THREE ROWAN

THREE

Rowan

“IT’S ALMOST THANKSGIVING brEAK,” Callahan announces once we’ve settled at our usual table. It’s finally lunch and I’m relieved. The day has dragged on and it’s good to know I only have two classes left before school is finished for the day. And considering seventh period is a study hall at the library, I might even skip it. Though I do like using that time to finish up any homework I might have.

Today? I’m in a fuck-it mood.

“Thank God,” I mutter, readjusting my leg, though it’s no use. I can’t get comfortable with the damn boot—still. Will I ever be comfortable again?

“Got any plans over the holiday?” Cal asks the table, his gaze landing on me.

The rest of our friends are too busy shoving food in their mouths to answer, including me. I’m starving. Flirting with Bells in advanced theater always seems to work up my appetite.

Figures she’d be in every single class I have. How does that even happen? Did she make a special request at the beginning of the year? Knowing how she is, I wouldn’t put it past her.

“We’re going to Mexico,” Cal continues when no one answers him. He’s smiling, looking pleased with his vacation plans, and I can’t blame him. “The whole family will be there, even Rhett. His team has a bye week. Fucker got lucky.”

“My sister is going?” I ask.

Willow is with Callahan’s older brother, Rhett. Their relationship is pretty serious, and if they get married, that means we’ll be brothers and I can’t lie, I like that idea. Cal and I are close. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and I wish we would’ve met earlier in life, but I guess I should be grateful he’s in my life at all.

“Yep. Your sister will definitely be there,” Cal confirms.

Can’t believe Mom and Dad are cool with Willow spending the holiday with her boyfriend’s family, but there are so many damn Lancasters running around during the holiday, I’m guessing one won’t be missed too badly.

“You should come with us,” he says.

I frown. “You leave in like, what? Two weeks?” When Cal nods, I continue, “Not that I can’t get a flight, but I’ll still have this.”

I wave a hand at the boot. Cal frowns.

So do I.

“And that’ll suck,” I finish.

“Yeah.” Cal exhales loudly. “I bet getting sand in there would irritate the shit out of you.”

“I wouldn’t even be able to go to the beach. I’d be poolside the entire time and this thing is a pain in my ass.” The resentment I have over my injury and subsequent healing process is strong, and while I know I should be glad what happened to me wasn’t something worse, I’m still not over it.

When you’re a Lancaster, you feel untouchable. That’s something I’ve always noticed but have never discussed. The generational wealth in our family makes things easy. If I didn’t want to, I’d never have to lift a finger or work for the rest of my life, but that’s not my plan. I can’t stand the thought of sitting idle and doing nothing. How freaking boring.

That’s half the reason I started playing football. It felt like something different—a challenge that I was eager to accept. My parents didn’t like the idea from the start, not even my father. He was worried I would get hurt, and look. His worries came true.

“We’ll have to go somewhere tropical for spring break then,” Cal says.

“For sure,” I agree with a nod, relaxing some when Cal turns his attention to another one of the guys at the table.

I toyed with the idea of leaving after the first semester and finishing my senior year early, but what would I do? I don’t have a clue. Not that much is happening on campus anyway, and I already have all the credits necessary to graduate. Yeah yeah, I know I’d be missing out on all of those senior moments that will happen during the rest of the school year, but is it really that big of a deal?

I don’t know.

I’m restless. That’s my problem. And frustrated with the fractured ankle and the boot and not being able to play football any longer. I had visions of our team winning the state championship, and when that didn’t happen, I sort of gave up on this place. There aren’t many people I would miss if I left. Definitely Callahan, and I know that fucker would miss me too …

My gaze snags on the one other person who I think I would miss once I left campus.

Arabella. Bells.

She’s standing in line at the salad bar, loading her bowl with a wide variety of veggies while chatting with her friends. She doesn’t even notice me, which gives me ample time to stare at her without worry of getting caught.

Felt like something shifted a little between us during theater. It was the way she blatantly said that I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible in that class. How I responded with “In your dreams” and she didn’t deny it. In fact, her cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, which never really happens because usually she’s the one who goes around making people blush.

Does she dream about me?

Would she ever admit it if she did?

Probably not. She plays it coy. Acts like half the time she’s not into me, as if it’s all for show. Yet again I wonder if she’s actually interested in Callahan and I turn my attention to him, staring.

Hard.

He catches on quick.

“What’s your problem?”

“Tell me the truth.” I do my best to smooth out my features and put out a neutral vibe. Like nothing is bothering me. Life is fucking good . “You into Arabella or nah?”

Cal looks at me as if I’m crazy. “Definitely nah. I already told you this. Multiple times. When are you ever going to believe me?”

I lean back in my chair, watching him carefully. “Just wanting to confirm.”

His expression switches to perplexed in an instant. “Why do you care so much anyway? If I was into her, would it bother you?”

“I don’t know.” I snap my lips shut, startled by my response. That is about as close to the truth as I’m willing to get. Why? I’m not sure.

That’s a lie. Admitting my feelings to someone—even to myself—is opening my heart wide open, only for someone to crush it.

Would Arabella do that? Crush my heart if I gave it to her? That’s some sappy shit, but a warranted question. After all, she is a little reckless.

“You don’t know if you care? Or you don’t know if it would bother you that I liked her?”

“My answer was to both of those questions.” I go quiet, realizing I sound like a jackass.

“Uh huh.” His gaze narrows and I look away, not wanting to be scrutinized. I don’t need Cal trying to figure me out right now, when I can’t even figure myself out.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re not playing her,” I tack on, grimacing the moment the words leave me.

Talk about an excuse.

He actually laughs, the asshole. “ Me playing her? That’s more your game, my friend.”

I frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve been playing her for years. She’s had a thing for you since we were freshmen.”

He’s right. I know he is.

“I think the two of you are totally into each other, but neither of you will ever make a move. Not sure why.” Cal shrugs and resumes eating his lunch.

I stare at my tray, my appetite gone. The truth hurts—that’s how that clichéd saying goes, and it’s one hundred percent accurate. There’s a small part of me that can admit that I’m … curious about Arabella. To see if the banter and the spark and the goddamned chemistry we seem to share would carry over into … what?

A relationship?

I don’t think that’s what I want. Not right now. I know my parents’ relationship is solid, and they first started seeing each other in high school during their senior year, which is unfathomable to me. How did they know they would be right together? How many people had they been with before?

That’s a question I’ve never asked because I didn’t want to know the answer. My parents seem to fit, like two pieces of a puzzle. As if they were made for each other. Dad is still into Mom. He looks at her as if she’s his entire world, and lately, I wonder about that. How do I look at any girl? Particularly Arabella?

Maybe I need to talk to her and clear the air once and for all. I’m positive the two of us could never actually work. She’s too all over the place and I’m too tightly contained. She’s a free spirit and I’m more reserved. She wants all of the attention all the time, whether it’s good or bad, while I’d rather lurk in the shadows.

Damn it, the way I’m mentally describing myself, I sound like a freaking vampire.

“Hello, boys.”

We all glance up to find Arabella standing at the head of the table, on the complete opposite side of where I’m currently sitting. Two of her friends linger behind her, all three of them each clutching their tray with a heaping salad bowl on it.

The table offers a murmured hello with the exception of me. Sometimes I act like a dick just because I can.

This is one of those times.

“Mind if we join you?” Bells asks this every time she wants to sit at our table, and every time, we let her. It’s almost like a little ritual she enjoys participating in.

“Please.” Cal kicks out the chair closest to him. “Sit.”

They all settle in, taking the last available chairs, and my friends watch them covertly, almost as if they’re spying on them. Which makes sense considering …

Arabella’s friends are almost as beautiful and fashionable as she is.

Hadley Michaels is an ice queen and Simone Vincent never stops smiling. The fact that they’re friends has always confused me because they’re complete opposites. But I don’t think about their friendship much. Only when it comes to Arabella, who spends most of her time with them.

Hadley sits next to Callahan, immediately turning her back on him to speak to Simone, who sits on the other side of her. Cal sends me a helpless look, amusement in his gaze, and I just shake my head.

Hadley can be a total bitch, but she owns it, so I don’t hold it against her. It’s just part of her personality.

Arabella sits in the empty space directly across from me. I watch as she grabs her fork and points it straight at me, her eyes glittering with an unfamiliar emotion.

“I’m mad at you.” She stabs her fork in my direction with each word spoken, as if she’s making a point.

“What did I do now?” I purposely try to sound bored, stretching out my legs so my feet nudge closer to where hers rest directly under her chair. Trying to get under her skin in any way possible by invading her space. She invades mine on the daily, so it seems appropriate.

Bells glances over at Simone, who takes that as her cue to lean over the table, her gaze meeting mine. “I have it on good authority that you’re meeting up with Lydia Fraser after school.”

I make a scoffing noise. “Who told you that?”

“I can’t name my sources.” Simone’s voice is prim, her lips thinning. Giving me the impression that she’s making good on her statement and won’t talk.

Jesus. This is how rumors are spread.

“I’m not meeting up with Lydia after school,” I declare to the girls. The guys aren’t paying us any attention, save for Cal who has no choice, considering he’s sitting in the middle of all of us. “I don’t know who told you that or why.”

“So it’s not true?”

I glance over at Arabella, surprised to hear the relief in her voice. “No, it’s not. Who said that?”

“She did.” Bells nods toward Simone. “And Lydia told her.”

“Arabella!” Simone scolds, her eyes practically bugging out of her head. “I told you not to say a word.”

“I can’t lie to him.” Arabella shrugs, her gaze meeting mine, all the sincerity shining in her dark eyes. I’m tempted to reach over and whip off her glasses. Have I ever seen her without them before? I don’t remember. “He needs to know who’s spreading rumors about him.”

Lydia. She’s beautiful. A pain in the ass and mean as a snake. We rarely talk—I prefer steering clear of her, which means I’m baffled why my name is coming from her lips anyway. It’s fucking wild.

But this wouldn’t be the first time someone was talking about me and making up stories. When you’re a Lancaster, this sort of thing is fairly common.

“You have a problem with me meeting someone after class?” I ask Arabella, my voice low.

She slowly shakes her head, her dark brown gaze never straying from mine. “Not at all.”