Chapter 8
Rowan
When the doorbell rang, I’d already changed my shirt three times, which was ridiculous.
Not because I was nervous about him. It was Keaton.
My Keaton.
He’d seen me sweaty after practices, bruised from football and wrestling, pissed off, half-asleep, naked, and happy in ways I didn’t let most people see.
But tonight wasn’t about what he already knew. For the first time, I could walk out the front door, get in his car, and go somewhere as his boyfriend. No excuses. No space between us. No pretending he was just my best friend.
So yeah, I wanted to look good for our date.
“I’ll get it,” Mom called from the kitchen.
Shit.
I grabbed my wallet from the dresser and headed down the hall. “Mom, wait.”
She was already crossing the living room, wiping her hands on a towel and smiling as if this date had been her idea all along. After everything she’d said when I moved back in, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised by how happy she was for us.
The only thing she hadn’t been excited about was Florida.
I’d told my parents how Grant Bishop wanted to represent me and fly me to Tampa to check out Atlantic Combat.
Even though my parents understood why I needed to consider Atlantic Combat, Mom couldn’t hide how much the possibility of me moving to Florida hurt her.
I’d already spent four years away, and she’d probably hoped that leaving the Air Force and coming back to California meant I was home for good.
Maybe I was. The trip to Florida was only to visit Atlantic Combat, not a decision to move there.
“Don’t be weird,” I warned.
Her mouth fell open, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m never weird.”
“You’re smiling like you’ve been waiting for this all day.”
“Maybe I have.”
“Mom.”
“What? I’m allowed to be excited for you.”
I swallowed. “Still. Be normal.”
“I can be normal.”
That earned her a warning look.
“Normal-ish.” She laughed under her breath, then opened the door before I could stop her.
Keaton stood on the other side, looking handsome with his shoulder-length dark hair pushed back from his face.
He wore a gray jacket over a black T-shirt, dark jeans that fit him too damn well, and boots.
His eyes flicked from Mom to me, and his mouth curved as if he knew exactly what he’d walked into.
“Hey, Mrs. Cross.”
“Dawn,” she corrected gently. “You’re grown now.”
His smile softened. “Dawn.”
She stepped back. “Come in for a minute.”
I lifted a shoulder, trying not to make it a thing even though it was absolutely a thing.
“Sure.”
Dad appeared in the hallway. “Hey, Keaton.”
“Hey, Mr. Cross.”
“Dawn gets first names, but I don’t?”
Keaton laughed. “Sorry. Hey, Frank.”
My dad smiled. “Better.”
Mom seemed way too pleased with herself as she lifted a small bag from the entry table. “I made you some banana bread.”
Keaton perked up. “Really?”
My mother handed it over. “Of course, and it’s your choice if you want to share it with Rowan.”
“Maybe.” He took the bag from her without looking away from me.
“Wow.” I shook my head, smiling.
Mom grinned. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your date.”
“Thanks.” I chuckled.
Dad clapped me on the shoulder. “Have a good night, you two.”
Keaton opened the front door, then stepped back to let me go first. Once we were outside, he waited until the door closed behind us, then let out a breath. “That went better than I thought.”
“You thought my dad was going to interrogate you?”
“Pretty much.”
“He likes you.”
“He used to like me.”
I stopped beside Keaton’s car and faced him. “He still does.”
He looked toward the house, then back at me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I reached for his hand, and his fingers slid through mine.
He glanced down at our joined hands and let out a quiet laugh. “Look at us, going on an actual date with your mom answering the door and everything. We’re even holding hands before we get to the car.”
“Big night for us.”
“Huge.”
I let go so we could get into the car. Once we were both inside, he put the banana bread in the back seat and started the engine.
“I can’t believe you took food from my mother.”
“She offered.”
“You looked way too excited.”
“She makes good banana bread.”
“You remember that?”
He pulled away from the curb. “I remember a lot.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Me too.”
Metallica played low through the speakers as he turned off the street we’d both grown up on. Neither of us rushed to fill the silence. After the last few days, it felt nice just sitting beside him and not worrying about the stuff we still had to figure out.
Then he cleared his throat. “I saw Devon today.”
My head turned quickly. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
Hearing Devon’s name immediately put me on edge. “And?”
Keaton’s fingers flexed around the steering wheel. “And it was weird as hell.”
“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”
“I know.” He blew out a breath. “He acted normal. Too normal. Like if he pretended nothing happened, maybe I would too.”
Of course he did.
“What did you do?”
“Not much.” Keaton kept his gaze on the road. “Trust me. I had this whole speech in my head, but we were at the gym, with people around, and I didn’t want anyone overhearing part of the conversation and turning it into something else.”
My irritation didn’t go away, but it eased enough for me to understand that he was still trying to protect himself, not Devon. “So you didn’t say anything?”
“I said enough for him to know I wasn’t okay with what went down,” he replied. “And enough for him to know it won’t happen again.”
“Did he at least apologize?”
Keaton laughed. “Not really. He gave me one of those dumbass apologies that isn’t really one.”
“What did he say?”
“That he shouldn’t have caught me off guard.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not an apology.”
“Exactly.”
The guitar riff filled the car for a few seconds, then I asked, “Did you tell him about us?”
Keaton glanced at me. “No, but when it happened in LA, I told him I was with someone. Today, I reminded him, but I didn’t mention your name.”
I nodded, even though none of it sat right. If Devon chose not to respect that Keaton wasn’t interested in him, the problem wasn’t Keaton, and I had to keep telling myself that. “The whole situation is bullshit.”
“That’s one word for it, but you know I’m not interested in him. I’m not confused or tempted, and I don’t want you sitting here wondering if there’s more to it than that.”
I needed those words more than I realized. “I know.”
His hand slid toward mine across the console. I took it, and he gave me a reassuring squeeze before letting go to turn into the parking lot of a restaurant and bar I’d passed plenty of times but never gone into.
“Hope this place is good,” I told him.
He shut off the engine. “It is.”
I arched a brow. “You’ve been here?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
He grinned. “I asked around.”
“You researched for our date?”
“I had standards to meet.”
“Mine or yours?”
“Both.”
I shook my head, then opened the car door. “Romantic as hell, Stafford.”
“You love it.”
I did.
I stepped out as he rounded the front of the car, and when he held out his hand, I didn’t hesitate to take it. For a moment, I forgot about Devon, Florida, and everything else that could ruin the night.
I didn’t realize I was smiling until he glanced over at me and asked, “What are you grinning about?”
“I’m just happy.”
“Yeah?” He beamed.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
We stepped into the restaurant, and the first thing I noticed was the dark wood lining the walls, black booths filling the room, and warm lights hanging over each table. The air smelled like grilled steak, garlic, and whiskey, which immediately reminded my stomach I’d barely eaten all day.
A hostess looked up from the stand, and Keaton said, “Reservation under Stafford.”
“A reservation?” I lifted a brow.
“Standards, remember?” He chuckled.
The hostess grabbed two menus. “Right this way.”
Keaton’s hand stayed in mine as we followed her past the bar. The bartender turned with a pint glass in his hand, and even with shorter hair, I recognized the sharp nose and smug mouth.
Westly Ridgway.
My steps faltered before I could stop them, and our joined hands pulled taut between us.
Keaton stopped immediately. “Ro?”
Ridgway’s gaze swept over my face, then Keaton’s, before dropping to our hands. The pint glass tilted in his grip, beer spilling over the rim and onto his fingers. He smiled, slow and ugly. “Well, fuck me.”
Keaton’s fingers slipped from mine, and the space between our hands lasted maybe a second, but it was long enough to piss me off, though I was angry at myself, not at him.
Once upon a time, I would’ve let a moment like that pull us apart, and I wasn’t doing that again.
I reached for his hand and threaded our fingers back together. His gaze shot to mine, but I held on.
Then I looked at Ridgway. “Problem?”
“No problem.” He set the glass down and wiped his hand on the towel draped over his shoulder. “Just didn’t expect to see you two walk in here holding hands.”
I lifted a brow. “Looks like you survived it.”
The hostess glanced between us, her polite smile beginning to crack. “Your table’s this way.”
I held Ridgway’s stare for another second before turning back to her. “Thanks.”
“Let’s go,” Keaton murmured. “You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that means someone’s about to regret breathing near you.”
“He’d deserve it.”
The hostess seated us in a booth near the back, close enough to the bar that I could still see Ridgway but far enough away that I didn’t have to hear him speak.
As I took my seat, I said, “All right. I’m not going to ruin our date because Ridgway pours beer now.”
Keaton snorted as he slid in across from me. “Careful. I work behind a bar too.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“What is then?”
I jerked my chin toward Ridgway, who was pretending to wipe down the bar, but his attention kept drifting back to us. “He is.”
Keaton followed my gaze. “We both know he’s an asshole.”
“He is, but I meant what I said. He doesn’t get to ruin this.”
“Good.”