Page 16 of The Best I Never Had

“Mom,” I say gently. “Come on. Don’t leave. I’m sorry.”

She waves, already walking toward the exit. If I don’t stop her, she’ll end up missing everything tomorrow. And I will, too. I’ll spend the day trying to coax her out of bed so she doesn’t miss something big, like the time we both missed Harrison’s elementary school graduation because I told her I wanted to do an internship with a company besides Hayes and she decided it meant I was abandoning the family.

“I’ll try,” I call out to her back, and she pauses, waiting for me to go on. “I’ll talk to Thea.”

She spins to face me, a few of the clouds gone from her face. “I’m happy to hear that. I’ll see you tomorrow for the game.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. She’s still leaving, but if she’s saying she’ll be there tomorrow, she’s in a much better place than she would have been otherwise.

Now I just have to break it to Thea that things got a bit more complicated.

I pace in front of the hotel room door, wondering if going to my cousin for Thea’s room number is the creepiest thing I’ve ever done.

I’m not here for a creepy reason. Not because she still knocks the wind out of my lungs in that red dress or because her ridiculous antics made me feel lighter than I have in years or because she called out my family while they were ragging on me. All that’s true, but it’s not why I’m here now.

There are things we need to discuss, like what went down when we “broke up” and how I’m “trying to win her back” this week. An anxiety-driven vision of her saying I broke up with her and my mom declaring us still in love and, therefore, back together is enough to get me to knock.

The door swings open a few seconds later and I’m greeted by what might be the most glorious sight in the world. Thea’s fresh from the shower, droplets from the messy bun she has piled on top of her head running down the sides of her neck. A few curls have escaped, framing the soft curve of her cheeks. Her oversized sweatshirt hides the tiny sleep shorts that peek out as she shifts her weight onto one foot, and my fingers twitch with the desire to play with the hemline.

God, she’s beautiful.

She clears her throat, and I realize I’ve been staring, openly and unabashedly. I have to get this under control.

“I thought we should check in,” I say.

She glances down the hallway for prying eyes, and then steps back to let me in. The room is set up like mine. A comfortable king bed. An antique desk from one of my uncle Doug and aunt Ximena’s thrifting trips. No charging station or any of the other modern amenities I know Camila’s been on them to add.

I grab the back of the old wood chair at the desk and gesture for her to sit on the bed across from me to put some distance between us.

Thea sighs as she drops onto the bed. “Scale of one to ten, how much does your mom hate me now?”

“The good news: she doesn’t hate you. The bad: she desperately wants us to get back together. How’s Addy doing?”

Thea throws herself back, bouncing slightly on the bed as she groans. “I think she’s okay. I just need to keep that sort of reaction under control. No more awkwardness, no more fuckups.”

“Speaking of that,” I say, and she pushes herself back to sitting. “We should make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Okay, so let’s walk through everything. You said we were together for a year?” she asks.

“Yeah. You ended it and I was—am—heartbroken,” I say.

Thea lets out an unflattering noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort. It’s tragic how adorable I find it. “I don’t see how people will believe that.”

Her statement seems genuine, but it doesn’t compute for me. She’s stunningly beautiful, funny, and interesting. Why wouldn’t my family believe she broke my heart? Did she not see the way my cousins fell all over themselves to get close to her? And it was only half to screw with me.

“Why wouldn’t they?” I ask, and she lets her head fall to the side, widening her eyes in a way that says, Come on, Owen. “No, if you think it won’t work, I need to get why.”

“You’re really going to make me say it?” She meets my eyes again, but I stubbornly cross my arms. “You’re out of my league.”

I laugh, because what else can you do when the most perfect person in the world thinks anyone is out of their league? “You’re messing with me.”

“No, I’m not,” she says, her voice going to the highest octave I’ve heard from her, and I pull back on my laughter. “This whole family is smart and put together, and I don’t fit in here.”

“You held your own that weekend and tonight at the welcome party.”

“When I called your cousins assholes?” she asks wryly.

“They are assholes,” I say, and Thea covers her face with both hands to hide her laughter. It takes everything in me not to move to her bed and peel her hands away, to soak in the sound and the way her wide eyes crinkle when she laughs.