Chapter 18

Eighteen

Kyleigh

Rowan is outside the gate when my Uber pulls up outside the building.

I tried to give myself a pep talk on the way over here. We haven't known each other for long. I should be fine with telling him we can't see each other anymore. The problem is, I also have to tell him who I am, which compounds the problem because we don't get to just part ways. We'll still have to see one another when Conor is involved, and I know I won't be able to see Rowan without remembering how good we are together.

He meets me at the Uber, opening my door and holding his hand out for me. This man toes that line between fuck buddies and making me wonder if we're dating, but I guess maybe he's just treating me with respect. Truth is, I wouldn't still be fucking him if he was kicking me out of his apartment five minutes after he came or not showing any signs of being a decent human being.

"Hey," he says when I accept his hand and step out of the car.

"Nice of you to meet me."

That low laugh I've come to expect slips out of him. "Too nice?"

"Not at all." I rise to my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "Thanks."

His hand goes limp in mine. Shit. Shit. Shit. That was something a girlfriend would do.

"Let's go." I change the subject, pushing away the awkwardness as if it never happened. I tug him toward the security gate, but he doesn't budge.

"I'm actually starving, and I don't have anything at my place. Mind if we go get pizza or something?"

I can't tell if he's joking or serious, which makes me conflicted on how to answer. I haven't eaten anything all day either, so I could use some food, but that's against the few rules we mapped out when we ventured into this agreement.

"You're serious?"

He nods, not letting go of my hand. "I promise, we can go dutch so it's not a date."

"You want to get pizza?"

"Yeah. I promise not to read into it."

I roll my eyes at his joke. "Okay, but no deep dish. Takes too long."

I pull him the opposite way he's facing because if we're going, we're going to my favorite place. It might be easier this way anyway. Telling him I'm Conor's sister in public might prevent him from getting too outwardly angry at me.

"Hard bargain," he says, walking in line with me.

Now I understand the hat. He was wearing it that day at breakfast too. It's his way of trying not to be recognized. Lucky for him, my favorite place is kind of a dive, so even if people recognize him, they probably won't approach him. The clientele isn't really the selfie type.

"I like you taking control," he says, his thumb running along my pointer finger.

"Stop petting me." I go to unwind my hand from his, but he tightens his hold.

"I'm making sure you don't wander into the street."

"Yeah, I might go chase a butterfly."

I stop at the corner and look at him. He steps closer, tucking our entwined hands behind my back, tugging me into him and kissing me for everyone around us to see. I should push him away and say PDA is a boundary we can't cross, but I don't. Instead, I kiss him back, and I actually slide my tongue into his mouth.

Thankfully, a few guys in their twenties whistle when we don't move on the walk signal. Rowan ends the kiss, lowers his hat with his free hand, and we walk across the street.

We arrive at the pizza place, and I request a small booth in the back. I sit on the side of the booth that faces the door, so Rowan's back is to everyone. I don't love the hat if I'm honest. His hair is too great to be hidden.

"Right now, I want to be one of those cheesy couples who sit on the same side of the booth," he says, his foot playing with mine under the table.

"Yeah, we don't need a headline like ‘Rowan Landry Fingers Some Random Girl at a Pizza Joint.'" I pick up the menu as if I don't know what I'm going to order. Rowan takes his finger and lowers the top of my menu so he can see my face. "What?"

His smile that's usually on display when I'm with him isn't there, and my stomach clenches. Maybe he wanted to come to a public place because he's already found out who I am, or maybe he wants to break it off.

"Two things." He holds up his two fingers. "One, you're not some random girl. Two, can you please stop thinking of me as Rowan Landry?"

I sink back into the booth, cross my legs, and rest my hands in my lap. A part of me wants to ask more questions about number one, but I go right to the number two. Because he doesn't know how right he is about number one. "I'm sorry. I know who you are, obviously, but that's not why I'm doing this. You know that, right?"

He shrugs, and I sigh.

"Rowan," I whisper, "You know I knew who you were the night of the wedding. But I didn't go up to your room because of who you are in hockey or who you are in Chicago. I went up to your room because you made me laugh and the ease between us. I thought this would end that night, but it didn't. I'm not sleeping with you so I can tell people I'm sleeping with Rowan Landry, professional hockey player. It's just hard to separate you from the icon you are. Does that make sense?"

He picks up his silverware wrapped in a paper napkin and plays with the paper napkin ring with his fingers. "Ever wish you could meet someone who didn't know who you are?"

More than he knows. I smile, but it's strained. "I'm not famous."

He tosses the paper napkin ring to the side and nods. "I'm not famous either. I can go a lot of places without anyone recognizing me, but just once I'd love to know for certain that someone isn't trying to use me."

My mouth falls open, and I slide out of my side of the booth and into his. I take his head in my hands. "Is that what you think?"

He doesn't say anything.

"Hi, I'm Ellen, your wait?—"

I put up my hand. "Can you give us five, Ellen?"

I'm pretty sure she goes away because Rowan's eyes land on mine after diverting to hers for a second. "Answer my question."

"I don't think so, until you refer to me using my first and last name. Like it's out of the realm of possibility that I'm here with you. I don't like it."

I search his face for where this insecurity is coming from. Has he been scorned by someone before? Did he fall for some woman who pretended to love him because he's a professional athlete? I really hope not.

"Why are you worried even if I was? I mean, we're not a couple…"

He takes my hands off his cheeks and lowers them to his lap. "When I'm with you, I forget who I am to the outside world. I'm just a guy who met a girl that he can't stop thinking about all the time. Then I get reminded of how you might think of me, and I'm not sure…shit, just forget what I said."

My chest squeezes, and my stomach whooshes down to my feet. "Why are we forgetting it?"

His hand slides to my knee, and he lifts the edge of my dress, so his palm is touching my skin. He inches it up to my mid thigh. "Because I sound like an idiot. Asking you to separate me from the hockey player. It's just?—"

I press my hand on his covering my thigh. "I get it. I do. When I'm with you, I only see you as the guy I'm fucking. The guy that…" I don't want to tell him all my internal battles to make sure I keep him in a category where I won't be hurt. Not that I love him, but I like him. A lot. And now I have to end this, tell him who I am, and see him from time to time and pretend there was never anything between us. "I wish we were different."

He tilts his head, not understanding what I'm saying.

"I kind of wish we were both in the headspace to be looking for something. That dating was an option for us. But it's not."

He frowns, and his palm glides up my leg. "I get what you're saying."

I don't miss that he doesn't say, "I wish dating were an option too." It tells me where I stand with him, which I can't argue. Regardless of whether he can't stop thinking of me, this was our deal. And I'm in no way ready to venture into a new relationship with all the crap with my mom still swirling through my head. I'm not even sure I believe in true love anymore.

His finger runs over the outside of my underwear, and we both groan. "Want to get the pizza to go before I can't control myself and finger the woman consuming me in some pizza joint?"

He's deflecting, not wanting to talk about his feelings, and I can't call him out because I'm hiding so much myself. I need to tell him I'm Conor Nilsen's sister, that I found out my mom is cheating on my dad, and that my head is all over the place, which is why I didn't tell him sooner.

Then he slides a finger under the elastic of my underwear, toying with my clit. He lowers his head, and he whispers, "I need you."

I raise my hand. "Ellen!"

We get the pizza to go, and it grows cold on Rowan's counter as we finish what we started at the pizza place. Once again, I can't bring myself to tell him who I really am.

One more day, I tell myself. Just one more day.