CHAPTER 17 Charlie
CHAPTER 17
Charlie
I know, I know, I know. Addiction is a real medical condition with meaning and nuance requiring care and treatment, and I shouldn’t be throwing the word around in this context. It’s ableist. But I can’t think of a better description.
I’m getting addicted to Rowan. What else do you call it when you get high from being around him? The feelings are so good, they soar. I want to know what he’s doing at all times. I want him in the same room with me, at a minimum. Preferably, I want some part of my body inside him, although I’ll settle for just touching him. I feel jittery when we’re apart. I think about him constantly. And I don’t calm down until I can see him again.
That’s how people feel when they’re addicted, whether to alcohol or drugs or shopping or sex or whatever, right? Without it, they can’t function. If I can’t have Rowan, I don’t know how to be.
Yes, we’ve only known each other for a week. What can I say?
Unhealthy? Likely so. I don’t give a damn. I just want him. All the time.
As I drive us home from the bowling alley, I get overwhelmed . My heartbeat is strong in my ears and flutters in my chest. I’m fascinated by everything about him.
The way he’s snarky and vulnerable at the same time. He doesn’t hide anything very well, and even though, yes, we just met, I feel like I know him better than I know anyone else besides maybe my siblings and Danny.
The way he’s a gives-no-fucks kind of sunshine despite having had what sounds like at best a very challenging early life. I’d never admit it, but I secretly love that he keeps telling me we’re going on dates. Someday I might give in without protest. If we have a someday.
While I always assumed I was attracted to men who are older and bigger than me, I like Rowan. His anime hair. The button nose. The lines of his body and the color of his eyes. He smells like something that isn’t body wash and isn’t general male scent—I don’t know, like someone bottled the wind and ran it through a field of dusky California sagebrush. Not in an allergy kind of way, but in a wild and free and good kind of way. And I love the way he talks. I love both his voice and the things he says. His quirky comments. “Anticipatory early jizz.” Snort-laugh.
Don’t get me started on that “baby boy” tattoo, although the idea that he got that intending anyone else but me makes me a little ragey. I want to make him wear collared shirts and scarves to cover it when he’s not with me. I want to be the only one to see it. Because it makes my inner monster growl “MINE.”
Okay, yeah. I’m having feelings for this little gremlin. I want to care for him. Make sure not only that he has food and clothing and a roof over his head, but that he’s happy and healthy and intellectually stimulated. That he has whatever he needs and all the things he wants. It sounds like Rowan hasn’t ever had anyone who made him their top priority, and if I have anything to say about it, I’m going to make sure that his happiness comes first from this day forward. No matter the consequences.
That doesn’t at all fit into my ten-year plan, but if I’m being honest, the plan’s been a massive failure. I’ve succeeded at everything the world says I should want—the job, the money, the looks, the prestige, the social proof—and none of it has made me happy. Maybe I need to toss the plan out the window and do something new.
We turn onto my street, and Rowan takes in the rows of cars parked along each side. “I can see why you like having a garage.”
“Yeah, I’d hate to have to rely on finding street parking.” I rub my chin and squint. When we left, I saw the guy sitting in that black Dodge Charger again. And he’s still there now, still in front of my house. Is he watching us?
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.
This is a very clumsy attempt at surveillance, if that’s what it is. Maybe I’m all wrong. “Do you get the feeling we’re being watched?” I ask Rowan.
“All the time.”
“No, I mean … have you been seeing that car parked over there? It could belong to someone else on the street, I guess, but I don’t remember noticing it before yesterday.”
Rowan turns his head to look. “Yeah, I saw it earlier. Maybe it’s someone who just moved in.”
“That guy was sitting in the car yesterday, too,” I say. “I don’t think it’s a new neighbor.”
“Then I’ll go talk to him,” Rowan says, as I pull into the garage.
Before I can reply, he’s hopped out of the car and is sashaying over to the man. He raps on the window.
The guy’s in a black Adidas tracksuit with white stripes down the arms. He frowns at Rowan. “Can I help you?”
“We were just wondering why you’re scoping out his place.” Rowan reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his knife, and starts flipping it open and closed, his stance deceptively relaxed.
The man doesn’t seem too impressed by Rowan, or by me when I take a place at Rowan’s side. “Are you Rowan Jones? ”
If the question surprises Rowan—and it would have to, wouldn’t it?—he doesn’t react. “Who wants to know?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Then my name’s confidential, too, whether it’s Rowan or Mike or Go Fuck Yourself.”
Is this guy a process server? A private investigator of some kind? Is someone making an insurance claim based on something those guys did with Rowan’s car?
The guy gets out of the Charger. He’s not that big, but he towers over Rowan. Who, of course, steps closer. Every instinct in my body is screaming to tug Rowan back by his shirt and get in between him and the dude, but if I don’t let him be his own tough self, I’ll be taking away his power.
That doesn’t mean I won’t step in if it’s needed.
I shouldn’t have worried. Rowan’s already got the knife pointing at the man. “It sounds like you don’t belong here. So leave.”
The man huffs out a laugh. “Is that how you are? Figures.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothin’. Just, little Chihuahuas sometimes are the loudest?—”
Before Rowan slits Adidas guy’s throat—or I punch the guy in the stomach—I bark, “This isn’t your neighborhood. Why don’t you move along?”
“Yeah, yeah,” the guy says, getting back in his car. Then, under his breath, “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
While Rowan and I stand on the curb, the guy starts the car and drives away.
“What the hell was that about?” Rowan asks.
“I have no idea. Did you not want to ask him any questions? He was looking for you.”
“Then he should’ve started off by saying what his business was. He didn’t.”
“Are you always this hostile?” I ask, once the Charger has disappeared around the corner. “Maybe you won a prize.”
“Nah.”
“Then you just like to be belligerent.”
Rowan gives me the biggest smile. “It’s like you know me.”
I roll my eyes, and we go inside.
Stepping into my space, I note the immediate differences, sharing my home with Rowan. I’ve lived by myself since college, and I’m used to things being where I put them—the few things I have in this shell of a house. But now Rowan’s setting his shoes in the entryway and his phone and wallet on the table by the door. His stuff is in my closet. And I like it that way. How is it that he can be so new and so established with me at the same time?
“Wanna watch Netflix?” Rowan asks.
I nod.
This feels ridiculously, uncomfortably comfortable. I don’t even know what to think anymore.
I wake up Monday to Rowan under the covers sucking my dick. I groan in pleasure as his tongue massages an extra-sensitive part.
“Holy hell, baby. That’s so damn hot.” I run a hand through his hair, loving the way his mouth feels on me. The pressure is perfect, and between the friction and the wet, hot suction, I decide this is the best way to greet the morning.
I lift the blanket to expose his naked body, and he doubles down on sucking me. While I’m loving this, I’m not so gone that I can’t tell that he’s got his own hand on his cock.
“C’mere and get that cock down my throat,” I order, and he slides off, his lips dark red and wet.
I tug him up to kiss him—a dirty, tongue-filled kiss—then smack his hip. “Turn around. Straddle my face.”
He does so, positioning himself so his cock is dangling above me, and I tilt my head and get it between my lips. The angle’s a little awkward, but we make it work, and now he’s fucking my mouth while sucking on my cock.
Fuck, yes. Rowan’s so hard I’m pretty sure he’s going to come fast, and I let him abuse my throat, jabbing into me so I gag. He makes a move to stop when my body jerks, but I reach up and pull his ass closer, pull him deeper into me.
He comes, shuddering and salty-warm. After only a few more seconds, I’m coming, too, and then I lie back, panting.
Rowan turns around again so we’re face to face, hips to hips. We kiss, and I taste us.
He pulls back. “Goddamn.”
I reach out to touch him, wanting to run my hands all over his soft, tattooed skin. Rowan’s eyes are glossy and bright, his pink hair a mess, and he smiles at me.
“Best way to wake up,” I murmur, only a little hoarse. “Wanna do it again sometime?”
“Count on it,” he whispers.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s shower and get dressed.”
When we’re ready for the day and drinking coffee, I glance out the window and notice that the black Dodge has returned to its spot outside. I can see the white stripes of the guy’s tracksuit. Shit.
Rowan must read the look on my face, and he peers out the window, too. “Oh, what’s this bullshit?” Before I can stop him, he’s out the door.
Dammit.
I set my coffee down and hustle out after him. Though I shouldn’t condone confrontations, some part of me likes that I can’t quite predict what Rowan’s going to do.
Then I see him slip his knife from his back pocket. Oh, shit. I catch up with him. “What’cha doing, baby boy?” I murmur.
“My own neighborhood watch.” He marches right up to the Charger. Before he can knock on the window, the guy’s out of his car. In a flash, Rowan’s got the knife open. “I thought I told you that you weren’t welcome here. Are you some creepy Peeping Tom? You like watching us?”
“I just want to talk with you. Can you come with me?” The guy raises his hand like he’s going to clock Rowan in the face or grab his hair or something, and I come up next to Rowan, hip to hip. Well, kind of.
“No. Tell me why you’re here,” Rowan demands.
“It’s business.”
“What business?”
“Personal business. I need to talk with you alone.”
“Nope,” Rowan says. “Leave.”
“It’s a public street. I can be here if I want to.”
“Not if I have you arrested for stalking,” I reply.
The guy chuckles, and it’s a rusty sound. “Not if I have your Chihuahua arrested for assault.”
“Go do your business elsewhere,” I order. He looks like he wants to argue with me, but he closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then, like last time, he leaves.
So, what the fuck? Who is this guy? If he wants to talk to Rowan, why doesn’t he just say what his deal is?
“I don’t understand why he’s hanging out,” Rowan says as we walk back up to my front door. “I’ve already been served with that eviction lawsuit, and I’ve moved out. And I didn’t put your address down on anything but the police report.”
“Maybe he’s investigating the car theft for the police. Maybe you were too impulsive when you scared him away.”
“I’m pretty damn impulsive,” he says. “And it usually works out for me.”
“Hmm.” I pick up my coffee mug, and we walk into the house.
As I’m preparing to leave for work, I say, “I feel uneasy leaving you here alone with that guy around.”
“I’ll be fine.” Rowan grins, and it’s his evilest grin. The one that makes me laugh. The one that reminds me he’s fierce and fearless.
“I know. But still … call me if you need me. What are you going to do today?”
“I’ll pick up some rides. I gotta get back to making money.”
I don’t know how much I like him working for ShareARide—especially when he got his car stolen once already—but I also don’t want to be a controlling asshole. So I stay silent.
Rowan reads the look on my face. “I’ll be more careful than usual. Plus, I want to see if I can find where those assholes tossed Wilbur. I may try to retrace wherever they drove my car.”
“Do you even know where to start?” The chances of Rowan’s Wilbur having been thrown out the window rather than taken home with the car thieves are very high.
“Yeah, it’s a wild-goose chase. But I’ve been on one of those my entire life, trying to find my parents. So I’m good with lost causes.”
“I’ll help you look when I’m done for the day,” I promise.
“It’ll be dark. We can look together next weekend,” Rowan says.
“You don’t have to wait that long.” I check the time. “Gotta go.”
I kiss him before I get in my car, and it feels utterly domestic and utterly right.
Weird.