Chapter Fourteen
Elijah
Rowan Alexander has revealed to this journalist that he is not taking part in any competitions in the foreseeable future. He will be focusing on his day-to-day work and his quality of life. We all wish him the best in his endeavors and hope to see more of his work soon.
My cursor blinks in sync with my heartbeat: slow and steady. Calm.
I’ve finally finished drafting the article that will cover Rowan’s win with Callie and Casey’s Photography Outlet. I’ll spend the next week or so rewriting and polishing, so it should be on our website and in the papers by the middle of November.
John is sitting in his office, and with his door wide open, I can hear his phone call with the head of the activities committee for the town. They’re discussing when to release our finished article that covers the fall festival, which opens in two weeks.
I’m a bit distracted if I’m honest. My phone buzzes every few minutes, and I’m quick to snatch it up and devour whatever new message Rowan has sent me. I’ve been like this all week.
After he left my house on Monday night, we started texting pretty regularly. Never about anything serious—just small things like our favorite foods and activities we do in our spare time. But it’s been really nice.
There’s something calming yet exhilarating about talking with Rowan—whether it be over the phone or in person.
And now it’s Friday afternoon, and I’ve learned a handful of fun Rowan Avery Alexander facts. Like his interest in children’s cartoons, for example. He watches the same thing every evening before bed, and it’s almost always one of the few cartoons he binged as a child.
Or how he eats the cookie before reading his fortune when he gets Chinese takeout—otherwise the fortune falls flat.
Rowan is also a big soup guy. His favorite is baked potato soup, which I find kind of cute.
This just barely scratches the surface of the new things I’ve learned about Rowan, the mysterious photographer from just outside of town. Turns out, he’s not all that mysterious.
And these feelings—these overwhelming and intense emotions I can’t seem to escape—they’ve become a new normal for me, as well as the insatiable lust.
I find myself jerking off nightly to the memories of Rowan touching me, and honestly, I feel like a teenager. I’ve never been so horny. Or giddy.
I think I’d take this ache in my chest and wear it proudly every day if it meant keeping Rowan by my side. If this is what liking someone is, if this is what the beginnings of love feel like, I’ll fucking take it.
Happily.
My phone buzzes again, and I damn near shove my laptop off my desk to get to it.
Rowan 4:23 p.m.
If you had to pick one movie to watch for the rest of your life, what would you pick?
I try not to laugh at his question, shaking my head as I type my response. He’s interested in learning the weirdest things about me.
Elijah 4:24 p.m.
Probably The Titanic. Best horror movie ever made.
The message is instantly marked as read, and the three little dots appear. I don’t have to wait long for his response.
Rowan 4:24 p.m.
Horror movie? You’re joking, right?
Rowan 4:24 p.m.
I’m pretty sure that’s a romance.
Elijah 4:25 p.m.
Nope. Horror. I get riled up every time I watch it, I swear
The three dots appear again, then disappear. His next response takes longer to come through, and after I receive it, I realize why.
Rowan 4:27 p.m.
Riled up, huh? I think I’d like to see that.
I flush straight down to my chest—suddenly, the office is far too stuffy.
“Son,” John’s voice suddenly rings out, and he’s standing right in front of my desk.
“Ah! Yes?!” I drop my phone onto the floor. I didn’t hear his conversation end, or him approach me.
“Having an interestin’ conversation there?” he asks, and I blush even harder now, avoiding his eyes as he chuckles from above me. “Ah, whatever. You finished that draft?”
“Yeah,” I nod, turning my laptop to face him. “It’s all done. I’ll start revisions on Monday.”
“Nice. Good work, Eli. I thought I’d never get that interview out of Rowan.”
I stare at John for a moment, unsure of what to say to that. You’re welcome? No worries, I fucked him for it?
I kind of want to tell him I’m seeing Rowan, if only so he can be happy for the guy. John has a soft spot for Rowan, whether or not he wants to admit it.
“John,” I start, and he looks up from my laptop screen to meet my eyes. “I’m actually going on a date with Rowan tomorrow.”
John watches me for a moment—expressionless. Then, a slow grin begins to curl at his lips. The old man chuckles lowly, scratching at his white beard.
“That’s good. I’m happy for you kids.” When I don’t offer any further detail, John turns and heads back to his office. He stops just outside the threshold, turning his gaze back onto me. “But Eli—be nice to him. He’s a gentle guy.”
Visions of Rowan gripping my shoulders and pounding up into me while I sobbed flash before my eyes, but instead of mentioning anything like that to my boss, I just smile.
“Sure, John.”
“You’re full of sass and snark. Which is good, don’t get me wrong. But he’s not used to attention. Go easy on him.” John sounds like a worried father, and instead of being annoyed like I usually would, I find it kind of cute.
“I’ll handle him with care, I promise,” I say, raising my hands in defense. John offers me another grin and slips back into his office.
I pick my phone up off the carpet and finally respond to Rowan’s last message.
Elijah 4:35 p.m.
Rowan, you dog. Is that all you think about? (Because it’s all I think about).
Rowan’s response comes moments later.
Rowan 4:35 p.m.
Woof, woof.
Rowan told me to dress casually for a date, so I’ve spent all of my Saturday morning sorting through every casual article of clothing I own.
Nothing looks good enough.
No combination of low-waisted jeans and tight shirts, or slacks and flowy tops, is cutting it. And that’s literally all I own—that’s my entire casual wardrobe.
I’m about two seconds from losing my mind, which means I have to call in reinforcements. And calling in reinforcements is the last thing I wanted to do.
If I use up all my bad luck now, that means tonight will go smoothly, right?
I dial my sister.
“Yallo?” Carrie answers, her face filling my screen through our FaceTime call.
“I need help,” I say.
“Cutting right to the chase, are we? What’s up?” She’s sitting at her kitchen table, so I’m assuming she has nothing better to do.
“I need help picking out an outfit. The vibe is casual.”
Carrie hums, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Her long blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and I can see the question in her familiar hazel eyes before she even asks.
“Would this be for a date?”
“Yes,” I mutter, and she all but screams.
“Oh my god! Eli’s first date! Jeff, hurry, Eli is going on his first date!”
“What?!” A distant voice yells, and then the sound of heavy footsteps.
Jeff, in all his beefy, gym bro glory, pushes himself into view. His brown hair is sticking up as if he’s just rolled out of bed, and he’s missing his shirt. I swear he’s allergic to them.
“It’s not that serious,” I say.
“Yeah, it really is,” Carrie deadpans.
“Who’s the lucky guy? I can’t believe we’re finally witnessing the day.” Jeff pretends to wipe away tears.
“Alright, never mind. I’m hanging up.”
‘Wait!” Carrie yells. “Okay, okay. What are the outfit options?”
I prop my phone up on my dresser, giving the two of them full view of me while keeping the use of both hands.
“I can either do this,” I hold up the low-waisted jeans and tight shirt option. “Or this.” I trade it out for the slacks and flowy shirt.
“And it’s casual?” Carrie double-checks.
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.” She’s tapping her chin again, eyeing me up as she considers. “You don’t know where you’re going?”
“No, he didn’t give me a place.” In fact, Rowan gave me nothing other than the time he was picking me up and the dress code.
“Well, as a guy, I say go with the jeans if it’s casual,” Jeff offers, and Carrie rolls her eyes.
“But what if that’s too casual for a date? The slacks could be a happy medium.”
“That’s what I was hung up on,” I groan. “It’s too hard. Should I cancel? I mean, I’m twenty-six and I’ve never even been on a date.”
“No!” Carrie and Jeff yell at the same time.
“You are going, mister. End of story.” My sister is pointing into the camera with a stern expression.
“Listen,” Jeff starts again. “If a guy says casual, wear the jeans. You’re both thinking too hard about this.”
“Elijah is a guy, and he’s still debating,” Carrie argues, glaring at her husband.
“Eli only sleeps with super stereotypically manly men. If that guy said casual, it means jeans,” he insists. Both pairs of eyes settle on me for confirmation.
“I did interrupt him chopping his own firewood the other day,” I inform them.
Carrie purses her lips. “Yeah, wear the jeans.”
Rowan’s text message letting me know he’s arrived at my apartment complex arrives just as I’m giving up on my hair.
The curls are unruly at worst, and unmanageable at best. I guess I’ll take unmanageable for tonight's festivities.
My tight black shirt makes me appear a bit buffer than I actually am—not that I’m particularly scrawny or anything—and that gives me a confidence boost that negates the messy appearance of my hair.
My jeans are a dark blue and sit low on my hips; the combination of the two articles reveals a slight sliver of my stomach and my hipbones.
As I do my best to shake off the nerves, I throw on my leather jacket and a pair of white sneakers. Snapping a picture, I send it to Carrie and Jeff in a group chat.
Elijah 8:13 p.m.
*sent an attachment*
Elijah 8:13 p.m.
Does this look fine? Say yes, I’m already out the door.