9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Dayton
The next two weeks pass fairly quickly. The short, playful messages Rowland and I share make even the longest days I spend at work, making up for the day I took off, much easier.
It all started with me getting back to him with the day and time of the date, like I promised. Something about his response gave me an idea he didn’t even expect me to text back, in truth. But since then, we’ve chatted here and there throughout the day. We chat about work or mundane everyday things mostly… Sometimes nonchalantly, sometimes with little innuendos and playful banter.
Rowland has a way to somehow keep anything seem proper and serious even if it makes my fifteen-year-old-boy brain giggle like an idiot.
When Friday finally comes, I’m much less nervous than I would expect. Maybe it was the two weeks of letting everything that happened digest in my mind, or of the casual contact with Rowland that made me so uncharacteristically optimistic about this date.
I picked a restaurant I would feel comfortable in this time. A cute little place outside the city that we’ve been going to with my family for ages. Flamingo Grill has a pleasant, family atmosphere at day, and this cool, hipster vibe at night. It’s always filled with people in a sense that makes me feel like a part of a community, not surrounded by strangers and constantly watched or overwhelmed. They have a nice array of gluten and lactose free dishes, too.
Though, of course, the dish I’m looking forward to the most is Rowland.
By the time my taxi arrives in the parking lot—with me energized even after a day of helping Joane fix all her mistakes and having to work with goddamn Jonathan, of all people—I have completely deluded myself into believing tonight is going to be great.
Even after all the mess, one fact stands: when I’m with Rowland, I feel good. I enjoy myself around him. I like his company. My worries be damned. They are for the future Dayton to deal with.
Today, I’m wearing my most flattering shirt, black nail polish, and the cologne that will make Rowland nothing but appreciative of my lovely sandalwood scent.
I even came super early to make sure I am the one waiting for Rowland this time and make him sweat a little. I reserved the little table in the corner with the glorious view of the lake with the slowly setting sun above it. It’s perfect.
Or it was supposed to be. Until I see Rowland already sat down while I’m checking in with the hostess.
You perfect bastard , I mouth, but can’t help myself from smirking. He’s sitting there and even in his dark blue polo shirt, he exudes the same sophisticated, dominant aura. Can take the suit off a man, can’t take the CEO out of him, I suppose . Proper, punctual to a fault and all.
Still, he’s here for me, waiting, and that makes those butterflies in my stomach flutter wild and free.
I thank the hostess, telling her I can make my way to the table myself, and take a deep breath as I pass between the tables full of groups of young people chatting and having fun. The food smells wonderful and the atmospheric guitar song playing from the speakers fits the relaxing vibe. The evening sun passing through the windows basks the entire room and its ceramic floor tiles in a beautiful orange light.
If this isn’t going to be the most romantic date of my life, I don’t know what will.
Rowland scans the room attentively, nearly meeting my eyes, but just as I’m about to lift my hand to wave at him, he looks down and gets something out of his pocket. I slow my step. He takes out a bottle and pops two pills before downing them with the glass of water on the table in front of him.
Are those the suppressants for his condition?
None of my business, I tell myself and continue. He notices me anyway, so I smile and walk up to him.
“Hello there,” he says, voice smooth and charming, and stands for me. A little too fancy for this place, but he’s endearing, and his courting attitude makes me weak in the knees. “You’re early,” he adds with a crooked smile while reaching for my hand.
He pauses for just a moment, watching for my okay, before leaning in and kissing me on the cheek while squeezing my hand. My face immediately burns up, but I try to hide it.
I clear my throat before speaking. “So are you!”
As we sit, Rowland keeps his eyes glued to me. “I apologize. An old habit. I like to be the first in the room for meetings and such when I can. It shows people that I care.”
I settle in my chair and allow myself to fully process how good he looks up close. The color he’s wearing suits him. So, I decide to tease him a little.
“Hmm…or maybe you were just really nervous about us meeting.”
I’d usually leave this outright flirty energy for later in the night when I’m a little more drunk and relaxed, but today I can’t help myself. Rowland doesn’t hide his slightly flustered response to what I said. He blinks, quickly looks down and then smiles while playing with the empty glass on the table.
“Would it ruin my charming facade of confidence if I admitted I was?” he asks in a low voice. The way he looks up at me from the table sends electricity through me.
Guess I’m not the only one willing to play dirty tonight.
I smile, leaning back in the chair and resting my arm over the table, close enough to his for Rowland’s eyes to dart down to it briefly. “There’s still enough charm left. No need to worry too much, Mr. Hall,” I finally say the name I’ve been playfully calling him here and there in our messages. I figured he liked it, but the sexual undertone it carries makes me a little unsure if I should say it out loud.
Well, I guess it’s out there now. Tonight is the night when I don’t listen to reason, apparently.
Clearly, the name carries a similar implication to Rowland. I watch him gulp, his Adam’s apple moving slowly underneath his skin, and then his gaze intensifies in a way I imagined on that deranged, embarrassing evening while in heat that I spent jerking off to fantasies of him for longer than I’d like to admit even to myself.
I jump in my seat and Rowland nearly gasps when the waitress appears. We try to act like she didn’t just step into something intensely intimate and quickly order our drinks and food.
When she walks away, I meet eyes with Rowland, who has the same cheeky smirk on his lips as I do.
“I say we’re lucky she turned up when she did,” he says in a slightly subdued tone. “We should try to keep things appropriate and safe for the public for now, so that we can properly enjoy the evening.”
Seeing the big mister CEO almost embarrassed, like we were two misbehaving teenagers doing something naughty, makes my heart flutter in a completely different, non-sexual way. He wants to hold off from the chemistry that undeniably pulls us together and to actually spend quality time together instead. As much as I want to rip his clothes off, I appreciate that.
“Better behave yourself then, Mr. Hall,” I quip. Really can’t help it, can you?
Rowland gives me a scolding grimace before leaning back and glancing around us with an exhale. “This really is a nice place,” he notes. If the dangerous levels of sexual tension right from the jump did something, they seemed to make the atmosphere between us a lot lighter when it came to everything but the sexual tension.
“My moms and I used to go here all the time when I was younger. Before I became too cool to be seen hanging out with my parents, and eventually moved out,” I say with a faint smile. Remembering those times brings me comfort.
Rowland chuckles.
“Yeah. Those aren’t the times parents look forward to,” he says, and I sense his mind trail off somewhere before he blinks and turns to me again. “Though I suppose it is inevitable.”
I can imagine where his thoughts lead and I don’t want him to think that speaking about his family is some sort of taboo now, just because it made our last date end in a not so pleasant way. “I honestly can’t imagine dealing with my teenage self at some points,” I say with a snort, hoping to set his mind at ease.
Rowland seems appreciative of my understanding. He nods tiredly.
“My oldest son was fine, really. A little moody here and there, but not too bad. He’s a really good kid. So is Mina, she just… She’s just a little lost right now, that’s all.”
The sorrow in his voice is something he can’t hide, and it brings out this intense need to comfort him out of me. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table.
“I’m sorry. We’re not here tonight to prattle about my life’s woes, are we?” He tries to act all charming, to push the topic aside like it’s nothing, but I don’t let him. I watch him intently, softly, to let him know I don’t mind.
“We’re here to get to know each other,” I say and slowly, casually, tap my fingers over the table until I reach his hand. I touch him only briefly, passing over his fingers as to gauge his response, before finally glancing up to meet his gaze again. “Aren’t we?” I raise a brow. “That includes your family. Not talking about it kind of turned out to be the problem. I’m not saying we have to. I’m simply saying that I’m happy to listen, and you won’t get much exciting information from me unless you want to hear about monsteras and snake plants.”
Like I hoped it would, my words melt his proud demeanor a little. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head.
“Shall I tell you my entire history, then?” he asks lightheartedly.
“Go on,” I play along.
Rowland takes a deep breath, like he is preparing himself to give a speech at some business meeting. “Me and my wife—ex wife—Hope met in college. We had Shawn pretty young, but managed fine. Can’t say that nepotism didn’t aid us at the beginning to start a comfortable life, with my father helping me to get into the business world and eventually lead the company…”
“Nepotism for the win,” I say sarcastically, trying to stay engaged. Rowland smirks at me. At least he is self-aware. He gets a point for that for sure.
“We um…had Mina a little while later. I thought we were happy and things were working. But I guess my condition is the sort that can get worse with age, and the older I got, the more Hope complained. Overexposure to pheromones is fairly similar for betas as it is with venus individuals. She’d complain about having migraines, sometimes trouble breathing. We ruled out asthma, but it caused similar symptoms. I felt horrible, and I did all I could do to mediate things. Looking back, I think she hasn’t been happy for a while. A part of it was certainly my fault. A part was her not communicating. We were foolish to think having another kid would somehow fix us, make us more whole.”
Rowland’s gaze shifts to the side, towards the lake painted with oranges, pinks and purples from the sunset. Usually, it would be charming, but right now it feels…melancholic.
“I love Mac to death, don’t get me wrong,” he clarifies sharply. “I couldn’t imagine a world without him and I’m happy he’s here, but it was barely a year after that when Hope drifted even further away from me, and at that point there was nothing I could do to pull her back. She got surrounded by stupid, ignorant people. Isolated from me. She got angry. Angrier and angrier, until there was nothing left from the bond I thought we would have for the rest of our lives. It wasn’t good for us or the kids, so…we split.”
As he stares blankly at the table, looking like a lost puppy, I can’t help but reach my hand out over his and gently squeeze.
Rowland meets my eyes.
“Well, I can’t really trump you here, but I went through quite the number of shit relationships myself. Hard to tell whether one really traumatic one is better or worse than a slew of crap ones, though,” I say with a self-deprecating grin.
He smiles and his wide shoulders seem to relax and fall lower. He tilts his head ever so slightly to the side and narrows his eyes before he cocks his brow. “So, is it working? My masterful plan to win you over with the raw power of pity? It tends to work wonders,” he says, words dripping with sarcasm.
God, you are irresistible. Fuck.
My coy expression seems to amuse him. He leans a little further away, like he’s careful not to push me too much, and just sits there looking at me like…like no one has ever looked at me before, I don’t think.
“You’re definitely not losing,” I mutter teasingly.
But as much as I want to lean into this and be happy, my mind drifts to what he said, and to doubt. He loves his children, that I’m sure of. Yet he sounds like someone who is well and truly done with all that. With having kids just for the sake of it. His position would be nothing but mature, just like Rowland is about most things.
It’s stupid. The fact that I even for a second consider asking him if he’d ever want more kids. I hold my tongue, not wanting to embarrass myself or ruin this charming little bubble we have here.
The waitress is back with our food, so I use the perfect opportunity to order something to drink. I’m going to need it. The best alcohol does for me is that it washes away all the stupid, hateful, bothersome thoughts from my mind that stop me from having fun and enjoying the moment. We don’t need your needless thinking today, dear brain .
“And for you, sir?” The waitress turns to Rowland after I make my order.
He glances at her, and blinks before shaking his head. “I’m good with my tonic, thank you,” he says. With how nervous he was before, and his love for wine, I would’ve expected him to let loose a bit.
“I’m driving,” he says once he notices my curious expression. “Besides, I better keep my head clear tonight.”
“In case your daughter runs in again?” I joke.
Rowland grimaces at me, pursing his lips. “Very funny.” He leans over the plates between us to poke at me, but pauses and draws in the air through his nose. At first I think he is smelling the delicious-looking chicken pilaf, but then it hits me, and so does the nauseating anxiety that follows.
“You smell nice,” he notes softly. “Cologne?”
I really hope the enormous relief is not visible on my face. To hide how freaked out I got, I quickly put a fork full of the food in my mouth and a few quickly before responding with a nod. It’s fine. All is good.
“It’s Ripples by Phi Levi.”
“Huh. That sounds familiar,” he says, intrigued.
“Funny you say that, considering it’s almost three hundred a bottle.”
He frowns playfully. “Are you calling me snobbish?!”
“High-class, more like,” I say with a wink. Rowland seems amused and relaxed, and so am I. We both look down, smiling, and each take a few bites of our food.
“Well, I am honored you’ve used one of your expensive colognes for me, but you truly could do without it, you know? No reason to spend such money when people like us have a built-in perfumery of our own.”
His comment sends an unpleasant tinge through my chest. I swallow the food with some struggle and flash him a faint smile. If only he knew. “Always thought the whole pheromone fixation is a little over the top, really,” I say with less confidence and energy than I would’ve wanted. Rowland stays quiet, and I feel his eyes on me, so I act like I’m focused on my food until the awkward moment passes.
“Yeah, I…suppose you’ve got a point,” he notes in a low voice and clears his throat. “This steak is delicious, but I think it is missing a side of some good red. I’ll have one glass after all, I think. I’ll be right back.” With a smile, Rowlands stands and goes to the bar to order one.
“Come on, get it together,” I mutter to myself and take a sip from my glass of gin and tonic. Things are going well, so don’t fuck it up with your insecurity.
When Rowland comes back, the conversation continues to flow naturally, with the little hiccup seemingly forgotten. We laugh, we banter. I teasingly shift my leg under the table to rest it against his, with our knees touching. Rowland keeps giving me his mysterious glances that make me wonder what twisted things he must be imagining, because I can tell he does, and I do too.
Time flies when you’re having fun. We finish our food and go sit at one of the outside tables overlooking the lake. Trying not to get too wasted and out of control, I sip on my third drink but can’t help to rest my head against my hand, tilting it and smiling at Rowland like I’m a love-struck fool as he talks about fun memories with his kids.
I allow myself to dream; to imagine us together, doing things happy people do, spending time with our families, even if deep down I know this will end at some point.
I really don’t want it to.
The night draws to a close as more and more people leave the restaurant, leaving us the only ones sitting outside. Knowing I have to start getting ready to end this wonderful evening, I glance back inside, where workers are cleaning tables and closing up the bar.
When I look back at Rowland, he seems a little…off. He leans over the table after taking a few gulps of his water and his eyes seem strangely glazed over.
“Are you alright?” I ask, growing more alert. He’s been a little unwell-looking for a while, but I figured he was just tired. Now he’s actually looking sickly.
Rowland nods with a smile that doesn’t entirely hide whatever discomfort he’s feeling. “Just a little hot. My head’s— Probably getting a migraine, wouldn’t be surprised with how long I’ve been staring into my computer screen last night.” He tries to portray that confident front like always, but he’s not fooling me.
“Hey.” I lean toward him, touching his hand gently. Up close, I notice the droplets of sweat glistening on his forehead and his neck. “You seem really hot, actually.”
He smirks, almost drunkenly. “Well, thank you for the compliment.”
I ignore his stupid comment and reach for his face. As I place the back of my hand against his forehead, I realize he is, in fact, non-figuratively, burning up. Frowning, I move my hand to his cheek and feel the same heat. Rowland closes his eyes, leaning into my touch with a deep sigh.
“You only had that one glass of wine, right?” Even though I’m sobering up quickly with the worry coursing through my veins now, I still question myself. It was only that one glass he had the whole evening, I’m sure of it.
Rowland pulls away from my touch and straightens his back, holding onto the edge of the metal table. “Yes, but I really do feel a bit unwell now. How about we end it here, before I embarrass myself? Should I call you a taxi, or do you want me to take you home?”
I see on his face how desperately he tries to appear in control of himself. The moment he stands from the chair, he wobbles, so I jump to him and grab his shoulder to keep him balanced.
“There is no way I’m letting you drive anywhere like this!”
Rowland sighs and halfheartedly tries to shake me off. “I’m fine, really. Just a little…” He wobbles again, and I feel his muscles loosen under my touch.
He’s going to pass out and crack his head if I don’t get him to sit down.
I don’t want to argue, and I’m not sure if I can drag him inside—or if the people there would even appreciate it—so I look toward the car park a few steps away and notice his car in the far corner of it.
“Fine. How about we just go sit in your car?”
“Until I feel better, yeah,” he mutters, head down. He somewhat cooperates and follows me. I put his arm over my shoulder to keep us stable and take slow steps toward the parking lot.
With how close Rowland is, I smell the deep, intense scent of his pheromones. His sweat rolls down his chin and chest—coated in it, radiating it. The intense fig and refreshing grass. As it fills my nose and my lungs, a faint sense of comforting sleepiness washes over me. Some lizard part of my brain wants to just curl up on the ground together and bask in his scent, but I shake my head and make sure to get us to his car.
Rowland unlocks it for me, and I sit him in the back seat. He’s basically panting at this point, face glistening, eyes barely focused on me.
I kneel against the seat and bend down, touching his forehead again. “I don’t think this is just tiredness, Rowe.” I was worried before—now I’m freaking out.
Of course, the one person I finally have a connection with falls ill and will probably pass out. On our date. Just great.
“Shit,” he groans, rolling his head back over the car’s headrest and away from me. “I’m sorry, I just…” The way he slurs his words worries me, so I take my phone out and start dialing the ambulance.
“I will call someone to get you to the hospital, alright?”
I put the phone to my ear, but Rowland grabs it and squeezes my hand, narrowing his eyes. “I am fine. Really .”
“You’re not a very good liar,” I say softly. Drawing my brows together, I look at him firmly until he lets out a deep exhale and releases his grip on me. He swallows and leans back into the seat with eyes closed.
“Ambulance services. How may I assist you?” The call handler finally answers.
“Hi, I’m calling about my… partner ,” I blurt out, unsure how else to explain the situation without wasting time. Rowland slowly rolls his head toward me again, smirking faintly at the sound of it. “He’s a male, alpha. He seems to run a fever, and is very dazed, sweaty and lethargic. I’m not…I’m not sure what’s going on.”
My stomach is in knots. The memory of calling an ambulance for my mom when I was seven and she knocked her head after falling from a ladder comes back to me, sending shivers down my back.
“Is the patient conscious?”
“Y-Yes.”
“I’m fine,” Rowland whispers.
“Is he breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Has he taken any drugs or medication?”
I tense up, remembering. “The pills. You were taking the pills for your…Androl Syndrome, right?” I ignore the woman on the phone for a moment and instead try to get Rowland’s attention. Tiredly, he opens his eyes and nods. “I saw you take some when I got here. How many have you taken?”
He sighs. “A few. A few too many, maybe…”
I frown, feeling the pit in my stomach grow deeper. “He takes some sort of suppressant for Androl Syndrome. He only had a glass of wine,” I say quickly into the phone.
A few too many? Why would he take more than he has to?
The woman tries to get some more information, but she rightfully concludes she won’t get much of use out of me or Rowland in his state. I give her our location and she assures me an ambulance should be with us in about ten minutes.
Letting out a deep, controlled exhale, I put the phone back into my pocket and look back at Rowland, who seems to be falling asleep in the seat. Too paranoid he will fall into a coma, I decide to get in with him. I nudge him to move, sit in his spot, and make him stretch across the back, resting his head in my lap.
His usually tidy hair is wet and ruffled from the sweat, and heat comes from his entire person, as well as a good dose of wild pheromones he can’t seem to control in his state.
“Mmmm,” he mumbles, corners of his mouth rising slightly. “I hate to bother you, but being fussed over feels nice.”
I smirk when he opens his eyes and looks up at me, watching for my reaction.
I guess he’s not dying if he has the energy for flirting.
Rowland takes a deep breath and lens his nose against my knee, getting comfortable like he is a cat having a nap. I don’t know if I’m doing too much, but eventually, the urge to run my fingers through his hair gently wins, and I do. He lets out another sound of approval.
“Why the hell would you near overdose on your suppressants?” I ask quietly, saying it more as a grumble to myself.
“Might be ‘cause I’m an idiot,” he slurs against my knee, making me sigh.
“I heard on TV how these pills can be dangerous if you take them too often. The wine probably didn’t help, either.” Guilt makes its way into my heart. Was it what I said about pheromones being overrated that made him self-conscious of himself? He left the table a few times. How many of these damn pills did he really take? Is he going to be okay?
When he takes another inhale through his nose, I realize what he’s doing. “You smell so good,” he whispers, making my heart stop. I stare at him, lips parted, heart pounding inside my chest like a drum. What? “Not the cologne, just…you. Behind all of it. Bitter…but in the best way,” he muses half drunkenly, voice rough and honeyed at the same time.
My fingers get all tingly and my heart gallops so fast I think it might burst out of my chest. His words barely reach me for a few moments, like my brain refuses to believe them.
“You like it ?” I ask breathlessly.
Rowland nods slowly, nuzzling against my leg. “Mhmm. No more perfumes…”
I stay quiet, rattled by his confession. I replay his words in my mind; the words I’ve longed and waited to hear my entire life. The words I prayed would come out of the mouths of so many men I loved over the years.
“I’m sorry for fucking tonight up,” Rowland says, sounding almost like he’s half asleep. The regret in his tired voice is palpable, so I brush my hand over his head again to calm him down. He seems to like it. “I was to…show my best self in front of you. My pheromones have been— I didn’t want to come off too strong.”
“You don’t. You never do,” I say.
“They feel out of control when I’m around you,” he continues mumbling, barely coherent. My cheeks tingle with fiery hot blood again. “These past two weeks, all I could think about… All I thought about when… Didn’t want to ruin it again…”
As his words drift off, Rowland takes shallow, regular breaths. I look at him below me, seeming at peace even in his discomfort, and my heart swells and breaks at the same time, realizing I am too deep in to be able to pull away now.
Realizing I’m hopelessly lost and falling in love.