Chapter Fourteen #2
I lock my apartment door behind me, turning to jog down the stairs.
I spot Rowan leaning against the passenger door of his truck and am immediately grateful for Jeff.
Rowan is wearing a pair of blue jeans and a grey t-shirt.
His typical jean jacket is stretched over his shoulders and arms, and the brown of his boots is a stark contrast against the pavement.
Jeans were definitely the right choice.
As I approach him, Rowan’s eyes devour me. They perform a slow, dangerous drag over my body—only stopping once they’ve landed on my face.
He meets my gaze and gives me a very charming, very seductive half smile. “Afternoon, Eli. You look beautiful.”
I can feel the flush work straight through me, and just like it always does, my heart begins to beat painfully in my chest the closer I get to him.
“Isn’t it night now?” I ask him, doing my best to school my expression. “And you look pretty good yourself.”
Rowan just shrugs in response, pulling the passenger side door open.
“Tomato, toe-ma-toe,” he says, and once I’m seated, he leans right in over me.
“What—” But I don’t get to finish before he’s grabbing my seatbelt and clicking it into place. “I’m not a child,” I mutter.
“Safety first.” He grins, keeping the distance between us at a minimum.
I can smell him so well—the flowery scent that immediately reminds me of chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and sugar.
And right when I think he’ll kiss me, he shuts the door and rounds the front of the truck to get in himself. Fucking tease. I try not to look disappointed.
“So where are we going?” I ask.
“You ever been to Jamestown?” Rowan answers my question with one of his own, pulling out of the complex parking lot.
“No, what’s that?”
“Jamestown is the town next to Fort Myers. It’s about a thirty-minute drive in the opposite direction from my house, and a bit bigger.”
I observe him as he speaks. With his window rolled halfway down, the breeze ruffles his black curls.
I watch as a couple of them become caught in the collar of his jacket and resist the urge to dip my finger in and pull them free.
With one arm propped on the window seal and the other with a hand loosely gripping the steering wheel, Rowan looks incredibly relaxed. Lucky. I feel as if I’ll explode at any second.
Whether from the nerves, the tension, or the hot ache in my chest that craves his proximity—I do not know.
His arms look huge right now. And the line of his jaw is so sharp, I’m surprised I’ve yet to cut myself on it whilst touching him. I can’t believe this guy had his face buried in my ass not too long ago.
I shiver against the thought—the reminder of how he felt.
“You cold?”
“Huh?” My gaze snaps up from where I was ogling his arms a moment ago to meet his vibrant green eyes that are now trained on me. “Oh, no.” Then, to steer the conversation away from myself, “What are we going out of town for?”
“Fort Myers doesn’t offer much in the date department. Plus, there’s a place I want to take you to. It’s called Cocktails and Consonances. It’s a karaoke bar,” he says.
“A karaoke bar?” This surprises me.
“Yeah, why? Don’t want to go?” Rowan peeks at me again, and this time it’s with an edge of nerves that matches my own.
“I’m not saying that. I just didn’t imagine you’d be into something like that,” I say gently, studying his profile.
Rowan shrugs, gripping the steering wheel with a slight hint of pressure.
“It had really good reviews—and it’s a really popular date spot.” He sounds as if he’s trying to justify himself, and it was not my intention to make him self-conscious about his date destination choice.
“Well, I think it’ll be fun.” When he turns to peer over at me, I give him a cheery smile. “We’ll have plenty to laugh at as the drunk guys get up to sing ‘Mr. Brightside.’”
This makes Rowan laugh, and I let the deep, soft sound sink into my skin as I turn to watch the passing trees in the darkness that surrounds us.
We spend the rest of the drive bantering about nothing—mostly my job and the shows Rowan is binging at the moment. And soon enough, we’re parking in the gravel lot of a small, dingy-looking bar.
The neon sign glows the letters C Rowan is plotting all of the different ways he can devour me in one sitting as I stand on this stage.
And as I break out into the bridge—arguably the best part of the song—something thick and hot fills my throat and chest.
I’m not sure what this intense emotion is, but it feels a lot like happiness if happiness is meant to hurt.
The song comes to a close as cheers and applause go up around the room. I bow—awkward as shit—and walk off the stage, handing the mic back to the DJ.
“That was incredible, sugar,” he compliments.
“Thanks,” is all I say before turning on my heel to walk away.
I have no time to speak with the DJ—not when Rowan is waiting at our table like a hungry lion.
And as I make my way through the crowd, I can’t help but feel like I’m crawling right into his den, unarmed and unprotected.
How sweet.