CHAPTER 5 Rowan
CHAPTER 5
Rowan
“ Y ou should go clean your cut,” I say, pointing at the drops of dried blood on Charlie’s neck. And cringing, since I caused them. Also the scrape on his chin. Oops. I do have a conscience inside me somewhere, even if my moral compass is set to “reserved spot waiting for me in hell.”
Also, I’m so hungry I may start eating sugar packets, so it’s no wonder my thought-to-mouth filter isn’t working.
“I’ll do it after we order. What do you want?”
I pick at the chipped pink polish on my fingernails. “Whatever you get is fine. I can’t think properly.”
Charlie’s brow wrinkles, and he bites his lip, then nods.
A server comes by with two glasses of water. Charlie slides both of them closer to me. I down half of one in a few gulps, then wipe the water dribbling down my chin with the back of my hand. I’m a damn mess.
Plus, now that I’m safely inside a building for the first time in hours, my body’s sinking into the seat, and my thighs are quivering. I may not ever get up again.
After I finish my water, I start on his. Then I look up at him. “When I get money, I can pay you back. ”
Charlie waves me off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Then I can treat you for our second date.”
“This isn’t a first date.”
“Yes, it is,” I insist. I’m smiling, but inside, something sorts itself out. Yeah, I’m counting this as a date. And if I have anything to say about it, there’ll be more of them. “Where should we go for our next date?”
“We’re not going on any goddamned date.”
“You invited me to dinner. It’s a date. You agreed.”
“I did not agree.” He glares at me. I must be one sick motherfucker, because I love his glares. I love how they make me feel seen.
“Let’s go bowling. That sounds fun, right?” Plus I’m good at it.
“I’m not going fucking bowling with you,” Charlie says.
I don’t know him yet, and I don’t care. Because I’m going to know everything about him as soon as I can. My dick likes this plan a lot.
How did I end up in a situation like this?
Because you have impulse issues and make thoughtless decisions , my high school guidance counselor’s voice says in my head. And you get hostile when threatened .
Fuck you, Mrs. Cheez Whiz. Or whatever the hell her real name was. It’s not like she helped me in any way. It’s not like she believed me when I told her about the kids in my group home?—
Charlie signals the server, not in an asshole way but in a “Hey, could you help us out” way, and orders what seems like far too much food for two people: chicken satay, fresh rolls, pad thai, two curries, and two Thai iced teas.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
As Charlie’s ordering, I notice his phone, which is face up on the table. There are a bajillion notifications from Ad/VICE, the social media service. Squinting, I can see that they’re all for a CoopBros account. I’ll have to look him up when I get a phone. A few texts come in—from a Danny and a Cam and a Tristan. My savior’s popular with the men.
“Are you gonna run away if I go wash up?” Charlie asks after the server departs.
I shake my head.
He studies me for a moment, then nods, seemingly satisfied with something he saw. Maybe the exhaustion written across my face. I’m too tired to move, much less run. He takes his phone with him when he gets up.
When he returns, I’m busy shoving an entire fresh roll into my mouth.
“Hey. Don’t eat too fast, or you’ll get sick.”
I nod and try to chew, but I end up swallowing half the roll in one bite. Our waters are refilled, and after I take a sip, I ask, “What’s CoopBros?”
“How old are you?” Charlie shoots back.
“I asked first.”
Charlie stares at me, then exhales slowly. “It’s my and my brother’s Ad/VICE account.” He opens the app and holds his phone out for me to see.
Twelve million followers. That’s impressive. “Charlie Cooper and Cam Cooper. DIY tutorials on home improvement projects,” I read out loud. A few videos have quick previews I can see, which seem to be time-lapse videos of Charlie and some other dude, presumably his brother, building shit together.
My victim—hero?—is a social media star. I wouldn’t have thought it to look at him. I mean, yeah, he’s one of the hottest guys I’ve ever met, but he’s kind of sullen. Maybe there’s more to him, though. Maybe he turns on when he gets in front of a camera. I’m about to click on a video that looks like it’ll teach me how to build a bookshelf, but he signals me to give him the phone. I hand it back reluctantly. Nosy me wants to dig in and find out more about him .
“And I’m twenty-nine,” Charlie offers. Interesting. Younger than I expected.
He can still be a daddy.
“I’m twenty-three,” I say. As far as I know.
He nods, then tilts his head and studies me. “I don’t understand why you pulled a knife on me.”
Because I was desperate. I play it off, grinning. “I’m ferocious.”
Charlie bursts out laughing. Then he pauses and blinks, like what he just did surprises him. I get the feeling he doesn’t laugh much.
I narrow my eyes and tap my fingers on the tabletop.
“No offense”—he gestures generally at me—“but I’m pretty sure there are birds bigger than you.”
“You wouldn’t want to get pecked in the eye by one of them, either.”
Charlie chuckles again, and it’s a warm, rumbling sound. “That’s true. I’m not into that—the pluck-out-your-eyeballs thing.”
“I’m totally into it,” I say, not entirely lying.
“Yeah, right.”
“No, really.”
Charlie goggles at me. “Why?”
I raise an eyebrow. “When you stop growing at age twelve, while everyone around you gets bigger and bigger, you develop some coping strategies to deal with bullies.” Ugly images flash through my mind, and I put them in the drawer I usually stuff them in.
“Fucking hate bullies,” Charlie growls.
The vehemence in his voice distracts me from what I was going to say. “Did you have to deal with them?”
“Yeah. My big brother tried to defend me, but I got sick of him getting into fights on my behalf. So I started martial arts training. Tae kwon do.”
I snort. “Just my luck to go after you. ”
Except … it really was good luck. I sip my iced tea, starting to feel human. I’m not panicking over all the shit that’s happened today. And I like sitting here across from Charlie.
Charlie seems to read my thoughts. “It seems like some kind of luck, yeah.” He studies me intently. “So you got picked on growing up. What about recently? Is that what happened?”
“No. Well, yes. I’m a ShareARide driver, and my passengers this evening stole my car.”
Charlie’s hands clench and unclench on the table, and a vein pops in his neck. “Holy hell. We should call the police.” Charlie makes a move to get up, like he’s going to go storm the station. Or start his own one-man hunt for my car.
I feel happy. Weightless. He doesn’t know me, and yet he’s willing—eager—to fight my battles. No one else ever has.
“Like the police will do anything.” I wave a hand. “They’ve never once helped me. Your privilege is showing.”
He’s almost unnaturally silent. Then he grits out, “That’s unacceptable. They can’t let those assholes get away with stealing from you. It’s not right. They’re supposed to protect you. It’s right there on the sides of the cars.”
Seeing Charlie be so pissed on my behalf is making me weirdly happy. He’s got an intensity that I’m very much digging.
“First priority after you eat. You call,” he orders.
Sheesh, Daddy. “Can’t. My phone was in my car.” Along with my plant.
He waves his cell at me. “After you eat, we’re calling them. They need to know the car has been stolen so they’ll keep an eye out for it and so you’re not responsible for anything the thieves do with it.”
I slump in my seat and nod.
“Does ShareARide track your car?”
“If the app is on. If they were smart, they threw my phone out the window.”
“Well, we should check the app. See if it has any data. In any case, your aversion to the police doesn’t explain why you thought it was a good idea to tackle me with a knife instead of, you know, telling me what had happened and asking if you could have a ride.”
“I’m used to people seeing that I can fit inside a matchbox, so they think they can walk all over me. So I usually teach them a lesson or two about how they can’t. I’ve learned a lot since I was a kid—I figured out self-defense and learned a few moves.”
Did any of that make sense? I don’t want to tell him my entire life story in a Thai restaurant.
“What you did to me was offense, not defense,” Charlie points out.
“True. I also learned some boxing. Weapons. Knives are my weapon of choice. Bad things in little packages.”
Charlie’s eyes trace me up and down, and it’s the sexiest look I’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “Is that you? A bad thing in a little package?”
Fuck yes. “Yup.”
The chicken skewers come, and I stuff them in my mouth so fast I almost poke myself with the wooden stick in my hurry to try to get to the meat.
“Again, Rowan, don’t eat too much too fast,” he says, taking a bite of chicken. I mowed through the fresh rolls, not leaving him any. “Slow down, or you’ll get sick.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble around a huge mouthful of food. He’s such a goddamned daddy. I may make it my mission in life to get him to admit that.
“Do you want to get sick?”
I swallow. After another bite that I chew more slowly, I shake my head.
“How are we going to get you home? I could call someone for you.”
“There’s no one.”
“No one?”
“Yep. Well, maybe one friend, but he’s just a kid. I usually take care of him. No one else is trustworthy.” Except maybe Chet and Fabian, but I haven’t seen them in ages.
“You know you sound totally paranoid,” Charlie says matter-of-factly.
“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you. That’s a line from something.”
“ Catch-22 , I think.”
“I’m impressed.” I down some more water. I’m finally starting to feel like my blood sugar is stabilizing.
“I went to high school,” Charlie notes.
“Good for you. Me, too. That was one of the few things I remember from English class.”
Charlie looks like he’s trying to figure out just how deep he’s gotten himself and whether there’s a snowball’s chance of getting out. I’d laugh, but I’m still eating chicken. It could use more spice, but I’m too hungry to bother asking for chili sauce. Finally, he says, “Yeah. Okay.”
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Thanks for feeding me. And for not pressing charges.”
“Yet,” he says. But there’s humor in his eyes.
“Fine, yet.”
“And you’re welcome. Anyone would do the same thing.”
“Um, no. Anyone would not do this. Most people would have had the police come and put me in handcuffs. Why didn’t you?”
Charlie sighs and rubs his face. “I have no clue.” He gestures at me. “You’re just a fucking kid?—”
“Not a kid?—”
“Right, plus you were actively trying to harm me. But I guess I see more in you. Maybe I’m”—he raises an eyebrow—“confused.”
“If you are, then I am, too. Getting in a car with a strange man. Pretty sure I saw an after-school special about that premise.” I pause. “Or it’s my normal job.”
I’m definitely feeling better. Food and hydration work wonders. By the time the main courses arrive, I’m practically stuffed just from the appetizers.
And a reflexive voice inside me says I should probably ditch Charlie. I look around. Where would I go, though? Or rather, how would I get home? Guess that’s a problem for post-dinner Rowan. Besides, I like Charlie, so I don’t know why my brain is trying to get me to go away from the man who is so definitely made for me.
“Where are you going to go tonight?” Charlie asks, picking up on my thoughts.
“I dunno.”
“Where’s home?”
“Lancaster.”
Charlie jerks his head back. “Holy shit, that’s a serious drive.”
While Lancaster is in LA County, it’s way the hell in the boonies. “I do it all the time. I usually take someone from Lancaster where they need to go in LA, drive around all day, then try to pick up someone going back. I’ll figure something out. Maybe there’s a bus.”
“Do you want me to take you to Lancaster?”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to do that. It’s like two hours. Each way.”
“Isn’t anyone going to be worried about you?”
“Nope.” Floyd probably wouldn’t notice if I didn’t ever return. At least, not until the rent was due.
The server stops by and refills my two water glasses. An instrumental version of a Julian Hill song is playing quietly on the sound system. I fidget.
“Come home with me,” Charlie says, out of nowhere.
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s a terrible idea. Why would you trust me in your space? What if I murder you in your sleep?”
“Are you going to?”
“No,” I admit.
“That’s why. ”
“I only hurt”—kill—“people who deserve it. And you’re being kind.”
“Did I deserve to be mugged?”
“That was different. It was an emergency.”
Charlie raises a dark eyebrow. “Look, you don’t have to. But if you don’t have any other good options …” He toys with a bite of curry. “My place isn’t very fancy, because I just moved in, and I don’t have a lot of shit for you to steal and hawk.”
“Not that I was planning to,” I mutter. Also … “Are you going to murder me ?”
“Hell no.” Charlie punctuates his emphatic delivery with a forkful of rice.
I bite my lip, thinking about it. I could just say screw him and figure something out.
He keeps talking. “I’ve got a couch. And I can take you to your place in the morning. I have to get up early, because I’m meeting some friends for a ski weekend. I can drop you off on the way.”
This is a terrible idea.
I’m in.
It can be safely said that I have no idea what I’m doing right now. All I know is that I don’t want to say goodbye to my victim. If this is the last time I see Charlie—if he drops me off somewhere—I think I’ll end up moping around for the rest of my life. Not that I’m prone to exaggeration.
So, finally, I nod.
Charlie presses his lips together in satisfaction.
Pretty quickly, I’m stuffed. “You done?” he asks. He’s poked a little bit at the food, but he basically got it just for me. That makes something shift inside me.
“Yeah. Thank you.” I gaze at him, and he’s looking back at me just as intently.
“You’re welcome.”
Before we leave, Charlie makes me call the police on his phone, right from the table. After seeing Charlie’s car, I’m embarrassed to say what I drive. I do it anyway.
They tell me to come in to do a full report, and with Charlie mouthing at me that he’ll give me a ride, I agree to stop in tomorrow.
I don’t want to go into a police station, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to avoid it.
Charlie pays the bill and gets what we didn’t eat packaged up in boxes, and we pile back into his Land Rover.
As Charlie drives to his house—which appears to be somewhere on the Westside—I chew on my fingernail. The combination of a full stomach and the past few hours is getting to me, and I’m crashing. I rest my head on the window and close my eyes, feeling very drowsy. I don’t remember anything else about the drive.