15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
I feel every inch of it.
My eyes close. “Fuck.”
Rowan exhales against my neck. “Yeah?”
I moan, “Yeah.”
He moves again.
The second time is easier.
The third makes my nails dig into his back.
He laughs once under his breath.
“What?” I breathe.
“Nothing.”
I look at him. “You’re laughing.”
“You’re scratching me.”
I bite his shoulder.
“That’s worse.”
“Good.”
He lifts his head. The look on his face makes my stomach tighten.
Then he starts moving properly. I don’t know what I expected.
Maybe something more awkward. Maybe some weird moment where the fact that we’re friends and know each other outside of this makes the whole thing too intimate.
Instead, it feels like everything else between us.
Easy. Fun. Good. Hot enough that I stop caring whether I’m saying his name too loudly.
Rowan is more vocal than I expected. I like that immediately. He tells me when something feels good. He says my name when I tighten around him. He laughs when I get bossy. At some point, I tell him to stop being careful.
He looks down at me. “I’m not being careful.”
“You are.”
“I’m trying not to kill you.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“You’re small.”
“I’m not small.”
“Compared to me?”
I glare at him.
He grins.
I hook my heel behind his thigh and pull him deeper.
His grin disappears. “Fuck.”
I smile. “See?”
“You’re a menace.”
“Rambunctious.”
He laughs against my mouth.
The next few minutes stop being funny. I stop keeping track of anything except him. His hands. His weight. The sound of the bed frame tapping softly against the wall until I realize what it is and start laughing again.
Rowan freezes. “What?”
“The wall.”
He listens.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
His forehead drops to my shoulder. “Oh my God.”
I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. Rowan starts laughing too. The whole thing should ruin the moment. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it better.
He kisses me while we’re both still smiling, then moves again and the laughter turns into something else.
By the time I come, I’m gripping his shoulders hard enough that I’ll probably feel guilty later. He follows not long after. Then he collapses beside me, breathing like he just played a shift. For a while, neither of us says anything.
I stare at the ceiling. Rowan stares at me. I turn my head. His hair is a mess. His face is flushed. He reaches over and pulls me against him. That catches me off guard more than the sex did. I let my head settle against his chest. His heartbeat is still fast. So is mine. We lie there for a minute.
Then I say, “Well.”
Rowan’s chest moves under my cheek. “What?”
“That did not make me like you less either.”
He laughs. “Still testing Mara’s theory?”
“Apparently.”
“Bad theory.”
“Terrible.”
His fingers move slowly over my back.
I smile against him. “You know what’s annoying?”
“Everything?”
“I thought once we slept together, maybe it would feel less…” I wave one hand vaguely over his chest.
“Less what?”
I think about it. “Important.”
Rowan goes quiet.
I immediately regret the word. “Not important like—”
“I know what you mean.”
I look up. “Do you?”
“Yeah.”
His answer is easy, and that helps.
I rest my head again. “I don’t want this to get weird.”
“It’s already weird.”
I lift my head.
He’s smiling. “Why?”
“We were friends.”
“We’re still friends.”
“Friends don’t usually do that.”
“Some do.”
“Not us.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “I like this better.”
My heart flutters.
He smiles. “No witty comeback.”
I hug him. “Not this time.”
He looks down at me, and I cover my face.
Rowan laughs and pulls my hand away. “What?”
“You’re being annoying.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Stop saying things.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t okay me.”
He laughs harder.
I hit his chest.
We eventually get dressed because he has homework, I have an event that has apparently developed consciousness and is trying to ruin my life, and both of us have enough responsibilities that spending an entire Sunday naked would be objectively irresponsible.
Tempting. But irresponsible.
Rowan stays another two hours. He does homework at my kitchen table while I work through my clinic schedule. We order dinner. He leaves a little after seven. Before he goes, he kisses me by the door like it’s normal.
Monday is when the week starts trying to kill me. Ives looks at my updated staffing sheet for thirty seconds before circling three things.
“You have nobody floating.”
“I have Gary.”
“Gary is assigned to equipment.”
“He can move after check-in.”
“That’s not a float.”
I look down at the sheet. She’s right.
“What if something happens during the ice session?” she asks.
“What kind of something?”
“Anything. A volunteer doesn’t show. A child gets sick. A parent needs somebody. You’ve built every person into a fixed position.”
I rub my forehead. “So I need another person.”
“You need flexibility.”
That is professor language for yes.
I write it down.
By Tuesday, Derek and I are walking through the secondary locker room while somebody from facilities explains which doors can and cannot be propped open. I take seventeen notes.
One is just: Do not block this door.
The clinic is Saturday morning. Four days. I don’t feel ready. Everyone keeps telling me I am.
Wednesday, I’m in the equipment room with Donovan going through the rental list. He checks one page.
“You’re short three youth mediums.”
“What?”
“Helmets.”
“No. I counted.”
“You counted what’s physically here. Two of those are tagged out.”
I stare at the shelf. “They’re broken?”
“One has a cracked cage mount. One has no certification sticker.”
My stomach drops. “Can I get three more?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
He looks at me. “Relax.”
“I cannot relax.”
Donovan looks at my hand. I realize I am gripping the clipboard hard enough to bend it.
He reaches over and takes it from me. “Gianna.”
“Yeah?”
“You need three helmets. We have relationships with six youth programs within forty minutes of here. This is not an emergency.”
“It feels like one.”
“It isn’t.”
I breathe out. “Okay.”
“I’ll call.”
I immediately say, “I can call.”
“I know.” He gives the clipboard back. “But I’m already holding the phone.”
I smile despite myself. “Thank you.”
“Go check skates.”
I do.
That night Rowan comes over after practice. He doesn’t ask whether I need help. He shows up with food and sits at my table while I work. When I talk, he listens. At one point, I explain the helmet situation in enough detail that I hear myself becoming insane.
“They found them,” he says. “So why are we still mad?”
“Because I didn’t know they were missing.”
“You know now.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?”
I answer, “I should know everything.”
He looks at me.
I stop. “Yeah. That sounded bad.”
“A little.”
I throw my pen down. “I just don’t want to fuck this up.”
Rowan leans back. “You won’t. If something goes wrong, you’ll fix it.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “You’ve been fixing things for a month.”
That settles somewhere low in my chest. I look back at the laptop. “You’re annoyingly good at making things sound simple.”
“Life usually is.”
I watch him for a second. “You would say that.”
“It’s true.”
Thursday goes better. All seven volunteers confirm. Then an eighth does. A junior from Sport Marketing who volunteered at a youth soccer event last semester and apparently has no problem being thrown wherever I need her.
I could kiss her. I don’t. I save that for Rowan when he catches me outside the rink after practice. It’s a quick two-second kiss. Nobody sees. At this point, I’m not entirely sure Stanley doesn’t have surveillance equipment installed.