Chapter Nine Rowan
Chapter Nine
Rowan
“Ready?” I ask Summer as I hold a hand out to her. She’s sitting in the passenger side of my truck looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Definitely not.” Looking reluctant enough that it has my ego in check, she places her hand in mine and steps down. “I think I might throw up.”
“Don’t do that.” I shut the door behind her with one hand and appreciate how good she looks tonight.
She’s in jeans and a light-pink tank top.
Her hair is always the real showstopper though.
Tonight it’s pulled back in a low ponytail, but a few strands fall free.
Little perfect spiral curls that hang around her neck and face.
“No promises,” she mutters.
“It’s a party, Lindsey. Try not to look so miserable.”
She hums a reply that might be her agreement to try and attempts to pull her hand away from mine. I hold tighter and when my intent is clear—I’m not letting go—Summer groans.
“Oh no.”
I bark out a short laugh. “Not the reaction I’m used to, but I guess it’s the best I can hope for under the circumstances.”
I’m still surprised she said yes to this wild scheme. Though the longer I thought about it today, the more I was certain it would work. That is, assuming Summer is right and Amanda is jealous. I guess we’re about to find out.
“Wow, this house is even bigger than I remember,” Summer notes as we walk toward the front. “My friends and I used to trick-or-treat here when were younger because they give out the best candy.”
“Yeah, same,” I say, which is true. But I decide to leave out that I live two houses down.
As we get closer to the door, Summer’s steps slow considerably. I stop at the bottom of the porch and face her.
“Take a breath,” I instruct.
“I’m fine.” She fidgets and pulls at the hem of her shirt.
I keep watching her to make sure she really is okay, then nod. “Here goes nothing, Lindsey.”
I turn and take a step, but Summer latches onto my upper arm.
“Wait,” she says, panic laced in her tone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, facing her once more.
“What do we tell people?” she asks.
“Are you expecting an interrogation?”
“Humor me. I do better with a plan.”
My lips twist into a smile. “You want a plan for going to a party with me?”
“Are we talking? Together? Casual? What’s our label?”
“We’re together.”
“Why?” Her face scrunches up in what might be disgust at the idea.
“Well, usually it’s because two people like each other.”
She smacks me lightly on the chest. I really love riling her up. But I won’t pretend her shock at picturing us together doesn’t make me second-guess everything. It’s been so long since I talked to anyone but Amanda. Maybe I’m not as good at this as I thought.
“I mean, why would you want to be with me?” she asks, then adds, “in case people ask.”
“No one is going to ask me why I want to be with you. It’s obvious.”
She cocks her head to the side, waiting for a real answer.
“You’re hot, Lindsey.”
She’s quiet for a beat and then bursts into laughter.
“You asked,” I say, not the least bit sorry for saying it. She is hot. Really hot. Lots of guys would be thrilled to be here with her tonight.
“That’s a terrible reason.”
“What would you like me to tell all these people who aren’t going to ask? Your fiery personality? Your smart brain?” I taunt her just a little.
“I’m not that smart,” she says with a sigh. “B+ average.”
“Above average.” Better than my grades. “I’ll tell them I like your above-average brain then.”
She groans and turns away from me and stares at the front door like it’s the enemy. “Just tell them you think I’m hot.”
“You are hot,” I say as I take a step onto the porch. This time she lets me pull her with me.
The music hits us as soon as we step through the front door.
There are already a lot of people here, and they’re grouped off in the same sort of cliques at school.
Basketball girls, hockey guys, cheerleaders, honor students, band kids, etc.
I continue through the house and go outside where I know I’ll find my teammates and hers.
Summer’s grip on my hand tightens with every step.
As we reach the back patio, I pause and look at her. She looks so nervous that it’s going to be hard for people to believe she came with me willingly.
I lean down, a hit of her soap or perfume invades my nostrils, and one of those perfect curls tickles my jaw.
“Relax,” I tell her at the same time my nerves ramp up.
I know this is for show. She knows it’s for show, but my body doesn’t seem to be getting the memo.
It’s been a long time since I was out with a girl, and the number of times I walked into a party holding hands with one is… never. I don’t hate it.
The backyard is a mirror copy of a dozen other parties I’ve been to here. And the soccer teams are exactly where I expected. I clock Amanda and Ronnie, but I don’t let my stare linger.
“Hey, you made it,” Eli says as we finally stop next to him, Hunter, and Blake. Vaughn, Lacey, Austin, and Claire are in their own little group. They do that more and more now. How adorable.
“Of course. I just had to pick up Summer first,” I say.
It’s then that all their gazes drop to my and Summer’s joined hands.
I feel her tense in those seconds when no one says anything. Eli looks like his brain might explode. Summer has her own group of guys who are going to be very jealous to see her with me. And Eli is number one on the list.
“You guys do remember Summer, right?” I ask, quirking a brow at them and hopefully communicating that they’re acting weird.
If I really had brought her on a date tonight, I’d want my friends to make her comfortable.
Which coincidentally is exactly how I feel.
It’s cruel that she had to switch schools senior year. I can’t imagine starting all over.
“Yeah, of course.” He recovers and smiles at Summer. “Eli.”
“And that’s Hunter and Blake,” I tell her.
She offers them a small wave and a smile. “Hi.”
“You want something to drink?” I ask her. She’s so stiff you’d think I brought her here against her will. Which okay, I kind of did. But we’re in this together now. I squeeze her hand and that prompts her to finally respond.
“Yes.”
“Catch you guys later,” I say to the guys and drag Summer along with me.
She lets out a shaky breath that has another laugh slipping free. There’s a giant cooler on the back patio. I drop her hand and flip open the lid.
“What do you like?” I ask her, then hold up a water and a Sprite. “Someone around here probably has booze too.”
“Alcohol is the last thing I need.” She takes the water and twists off the cap. “Did they buy it?”
I glance over her head to my teammates. “They’re staring this way and talking, so either they’re on to us or we just became the newest couple gossip.”
She sips the water and ducks her head like that’s going to keep people from seeing her or talking about us.
“If you’re having second thoughts—” I start, but she shakes her head immediately.
“No.” Her eyes close briefly. “I’m sorry. I’m screwing this up.”
“You’re not screwing anything up.” I reach out and take her hand again, this time to comfort her and not for show. “But if this is too much, let’s call it now.”
“Maybe if we set some rules, that would help.”
I let go of her hand again and pop the tab on the Sprite. “Rules, huh?”
“I can’t relax when I’m worried you’re going to kiss me or something.”
“The ego hits just keep coming,” I mutter under my breath and then take a long sip of the lemon-lime soda. “All right. Hit me. What are the rules?”
“Holding hands is fine, but I’m not kissing you.”
“Yes, noted. But just so you know, you’re missing out. I’m an excellent kisser.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“I won’t kiss you,” I promise. Geez. This girl. “But we need a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Something couple-y we do.”
“Were you and Amanda into PDA?”
I give that some thought. “We weren’t not into it.”
We didn’t walk around parties holding hands, but she’d sit on my lap or I’d wrap my arms around her from behind.
And I can remember more than one make-out session in random dark corners or, fine, even out in the center of the party.
We just kind of went with whatever we were feeling—often fueled by the late night and party atmosphere. We were less touchy at school.
“Rowan?” Summer arches a brow like maybe she said something I missed.
“Sorry, what?”
“Can’t we just hold hands?”
“That’s so boring and so junior high.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Oh, please. You were counting down the seconds until I freed your hand,” I point out.
“Okay. Then what?”
I glance around at the couples around the party, calling out what I see, “Kissing. Hand up the shirt. Hand on the butt.” A few couples are straight up making out. Little early in the night for that, but to each their own.
“No, no, no,” she replies in quick succession.
“I’m only doing recon, not suggesting I cop a feel.”
This time when I turn my attention back to the couples at the party, she does the same.
“Lots of girls sitting in laps,” she notes.
“Yeah.” She’s right—it’s as common and cliché as hand-holding.
“Were you and…what’s the ex’s name again?” I glance at her.
“Kevin.”
“I’m guessing the two of you weren’t into PDA.”
“Kevin liked to put his hand in my back pocket. He was a butt guy.”
This makes me laugh. Actually, I’m cackling. She says it so nonchalantly. I may have misjudged her as a prude.
“He said I have a nice ass,” she says matter-of-factly, but her face is turning red.
I can’t stop laughing.
“What about you and Amanda? What was your thing?” she asks, her voice full of challenge.
“We didn’t have a thing. We were too on and off again to ever have a rhythm.
I mean, sure, at the end of the night we’d go off and make out or something, but when we were at parties, we’d usually hang with other people.
She had her friends and I had mine. We’d just kind of meet up at the end of the night I guess. ”