Love Is Always Write Volume 4

Chase stepped closer. Owen said, "I should probably go home and feed the cat." He turned to grab his messenger bag, but Chase took his hand. Owen felt his chest tighten, and his cheeks get warm.
    "Slow down," Chase said. He was running his thumb over Owen's pulse point on his wrist.
    "Okay," Owen exhaled. He turned back around and looked up.
    Owen forgot where he was, everything faded in the background. Chase slipped his other hand along Owen's jaw, under his ear, to the back of his neck. Shock waves were running along Owen's spine. He tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as Chase pulled him closer. Everything was about to change, and he almost pushed Chase away.
    Chase must have sensed Owen's flight response. He leaned down and kissed him. His strong hand held the back of Owen's head. Chase's other hand let go of Owen's, and slipped to the small of his back. Owen stopped thinking and closed his eyes. He opened to Chase and experienced an explosion of his senses. Chase tasted like coffee, chocolate, and caramel. Owen wrapped his arms around Chase and clutched at his shirt beneath his shoulder blades.
    Owen felt every ripple of Chase's muscles as the kiss went deeper. He ran his hand down Chase's back, mapping each inch until his hands were on his hips. He tugged Chase closer. Owen's back pressed against the brick wall. Chase had slipped his hand into the back of Owen's jeans. Owen made a small noise. Chase drew back and smiled.
    Owen wasn't sure he could breathe. He was positive he couldn't walk. His legs were like jelly. He leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. Once his heart stopped trying to hammer its way out of his chest, he looked up. "When can we do that again?"
    Chase burst into laughter. He picked up Owen's messenger bag and held it out for him. Owen managed to stand without falling over, and lifted the strap over his head. Chase placed a hand on Owen's chest. "Go. Feed your cat."
    "Exactly what I was thinking," Owen said.
    "Can I pick you up at six-thirty?" Chase asked.
    Owen laughed. "You want to attend your grand opening celebration?"
    "Right. Let's meet here at six forty-five." Chase took Owen's hand and walked him outside. "See you tonight." He kissed his cheek.
    Owen was down the street, and out of sight, when he put his t-shirt to his nose and inhaled Chase's cologne. "Holy fuck," he said.
    ****
    Owen wasn't sure what he had been doing all afternoon, except replaying that kiss over and over in his head. He had fed the cat. He tried to paint, he started some laundry, and he emailed Jay. Now, he was sitting in the den staring at a dark television screen.
    He thought about his time at NYU and how much of it he had wasted, trying to experience the club scene. He never had a relationship while he was there. His heart had been broken before he left for college. New York had been his therapy. Why spend money on talking when he could be fucking?
    He got up and looked at a picture of his family. He picked up the frame. The picture was taken three years ago. It was his high school graduation, and he was flanked by his moms and siblings. He set the frame down and went up the stairs.
    The summer before he left for college had been so awful, he'd only been too happy to leave Wildwood. He had come home for obligatory holiday breaks but kept busy during the summer ones. This was his first time back home, for any extended period of time. When he explained to his moms that he just wasn't happy at NYU, they were worried, but understanding.
    He remembered making arrangements to transfer and leave the college. His academic professors were far more understanding than his studio art professors. He knew he was taking a huge step, in a different direction, in the art world. Mostly, he wanted to find some kind of balance between having fun and accomplishing something worthwhile. He had embraced NY in its bathroom stalls, alleyways, and nightclubs.
    He opened his closet and took out a favorite pair of black skinny jeans. He pushed the hangers back and forth looking for a shirt. Realizing the shirt he wanted was probably sitting in the washer. He ran to the laundry room and searched the wet clothes. He found it and tossed it in the dryer.
    When he got back to his room, his cell phone was laying on his bed, ringing. He picked it up.
    "Hi, Gracie."
    "Hi, honey," she said. "I just wanted to find out how the thing went this morning."
    Owen smiled. "It was good."
    "Good?" she laughed.
    "Amazing!" He gave