Chapter Eight #3
Inside the house, the silence was such a change from the buzz of conversation outside that she stood for a moment, back against the door, and let it envelop her.
Her ears did that thing where they had to adjust to the quiet and felt like they pressed against her head for a beat.
She took one of her deep, calming breaths and waited for her heart rate to slow.
After a minute or two, she started to feel better.
The powder room was in its own little darkened hallway off the kitchen. She was going to use her own bathroom, but climbing the stairs right now felt like a lot, and she was afraid if she made it to her room, she’d flop down on the bed and be done for the night, and she wasn’t quite ready for that.
“Powder room it is, then,” she said to the empty kitchen as she walked through.
When she finished, she stood at the sink with the water running and looked at herself in the mirror.
She looked a little tired, that was true.
It was in her eyes. Somebody who didn’t know her might not notice, but Stevie probably had.
Her mother would. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.
Her blue eyes were slightly pink where the whites were, probably from the campfire smoke.
Always one of her best features, her auburn hair had been in a ponytail earlier, but it was giving her a headache, so she’d taken it down, brushed it out, and now it fell in waves around her shoulders.
She used her fingers to comb through it, fluff it up a bit, then straightened her shirt, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and smiled at the girl in the mirror.
“You got this,” she said. She gave her hands a quick wash, dried them, then clicked off the light and opened the door. And stopped.
Evie was standing in the darkened hallway, and she startled Rowan enough to pull a little gasp from her.
“Jesus,” she said with a soft laugh, pressing a hand to her chest. “You scared me. I didn’t see you, it’s so dark right here.”
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem. Bathroom’s all yours.” Rowan started to move past her, but Evie’s hand closed on her arm.
“Wait. Please.”
Rowan stopped and turned to look at her. It was hard to make out her expression in the darkness, but Rowan could see her eyes, and there was something there she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Lots of somethings, all jumbled together. Worry. Fear. Sadness. Longing.
In that moment, she wished she didn’t know Evie so well, wished she couldn’t read her like a book, because there was one other thing on her face, the clearest of them all. Desire.
“Evie, what—” Her question was interrupted by Evie’s finger against her lips, silencing her.
Evie was taller than she was, and when she took a step toward Rowan, forcing her to step back, Rowan felt trapped, a prisoner between the softness of Evie’s body and the solid surface of the wall behind her. Fully, deliciously trapped.
Evie studied her face. Her dark eyes roamed over Rowan, and she moved her hand lightly, fluttering over her chin, the side of her neck, close, but not actually touching her. She picked up a lock of her hair and sifted it between her fingers.
Rowan couldn’t move. No, she didn’t want to move, that was the reality of it.
Evie had leaned into her, and now their bodies were pressed together from knees to hips, their faces no more than an inch or two apart.
Evie’s hand dug into Rowan’s hair then, grasped the back of her head, and pulled her in, until she felt like she’d been captured by Evie’s mouth.
Kissing Evie in the darkened hallway of a lake house had not been on Rowan’s bingo card. In fact, it was nowhere near her bingo card. It wasn’t even in the same state as her bingo card.
And yet.
There they were, and kissing Evie was everything Rowan remembered.
Soft and then hard. Giving and then demanding.
Her hands moved by themselves, it seemed, grasping the sides of Evie’s unzipped hoodie and pulling her impossibly closer, up onto her toes, before moving up to either side of Evie’s face and holding her, plundering, pushing her tongue into Evie’s mouth.
A moan escaped one of them, and Rowan wasn’t sure if it was her or Evie.
The kiss went from zero to a hundred and sixty in about two seconds, which was how it had always been with them.
Nobody turned her on, so completely, so quickly, the way Evie did.
Christ on a bike, she was wet already. Hot and wet and—
“Oh, God.”
And cold now. Because suddenly, Evie was against the opposite wall and she’d taken all her body heat with her.
“I’m sorry,” Evie said, looking just this side of horrified. She covered her mouth with her hand, and when she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Hey.” Rowan reached out for her, but Evie sidestepped her hand.
“No. Don’t. Don’t touch me. Please.” Evie shook her head as she backed out of the hallway. “I’m sorry, Rowan. Forgive me.” She turned and left, and Rowan heard her hurrying up the stairs.
A door slammed.
Rowan stood there, damp underwear, racing blood, turned the hell on, and wondering what the fuck had just happened.