."Dammit..." Owen commented, while his usually playful optics, dulled. "I'm sorry." Muscled upper limbs encircled her momentarily... There, was... nothing, he could do -- that was a new feeling. Lips lowered to hers, massaging gently fore' parting -- 'twas the; the suprise after each question. Without thinking, he grabbed his shot glass, and downed the sucker -- eager to tell. "My family thinks I'm a screw-up...So, we don't... talk -- anymore. Or they do the talking, and I do the listening." -- Realistic Dreams: The Present : The Night Club

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