Chapter Twenty-Three #2
When I arrive, Rowan is climbing down from the driver’s side of his truck, and he makes a beeline for my car, opening my door before I have the chance to do so myself.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he jokes, and I roll my eyes for the tenth time as he places his palm on the small of my back and guides me to the entrance.
Directly inside the double doors is a small table where two elderly women sit. We pay them our entrance fee and collect a few paper bingo cards and our daubers.
The community center is only half full by the time we enter the main hall, and we find our seats at one of the long tables toward the center. The stage at the front of the room holds a podium and a bingo cage full of circular balls.
We settle in, and Rowan spends the first few minutes laying out his cards as his knee bumps continuously into mine. I’m so distracted by the contact and the smell of him so close that I don’t notice the caller take the podium until he clears his throat into the microphone.
He’s an elderly man dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt with Fort Myers written on the front. His salt and pepper hair is cut short and neat; his mustache curled at the ends. After adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, he speaks.
“Welcome, everyone! We will now begin our first game of the night. Our prizes this evening are going to be centered around our upcoming fall festival. They will alternate between game tickets, food vouchers, and wrist bands for the attractions. Is everyone ready?”
A few small murmurs break out across the crowd, and I take notice that Rowan and I seem to be the youngest people in the audience.
“I love that you picked an activity where I have to whisper just to talk to you,” Rowan says lowly, his lips brushing my ear as he speaks. When I shiver, he chuckles. “I think you wanted an excuse for me to get close to you.”
“Or maybe I wanted something opposite of the loud bar where I had to scream to be heard,” I shoot back, turning my head to stare at him. He’s so close to me that our noses almost brush, and the green of his eyes is so bright I find it difficult to breathe.
“So you weren’t a fan of Cocktails and Consonances, huh?”
“I was.” I turn my attention back to my bingo card as the caller draws the first number.
“B-6.”
“I just think we should experience all sorts of things together,” I finish as I check my card. No B-6. Rowan, on the other hand, dabs his top right corner.
“Have any other things on your mind that you’d like to experience with me?” he whispers, and I bite my lip to try and stifle my smile.
“Maybe,” I whisper back.
“G-10.”
I soak one of my squares in red, and Rowan does the same to his in green.
“Care to share with the class?” he asks.
“A-3,” says the caller.
“I think you should have to work for it, no?” I ask.
Rowan’s knee bumps into mine again, and it distracts me enough that I’m caught off guard when I feel the fingertips of his free hand slide under the back of my shirt. Where our coats are hanging on the back of our chairs, it’s likely that no one can see his movement.
“Have I not put in the effort?” His fingers trace over the indentations on my lower back, massaging at the dimples there. For some reason, ever since that first night, my dimples have been an erogenous zone.
He continues, “I feel like Elijah from last night would agree that I have.”
I let out a heavy breath, dotting my paper again as the caller announces G-8.
“You’re teasing,” I complain quietly, and this only spurs Rowan on as his middle finger dips lightly beneath the band of my slacks.
“Am I?”
“This is not good boy behavior,” I chastise.
Rowan’s fingers disappear immediately, and I can feel my body de-tense as I register the loss.
“I’ll be good,” he promises, and with that, he turns to sit straight in his seat and focuses solely on the bingo game at hand.
I find that maybe I’ve made a mistake, because by the third game, neither of us has won a damn thing, and Rowan has made no move to touch me again.
I’m so focused on his lack of attention that it takes Rowan nudging me with his shoulder for me to realize I’m missing everything the caller is now saying.
“You have F-7, Eli,” he mutters, and I dab it quickly.
“Oh, oops.”
Rowan watches me carefully. “What are you thinking about so seriously?”
I peer at him out of the corner of my eye, catching his grin as he turns away to focuses on his paper.
“Asshole,” I say, and he laughs.
“I can’t believe neither of us won a single game,” Rowan groans, leaning his back against the railing of the landing outside my apartment.
I shove my key into the lock and shrug. “I told you, bingo is about luck. No skill involved.”
“But I have amazing luck,” Rowan counters, and I turn to grin at him.
“Not amazing enough, apparently.” We stare at each other for a moment, and I consider my next move. “You didn’t have to follow me home. I know how to work a GPS.”
“I know,” Rowan responds, pushing off the railing to crowd my space. “But I wanted to.”
At the end of our last date, Rowan refused to come inside. He said he didn’t want to set a tone and touched me all over before sending me inside all alone. Will he do the same tonight?
Why does the thought of him leaving make me anxious and sad?
“Are you still worried about setting a tone?” I ask. I’ve always been straightforward.
“A tone?” he murmurs, caging me in with a hand placed against the door on either side of my head.
“Yeah. Are you going to flirt with me all night and then leave me to take care of myself all alone?”
Rowan’s eyes flare, his lips parting as he gazes down at me. “You make me sound so cruel.”
“You can be,” I whisper, and he cocks his head in question. “Teasing me relentlessly just to leave me out to dry.”
A vicious grin takes shape over Rowan’s mouth, and I follow the curve of his plump lips eagerly.
I want to feel them, to taste them. I’m so desperate for any piece of himself he’s willing to give me.
“I would do anything to get you alone again, sweet angel,” Rowan purrs, dropping that vicious mouth to run lightly over my jaw. I sigh against the feeling, my hands gripping at the front of his shirt.
“Anything?” I ask, and he nods.
“Mhm.”
“Including fucking me against the wall the way you described a few weeks ago?”
I’m referring to the first time he came to my apartment, where he said he could fuck me against the wall, but he’d rather take me to bed instead.
Ever since then, I’ve thought about it plenty. And I believe Rowan has too, if the way he presses even tighter against me is any indication.
“I can most definitely do that.” He says it like a promise.
“Aw,” I coo, my hands tracing the lines of his pecs. “Now that’s a good boy.”
“Get your fucking ass inside,” Rowan growls, and I feel in real time as the praise hardens his cock inside his jeans where he’s pressed against my thigh.
“Ugh, fuck,” I groan, letting him turn the knob and walk me backwards.
“I can’t tell which I like more—when you’re so sweet and soft and easy to bend to my will, or when you turn me into this,” he mumbles.
“Into what?” I breathe as he slams the front door shut with his heel and quickly shoves me back against the wall of my living room.
“A needy, pathetic man desperate to please you.”
“Rowan,” I plead, and his hands are in my pants a moment later.
“I’ve decided; I like this one more.” His fingers wrap around the hard length of me, and I buck against him desperately. “I’m so fucking pathetic for you, and I love every second of it.”
“Fuck me. Fuck me right now,” I demand.
“Yes, baby. Whatever you say.”
And then he’s tearing me apart.
I spend all of Tuesday messaging with Rowan. Between questions regarding our days and random selfies of him in his darkroom and me in the office, we haven’t discussed anything too serious. But it’s been nice just knowing I’m on his mind so frequently.
Right now, he’s dealing with some reserve in South Carolina, so I haven’t seen him since our date on Monday night, where he then fucked me senseless in my living room.
We’ve made some noncommittal plans to go back to that karaoke bar this weekend, and I’ve begun to feel a simple joy in my day-to-day life that wasn’t here before.
As if something has always been missing, and now it’s come back to me. Pieces of myself and of my life are falling into place, and I owe a lot of this feeling of wholeness to Rowan. I think Carrie was right—love at first sight.
I’m falling, and I’m falling fast. Between his gentle kindness and the personality that I was so blind to before, I am completely enthralled by him.
Add on that Rowan seems to be a fucking sex god, and he’s perfect. Just so insanely perfect that I honestly find myself a little scared.
Scared of what shoe might drop, of what could be hiding in his metaphorical closet. But mostly, I’m terrified of what will happen to me if I no longer have him. How will I survive that? How am I meant to go back to a life of nothing?
I am unsure how I was ever truly content with that before. Was I ever really?
I choose not to dwell on it too much, otherwise I spiral into a paralyzing anxiety that suffocates me. So instead, I continue with my life as if there is no way we will ever be separated.
Like this morning, for example. We probably won’t see each other for another two days, and that’s okay. I will make it okay, so as not to seem too needy. He’s a busy man, after all.
I get ready for work, and I make my way into town, heading to Tabitha’s Place first to grab take-out coffees and muffins.
As I enter, the bell above me jingles loudly, and Bennett looks up from the paper he’s reading at one of the tables in the center of the large room.
“Eli!” he greets, jumping up from his chair. I haven’t seen him since Monday night either, but I hold no grudge toward his actions.
Bennett feels possessive of me for whatever reason, and soon he will have to learn how to let me go. As long as he doesn’t outwardly disrespect Rowan, I have no issues with him. He is nice, after all.
“Good morning, Bennett,” I respond, offering him a kind smile as he approaches me. “Could I bother you for two coffees and two muffins to go?”
“Of course.” He grins, guiding me once again to the drink station. This time, there are no precariously placed knives to shy away from. “For you and John, I presume?”
“Yep. Another busy morning.”
Bennett nods casually, pouring coffee into two paper cups before capping them and setting them on the table next to me. Then he grabs a brown paper bag and begins to place two muffins inside it.
“Journalism never stops, I take it?” he asks.
“No,” I chuckle. “There is always something to talk about. How much do I owe you? And no freebies this time—I feel indebted enough as it is.”
Bennett turns to a POS system nearby and types my order into it. “If you insist, it’s sixteen dollars and seventy-eight cents.”
I hand him a twenty-dollar bill.
“Keep the change. Thanks!” I begin to pile my things into my arms, but Bennett speaks again.
“Hey, Elijah.” He sounds nervous, and when I turn back to face him with my coffee and muffins balanced in my hands, he grimaces. “How are things with… with Rowan?”
My brow furrows as I stare back at him, my head tilting in question. “They’re fine. Why do you ask?”
Bennett rubs at the back of his neck, his blue eyes darting around the room as he considers his next sentence.
As he speaks again, he removes his baseball cap and runs a hand through his thick blond hair. “Well… listen, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I think I should. For your own safety.”
“Safety?” I parrot slowly, and he nods.
“Rowan isn’t the kind of man you think he is. He’s weird and obsessive. I’m concerned that he’s going to hurt you.”
Internally, I sigh. “Bennett, I’m not sure what you’re—”
“I’ve caught him stalking you,” he states bluntly.
Silence. We stare at each other as I process his words, and then a nervous laugh falls from my lips.
“S-stalking? What the fuck are you on about?”
“He sits in his truck and takes photos of you while you eat here, or while you walk around. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes,” he explains.
There is no way. I’m actually genuinely shocked at the length Bennett is willing to go to just to keep me from Rowan. Claiming he’s a stalker? That he’s taking candid photos of me doing day-to-day, mundane tasks? That’s some dark romance book club bullshit right there.
“This is so fucked up, you know that? Spreading rumors like that can ruin his life, Bennett.” I can hear the anger in my voice, my nice-guy facade cracking away.
“I’m not lying,” he insists. “Think about it. What do you actually know about this guy that’s more than surface level? Have you ever felt he was being weird or hiding something? I’ve known him almost my entire life. I think I might know him a bit better than you think you do.”
“That’s…”
“Speaking of—how did you know where the office was? You never come into town, let alone to the newspaper. I don’t think I ever told you…”
Could it be…? No. Rowan already explained how he knew where the post was—he used Google Maps.
But Bennett is right. What do I know about Rowan, aside from the brief history lesson he gave me over text last week? I mean, the man won’t even let me inside his home.
And I do have this nagging feeling—the impression that he’s hiding something. I figured it was something emotional or embarrassing, not something like this.
Maybe we’re both wrong. Maybe Rowan isn’t a stalker or an emotional mess, and I just need to demand answers from him.
But either way, I have a grave feeling I won’t get them without forcing my way inside. Inside his head, his home, his heart.
“Okay, Bennett," I say. "Thanks for the heads up, I’ll figure this out. See you later.”
Bennett says nothing else, only offering me a small nod and a gentle smile as I turn and exit the diner.
Okay—I know what I’ll do. I’ll stop by the office and give John his breakfast and a brief explanation, and then I’ll head to Rowan’s house and demand answers.
I deserve to know, right? I mean, I feel as if we’ve progressed enough in our quote-unquote relationship that I should be owed the truth, even if it’s not something as insane as stalking.
And there’s no way he’s stalking me, right? Right. It’ll all make sense. I just need to talk to him.
So why do I feel so anxious? Why do I feel as if everything is about to fall apart?