, she glances around, then swallows thickly.

“I hate the dark.” she admits, and I find my eyebrows raising.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.” I exclaim, stepping closer to her,

Her head snaps toward me, and she cocks a brow.

“I’m not, typically.” she responds.

I am about to say something when the sound of a door slamming shut startles both of us.

“What was that?” she whispers, clinging to my side again, most definitely terrified.

“A guard, most likely,” I suggest truthfully, sliding a hand around her waist and tracing aimless shapes. “We will be alright,” I reassure her. “Just don’t scream or do anything stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” she protests, and I mentally curse myself for wording it that way. “But it’s kind of hard not to panic, Owen.”

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

She huffs out a breath of air. “No, actually, I’m with a ghost—“

“Stop being stubborn, Turner,” I warn, glaring slightly at her.

She returns the face.

“Don’t push me, Moore,” she presses.

A moment later, I shake my head.

“Wanna play a game?” she asks after another minute passes.

Peering sideways at her, I tilt my head. “I don’t play games.”

“It’s a new one,” she continues, smiling up at me while moving in front of my body. “You might like it.”

“Reese,” I say in a low voice, shivers causing my body to shake lightly when she slips a hand under my t-shirt. “What are you doing?”

“Owen,” she replies. “I really want to play this game.”

I pause momentarily, simply watching her watch me. Her blonde, bouncy curls rest at her mid-back, even though they are pulled into a rushed ponytail, loose and messy.

After sighing, I decide to give in.

Wrapping my arms around her waist na dback, I pull her flush against my chest.

“What are the rules?” I ask, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, which happens to be coconut and vanilla.

Standing on her tip-toes, she leans in close, her breath hot against my ear.

“You’ll figure them out as we go along,” she whispers, teasing me with her fingertips by brushing them along my bare skin.

And I’d be lying if I claimed that didn’t intrigue me.