Chapter 39
thirty-nine
When the plane lands, it jerks me awake. Rowan was right about the sleeping pods. I was able to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
Thank fuck we’re in the same time zone. I’m not the best traveler.
Stretching my arms in the air, I rock my head back and forth, sneaking a glance. Eyes closed, he’s resting his head back against the seat.
He didn’t shave this morning, so he’s sporting a little more than a five o’clock shadow. It’s a little on the lighter side compared to the caramel tone of his hair, almost reddish. And fuck if I’m not here for it.
Hair a rumpled, sexy mess, his thick, dark eyelashes fan across his face. Lips slightly parted, his muscular chest rises and falls with each soft breath.
The sudden urge to lean over and press my lips to his comes right out of left field, and it causes me to suck in a breath.
“I can feel your eyes on me, Izzy.”
Mother. Fucker.
“Fuck off. No, you can’t.”
Before I can look away, he cracks one eye open, smirking when he catches me staring at his mouth.
“Did you sleep okay?”
I look away, focusing my attention on folding the blanket I’d used during my nap. “I did. Thanks.”
“Good.”
The plane taxis down the runway, slowing as it nears the PBB. Before it even comes to a complete stop, the cabin erupts with movement from all the passengers hurriedly gathering their belongings, vying for the opportunity to be the first to get off the plane.
Shoving his hat and sunglasses on, Rowan gets up to grab our bags from the overhead compartment.
Comments from “Love your movies,” to “I love you, Rowan Cole!” come from passengers as they shuffle past.
Rowan just grins and nods, saying, “Thanks so much,” and “Appreciate it.”
After handing me my bag, he grabs my hand. “You might want to put your sunglasses on. The flashbulbs can get pretty bright, even in daylight.”
“Flashbulbs?”
He wasn’t kidding. As soon as we exit the walkway leading us off the plane, things go from calm to chaotic in an instant.
Lights flash as photographers shout Rowan’s name, taking pictures while shoving at each other to get in a good spot for a better shot.
A Black man in a dark suit—who must be at least six foot three and no less than two-hundred and fifty pounds—suddenly shows up out of nowhere, making me take a step back in alarm.
“It’s okay, Iz,” Rowan says, squeezing my hand. “This is Evo. My bodyguard and driver. Evo. This is Lizzy. My girlfriend.”
Jeez, he’s a big dude.
Evo nods his head once. “Miss Lizzy.”
“Giant.”
Evo’s eyes sparkle, lips twitching before he falls back into serious mode and glances at Rowan. “Car’s waiting. Let’s go.”
We hurry after Evo as he moves through the crowd like he’s Moses parting the Red freakin’ Sea.
Head down, I keep my focus on the heels of Evo’s shoes and the firm grip of Rowan’s hand holding mine.
When we finally make it outside and the California sunshine hits my face, I’m instantly grateful for the sunglasses. The air is drier than back home, with a hint of something else I can’t quite place.
“This way,” Evo states as Rowan guides me toward a sleek black SUV with tinted windows.
The giant bodyguard opens the door, and we quickly slide into the back seat. The leather is cool against my skin as I sink into it, finally able to breathe now that we’re away from the cameras.
My heart is racing a million miles an hour. “Talk about intense.”
“Sorry about that.” Rowan takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. “I expected a few paps, but not that many. Someone must have tipped them off.”
“Is it always like that?”
“Not always.” He gives me an apologetic smile. “You okay?”
I nod, turning to look out the window as Evo pulls away from the curb. Los Angeles is all palm trees, gleaming buildings, and endless traffic. Not only is it exactly what I expected, it’s nothing like I imagined either.
“How long till we get to your place?” I ask, trying not to think about the fact that I’m about to spend the weekend with Rowan at his house. Alone.
“About forty minutes, traffic permitting,” he says, checking his phone. “Hungry?”
“Starving, actually.”
Rowan grins. “Evo, let’s make a stop at In-N-Out.”
“Of course, Mr. Cole,” his deep voice rumbles from the driver’s seat.
I’ve heard of In-N-Out, obviously. Everyone has. But we don’t have them back home, and I’ve always wanted to try one of their burgers.
“I figured you’d be into fancy restaurants,” I retort, trying to sound calm, even though I’m still reeling from being ambushed by the paparazzi. “Now that you’ve gone all Hollywood on us and shit.”
“Nope,” Rowan chuckles, shaking his head. “First thing I do whenever I come back to L.A. is grab an In-N-Out burger. Some traditions are sacred.”
As we weave through traffic, I stare out the window, taking in the palm trees and billboards featuring faces I recognize from movies and TV shows. It’s surreal being here with Rowan. I can’t help but think about how different our lives have become.
“So this is your world,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
“Part of it,” he replies, tone softer than before. Sunglasses perched on top of his head, he’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. “It’s not spotlights and red carpets all the time.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Trust me.” Rowan gives me a wry smile. “Even after all these years, there are times I still feel like that twelve-year-old kid who grew up in Lakeside.”
It’s not until he squeezes my hand that I realize he’s been holding it this whole time.
The drive to In-N-Out doesn’t take long. When we pull into the parking lot, I can smell the delicious aroma of grilled burgers and fresh fries.
“Wait here,” Rowan says, putting his hat and sunglasses back on as Evo rounds the car to open his door. “We’ll grab the food.”
“I can come with—”
“No,” he cuts me off gently. “Stay in the car. This isn’t about us being seen together right now.”
All I can do is watch, waiting patiently as they head inside.
Through the windshield, I can see Rowan ordering, completely at ease despite a few people doing double-takes. A teenage girl approaches him tentatively, phone in hand. He gives her a warm smile, posing for a selfie before returning to the counter.
It’s so weird seeing him like this—in his element as Rowan Cole, movie star—the boy I once knew replaced by this confident man who seems to navigate the price of fame with ease.
Ten minutes later, they return with bags of food that fill the car with a multitude of mouthwatering aromas.
“Double-double, animal style,” Rowan announces with a grin, handing me a warm, paper-wrapped burger. “And fries. A true California experience.”
I take a bite and nearly moan. “Holy shit, this is really fucking good.”
“Right?” His smile is smug as he digs in.
When we finally pull up to a gated driveway, the sun is high in the sky, glinting off a pair of large, black iron gates.
Evo pushes a button above the rearview mirror. The gates slowly part, revealing a long driveway. When we turn the corner, my jaw hits the floor.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, practically pressing my face against the glass. “This is where you live?”
The driveway curves through meticulously landscaped grounds, leading to what can only be described as a modern mansion. All clean lines and massive windows, the house looks as if it’s built into the hillside, offering what is sure to be breathtaking views of the city below.
“Home sweet home,” Rowan says casually, a hint of nervousness in his voice as he watches my reaction.
As soon as we roll to a stop in front of the house, Evo climbs out and opens my door before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Thanks,” I mumble, stepping out and craning my neck to take in the full scale of the place.
It’s intimidating and gorgeous. A perfect reflection of the life Rowan has built for himself so far away from our childhood home.
Sunlight bounces off floor-to-ceiling windows, and I can see glimpses of an infinity pool wrapping around one side of the house.
Coming to stand beside me, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “What do you think?”
“It’s...” I search for the right word. “A lot.”
The sound of his laugh carries across the quiet hillside. “Come on. I’ll give you a quick tour.”
He raises a hand to Evo as he pulls away.
“Does Evo live here, too?”
“Kind of. He stays in the guesthouse on the other side of the property. Keeps to himself. He won’t bother us unless he has a reason.”
Rowan presses his thumb to a small panel beside the enormous front door. It swings open effortlessly, and I follow him inside. As I walk into the open-concept living space, I’m momentarily stunned.
Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating polished concrete floors and mid-century modern furniture. The entire back wall is mostly made of glass, framing a view of Los Angeles that steals my breath away.
“This is... insane,” I murmur, slowly turning in a circle to take it all in.
“It’s just a house,” he says with a shrug, but I can tell he’s pleased by my reaction.
“Just a house? This place is bigger than all the buildings on Main Street back home put together.”
He snorts. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
I cast him a glance over my shoulder. “Close enough.”
Mesmerized by the sprawling city below, I wander over to the wall of windows. The infinity pool extends right up to the edge, creating the illusion that it merges with the horizon. It’s like something out of a movie—which I guess makes sense, considering who owns it.
“Come on,” he says, picking up our bags. “Let me show you to your room.”
I follow him up a floating staircase to the second floor. It’s just as impressive as the first, with a long hallway lined with more windows and pieces of abstract art that probably cost more than my car.
“This is you.” Rowan pushes open a door to reveal a guest bedroom that’s bigger than my loft.
A king-sized bed butts up against a wall painted a soft sage green, covered in a fluffy, plush white comforter. The rest of the room is decorated in earthy tones. It’s luxurious and cozy.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Rowan says, nodding toward a door on the far side of the room. “Closet’s on the left. Make yourself at home.”
I walk over to the long bank of windows. These ones offer a different, but equally stunning view, of the city. “This is the guest room? Seriously?”
“Is it okay?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice that makes me turn to look at him.
“It’s perfect.” I shrug off my jacket, tossing it onto the bench at the foot of the bed. “Though I am kind of afraid to touch anything.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Leaning against the doorframe, his chuckle is low and sexy. “Everything in this house is meant to be used.”
Trying not to let my gaze linger on the sexy bulk of his biceps, I make an attempt at snark instead. “Even that ridiculously expensive-looking painting in the hallway?”
“Well, maybe not that,” he concedes with a grin. “That’s a Basquiat. It’s worth more than this house.”
My eyes widen. “Holy shit.”
“There’s a robe and fresh towels in the bathroom,” he says, pushing off from the doorframe. “My room is down the hall. If you want, we can go swimming later? We’ve got the rest of the night to relax. Tomorrow, however, is another story.”
“Right. The party at the gallery.”
He nods. “I’ve got some things lined up to help you get ready.”
“What kind of things exactly? I brought a dress.”
“It’s not a big deal. Just a couple of stylist friends of mine who are coming over to help with hair and makeup. The party is going to be pretty upscale.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I do know how to dress myself, you know. Been doing it for years.”
“I know,” Rowan says quickly, holding up his hands. “I just thought... it might be fun to pamper you. But if you’d rather not—”
“No, it’s fine,” I cut him off, feeling like a bitch for snapping at him. “That would be... nice. Thank you.”
As an awkward silence descends, I’m suddenly fully aware we’re standing in a bedroom with a massive bed just a few feet away. My mind flashes back to our time in the shed, his hands kneading my flesh, his mouth on my—
“I’ll let you get settled,” he says, mercifully interrupting my train of thought. “Come down whenever you’re ready.”