Owen Grady dance gaze beginning
“I can’t dance.”
“Neither can I.”
You peered at Owen’s outstretched hand, over your drink. At the park, it was cleverly titled “Fossil Fuel”. In reality, it was just a Pina Colada with green food coloring, served in a souvenir glass that gave it its $15 price tag. Usually you stayed far away from Jurassic World’s many liquid scams, but it was Friday, Owen already bought everyone a few shots, and you were loosened up enough to take the plunge. You’d always been a sucker for tiny umbrellas.
But while the buzz opened your wallet, it kept your feet planted firmly to the ground. You managed to play it cool from the start, earning both Owen’s friendship, and respect as his coworker. It was difficult to do. Despite being so laid back, it took him time to warm up to people in a genuine sense. In his eyes you were either a friend, or someone he tolerated. Whether or not that was a conscious decision he made was unclear, but it was part of what made him so good at what he did.
Owen Grady was a dick, but a loveable one.
You could dance just fine, and you assumed he could, too, but you knew the second those strong arms came anywhere near you, it’ d be game over. Even if his intentions were innocent, the ending was inevitable. You’d be just another girl floating behind him as he led the way to his bungalow. Part of you liked to think you were stronger than that. But the way he looked at you with that playful gaze…
“I’m not dancing, Owen,” you tried to hide the crack in your voice by taking a large sip of your drink.
“Oh, come on. It’s a law that when Margaritaville plays while you’re in Margaritaville, you have to dance. It’s even in writing on the wall!” He gestured to one of the many decorative signs behind him, without looking. You squinted to see it better and laughed.
“That says “No shoes, no shirt, no problem”. I think you need your vision checked.”
Owen grinned and shrugged. “That’s not a bad law, either.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Jesus, you’re such a flirt,” again, you tried to hide away in your drink, but you were now finding that it was very, very empty.
“If you dance with me tonight, I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow. Please? Before the song ends?”
Puppy dog eyes. The finishing blow. You sighed in defeat and stood.
There were a few other couples swaying around. You couldn’t tell if it was dancing or drunkenness, but either way, you and Owen fit in nicely.
He twirled you suddenly, and you smiled, feeling surprisingly comfortable against him. “You lied about not being able to dance.”
“So did you.”
“Did you lie about anything else?”
“If you’re referring to dinner, I’m a man of my word. I know a nice spot on the mainland. We can tell each other more lies. Maybe do some more dancing. Take things from there.” His face was very close to yours, and he was speaking lowly, as if reassuring you that his words were meant for you alone.
His hand felt nice settled on your lower back. The scent of motor oil and leather was welcoming. Maybe this was the beginning of something. Maybe it wasn’t, and you’d stay as you were. Either way, you liked where things were going. And you liked the way he was kissing you.
Because Peter Quill and Owen Grady are long lost brothers who love to dance.