There were a dozen things that Owen should have been doing. He should have been clearing the dishes that had held their pancakes and now had maple syrup slowly hardening into maple guck. He should have been looking for job listings in the newspaper that Sebastian, apparently, got delivered to the apartment every day. He should have gone back to his own apartment and shaved away the stubble marking his face or gone for a walk down to the store to replace the juice they’d finished off while eating. He should have been calling his sponsor to relieve the worry-s***h-fury that Craig was supposedly dealing with.
The only problem with those ideas, was that there was no place in the world that Owen would have rather been then where he was, at that moment—on Sebastian’s couch. He had his legs spre
