NINETEEN ROWAN

NINETEEN

Rowan

I CAN’T BELIEVE I have this gorgeous girl pinned beneath me in her bed. Her soft, lush curves fit perfectly under me and I have this vision of me sinking into her body …

The idea leaves me hard and frustrated because fuck. I haven’t been in a situation like this before. Arabella is more experienced than I am, and this shit is embarrassing to admit.

“Well?” she asks when I haven’t answered her. She’s so damn impatient most of the time.

I lift away from her so I can stare into her eyes. Memorize every single part of her beautiful face. If I’m being real with myself, I sort of miss the glasses, but her face is open and her skin is bare without a lick of makeup on and she’s the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.

Maybe it’s the alcohol I consumed earlier. Maybe it’s the fact that I jerked off in the shower to thoughts of her, trying to alleviate the pressure before I snuck into her bedroom. But it’s like I’m seeing her, really seeing her for the first time.

“I’ve kissed other girls. It’s not like you’re my first.” I scoff because come on. I’m eighteen. I’ve kissed girls.

Just not a lot of them. None of the girls I’ve been with before were what I considered worthy. I fell for one hard and she fucked me over so badly I’ve been in protection mode ever since.

“How many beds have you snuck into?” she asks in that soft, infinitely appealing voice with the faint accent that makes her sound vaguely snobbish.

But she’s not a snob. She’s open and sweet. Sometimes too open, and she wants me to be the same way with her, which is difficult for me. I keep my feelings bottled up. I don’t blurt the first thing that comes to my mind, and she always acts like that.

“Not many.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she starts, her voice loud, and I automatically cover her mouth with my hand to silence her. She blinks up at me, her breath coating my palm, and I can’t deny that she looks hot like this.

Sexy in her white T-shirt that’s so thin I can see the outline of her nipples. Those cute pale pink pajama pants she’s wearing with the little white hearts that are extra soft. I can see myself slowly pulling those pants off and exposing her completely and fuck, I think my dick just got even harder.

“It’s true,” I tell her. “I’ve kissed girls. The first one, we were in the seventh grade.”

I drop my hand from her mouth just in time for her to say, “She doesn’t count.”

“We were playing seven minutes in heaven.”

“And did you kiss her the entire seven minutes?”

“Well … no.” It was at a birthday party and we were locked in a darkened closet. I only got up the nerve to kiss her at all when the other kids started doing a countdown to the end of our seven minutes.

The girl went on to brag to anyone who would listen that it was the best seven minutes of her life. That I was the perfect kisser and she was madly in love with me. It dawned on me then that I didn’t have to do a damn thing to prove myself. People were infatuated with the idea of me more than my actual self. Rowan Lancaster the name has all of these connotations and expectations put upon it but Rowan, the actual, real person?

No one knows the real me, save for my closest family and a couple of friends, and even then, I feel like I put on a front sometimes. Who the fuck am I anyway?

“We are wasting time,” she whispers, bringing me back to the present. To the fact that I’m still lying on top of her and she’s not telling me to leave because of what I just confessed. “Kiss me, Rowan.”

I don’t hesitate, dipping my head and brushing her mouth with mine. I go on pure instinct, kissing her over and over, our lips parting with every pass, lingering. She shifts beneath me, her arms coming around me, her hands settling on my back, and without thought, I press my torso against hers, my kisses becoming fiercer.

“Go softer,” she murmurs against my lips, her hands slowly sliding up my back. “We have all night to do this. We don’t need to rush.”

I soften my approach, kissing her like we have all night, which we do. Paying attention to every little sound she makes, how her breaths quicken when our lips part wider. I swipe my tongue against her lower lip, and she moans. The sound shoots a bolt of lightning down my spine, settling in my balls.

Fuck.

Without hesitation I do it again, her tongue darting out to meet mine this time and that’s it. The kiss turns deeper as I search her mouth, sliding my tongue against hers and we don’t stop. It’s like we can’t stop. We’re too hungry for each other but all we do is kiss. Kiss and kiss and …

Kiss.

I don’t know how long we keep this up but eventually I have to pull away from her intoxicating lips because I need to breathe. She seems to need to catch her breath too and I nuzzle her neck with my face while she lies there and pants.

“You smell really fucking good,” I practically growl against her neck.

She’s smiling. I can feel it, though I don’t see it. “Thank you.”

“Should we stop?”

Arabella doesn’t even hesitate with her answer. “Absolutely not. Though I do have a question.”

“What is it?” I lift away from her neck so I can stare into her eyes. They’re dark and hazy and her lips are damp and swollen, and I’m tempted to kiss her before she can ask.

“Are we moving too fast?”

“It’s just kissing, Bells.” I kiss the right corner of her mouth. Then the left. “Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious,” she echoes. “Right.”

“I don’t know how to manage a relationship,” I continue, deciding to be completely honest with her. “What’s the point in starting one?”

“So you’re just looking for … noncommittal kissing.”

That sounds perfect.

“Accompanied by equally noncommittal sex.” She pauses, her hands falling away from my back. “Am I right?”

“Well.” I stare into her eyes, noting the flicker of irritation I see in them. “Yeah?”

“Oh, Rowan.” She lifts her hips like she’s trying to buck me off her, and I go willingly, sliding off and onto my side, still facing her. “You need to leave.”

“What the—why?” This girl and her mixed messages leave me fucking confused.

“I should’ve never told you about Bentley. Now you’ve just reduced me to your nightly plaything. Ugh.” She climbs out of bed, pushing her hair out of her face with both hands, clutching the back of her head. My gaze drops to her chest because I can’t help myself. That see-through T-shirt just does something to me and I cannot stop staring at her perfect tits. The hard nipples poking against the thin fabric. She catches me staring for what feels like the millionth time and then does the absolute craziest thing I think I’ve ever seen Arabella do.

She whips her T-shirt off in one smooth movement, standing in front of me bare-chested and those perfect tits on display.

“Is this what you want to see? Is this what you’ve reduced me to?” She reaches for the waistband of her pajama pants and shoves them down, revealing she is completely naked beneath them. Meaning she is standing in front of me without a stitch of clothing on. And I can’t stop myself from drinking her in.

She’s beautiful because of course she is, and I immediately feel like an asshole because damn, she’s pissed.

“No, of course not,” I start, but she’s shaking her head, thrusting her arm toward the door.

“You need to go.”

“Arabella …”

“Don’t try to convince me you see me as something more. You never have. Like, ever. I’m just that girl who follows you around like a lost puppy dog. The one you felt sorry for and invited to your family’s house for Thanksgiving break. This big, beautiful house with your beautiful family who all actually cares about each other and talks to each other. Do you even know how lucky you are? Probably not. You’re too secure in the fact that this is just your normal life. Not all of us have it as good as you do, Rowan.”

She reaches for the blanket draped across the foot of the bed and wraps it around her body while I just stand there, shocked by her outburst. Shocked even more by the pain in her voice. Arabella is right. I’ve never considered what’s going on with her personal life until recently, but that’s only because we’ve started talking more. And she’s the one who wanted me to sneak into her room. I do exactly what she wants, and now I’m the bad guy?

This girl makes no sense.

“I’ll leave you alone,” I bite out, a mixture of misery and anger coursing through me. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

I stalk my way out of the bedroom, pausing in the doorway when I hear her murmur, “It’s fine. I’m really good at making myself feel like that too.”

I WAKE up the next morning grumpy as shit because I slept terrible. All I could think about was Arabella getting so pissed at me that she stripped off all of her clothes, accusing me of reducing her to nothing more than a body for me to get off on. In.

Whatever.

The more I thought about her outburst, the shittier I felt, and now I’m in the dining room picking at my breakfast since I have no appetite, my brother right next to me and just as quiet as I am. I’m waiting for Arabella to make an appearance so I can apologize to her but it’s already past ten o’clock and she’s still not downstairs.

Did she leave in the middle of the night? Is she already back at Lancaster Prep? I wouldn’t doubt it. Talk about making me feel like absolute garbage. Like I drove her right out of this place in less than twenty-four hours because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, even though she claimed she wanted it. Wanted me.

Jesus. I cannot win.

“You boys grumpy this morning or what?”

Beau and I both glance up at the same time to find our father watching us, his hands on his hips, clad in golf gear—dark green pants and a crisp white polo shirt, a white visor on his head. I’m sure he’s off to the country club. It’s his new favorite pastime, playing golf with Whit.

“Grumpy,” I say at the same time that Beau says, “Or what.”

Dad laughs. We don’t.

“I’m going back to bed.” Beau leaps to his feet and leaves the dining room in a huff.

“What’s his problem?” Dad asks me once he’s gone.

“I don’t know.” I shrug.

“And what’s your problem?”

“Women,” I mutter, making Dad chuckle. “Seriously. I don’t get them.”

Dad settles into the chair at the head of the table. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not particularly,” I answer, making him chuckle.

I can’t share with him what happened last night. First of all, it’s none of his business and second of all, there’s no way I’m going to admit that I was in her room and she stripped off all her clothes in a fit of anger. Just thinking about it reminds me of how completely out of character the moment was.

But was it actually out of character? Arabella is so damn impulsive sometimes. She just—does things and thinks about them later. While I’m over here agonizing over every little point.

“I thought you two were getting along pretty great last night,” Dad says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s like we’re sending each other … mixed signals,” is what I tell him instead.

“That happens.” He nods. “Do you like her?”

Why is it so fucking hard for me to admit that I like a girl? That I might care about a girl and want to be with her? And didn’t he already ask me this yesterday? Why do they keep questioning me about her? Mom is just as bad.

All I can do is shrug my answer, which makes Dad frown. “Come on, Son. If you can’t even admit that you li—”

“I like her,” I say, cutting him off. “But please don’t mention it to Mom yet. She’ll make it this big deal and I don’t want to feel under pressure.”

I can tell it takes a lot for him to suppress the smile he wants to let loose. “Well, then. Does she like you?”

“I’m fairly certain she’s been into me for years.”

Dad lets the grin fly. “Confident much?”

“I’ve been into her too,” I admit, hanging my head so I can take a deep breath. “I just—it’s hard for me to realize that. Admit it.”

“You’ve got a lot of walls. I know what that’s like. I did too when I was your age, though for different reasons.” Dad leans forward, propping his arms on the table. “If you want to get closer to her—and she seems like a sweet girl—you’re going to have to let her break down those walls. You’ll need to be your real self with her.”

“I don’t feel like I’m my real self with anyone,” I say, sounding miserable. Feeling it too.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone has all of these expectations of me, but no one knows who I really am. At one point, I thought it was football that made me who I was. That’s different, you know? Lancasters have never really been big into sports.” Dad remains quiet, and I keep talking. “But then that all went to hell when I broke my stupid ankle.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

“I don’t know.” I keep my gaze fixed on the table in front of me. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“If you tell her that, she might understand. She’s probably trying to figure herself out too,” Dad says, his voice soft. “Your mom and I were kind of a mess when we first got together. We helped each other out.”

“Really?” I don’t ask much about their early years. That’s more Willow’s thing, and most of the time, I don’t care. I’m not into the romantic stuff, or so I thought. But now? I’m curious.

“Oh yeah. Your mom’s relationship with her parents wasn’t the best and she was a prissy little snob.” Dad bursts out laughing while I sit there in shock. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him describe her quite like that. “And I was a punk asshole with a giant chip on his shoulder who hated everyone, including your mother.”

Damn, it almost feels like he could be describing me.

“I didn’t think I liked her but honestly? I was just fighting my feelings. And once I was hooked, once I realized just how special she was …” Dad shakes his head. “I knew I could never let her go. And I was going to do whatever it took to make her happy.”

“Yeah.” I nod, letting that sink in. “I don’t know if I feel the same way about Arabella that you did about Mom.”

“You’ll figure it out.” He says this with such confidence. I wish I felt the same way he did, but I’m confused. Conflicted.

We both whip our heads in the direction of the foyer, which is filled with the sound of women’s laughter and nonstop chatter. I watch in disbelief as my mother enters the dining room with Arabella trailing after her. The two of them looking and acting like they’re old friends. The joy on Arabella’s face, the big smile stretching her mouth wide is a complete contradiction to the Arabella I saw last night.

I absently rub at my chest, right across my aching heart. I wish she smiled at me like that. Laughed with me like that. I need to earn this girl’s trust back and redeem myself.

Hopefully, I haven’t missed my opportunity.