by JB Salsbury
Her shoulders stiffen. “Not all women are going to jump at every snap of your fingers—”
I snap.
She startles. “That doesn’t count,” she says, fighting a smile.
That tiny twitch of her lips douses my anger.
“It so counts,” I say on an exhale and throw the truck in drive. “Where to?”
She gives me the address and I resist the urge to ask if she’s sure that’s her address because the area is a rundown part of town known for gang violence. “You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s not a big deal. I don’t have any other plans for the day.” I take a left at the light and the silence in the cab becomes stifling. “You have quite a commute to campus, huh?”
She turns and looks out the window, her hands clenched tightly to a well-used copy of Stephen King’s Doctor Sleep. “It’s not bad.”
“You didn’t want to look for a place closer to campus?”
“I did, but…” Her fingers tug at the already frayed pages of her book. “It’s expensive.”
I turn away with a whispered curse. Insensitive prick. I don’t intentionally forget that not everyone is as financially stable as my family.
“Listen, about what happened in the library…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, it was pretty obvious to anyone within eyeshot that you and Callie dated.”
I side eye her and smirk. “Dated? No.”
“I’m just saying you two have intimate history.” She spins to face me. “Do you and your roommates make a habit of bouncing your women from bed to bed?”
I cringe because when she says it like that…
“Whatever.” She’s back to worrying the pages of her book. “It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s not. And yet, it seems to upset you.” I sense her tension from across the cab.
“I…”
“You…?”
She sniffs. “I don’t know, I guess I just feel like all women really want is a man, one man, who’ll put them above all others, be faithful to only them, and maybe that’s old fashioned but I really believe if Callie was being honest, she would say she doesn’t like being…passed around.”
“She seems to like it just fine.” I don’t give her the vivid details of how I know that because my mom raised me to be a gentleman. I’ll leave Callie’s cries of pleasure from the study room to speak for themselves.
“Of course she does. Because the illusion of love is better than not being loved at all.”
“You’re saying she likes to fuck because it’s as close to feeling loved as she can get?” That’s some deep shit.
“I wouldn’t say it exactly like that, but yes. At the heart of all human beings we crave companionship, partnership, no one really wants to be alone, bouncing from one casual uncommitted encounter to the next. We want to be remembered and considered, and we crave loyalty.”
“It’s a little naive to assume everyone wants that.” Although, I have to admit it does sound nice. What she explained is the kind of relationship my parents have, my sister has… I can see the draw.
She drops her chin. “I guess it is.”
“Is that what you’re looking for, Rowan?”
“It’s what I’m waiting for, yeah.”
Whoa. Cue the brakes. Waiting for? Is Rowan Campbell a virgin?
I mean sure, she’s smart, a little closed off, but she’s hot. There’s no way she hasn’t had plenty of opportunities to have sex.
As we get closer to her place she gives me directions on where to turn until we’re rolling through a run-down neighborhood in Inglewood. Squat chain-link fences, cars on bricks in driveways, and even at noon there’s shady as fuck dudes lingering on street corners.
“The gray house on the right.”
The house is small, but the lawn is green and there are boxes of fresh flowers on the patio. Old, small, but well loved.
I pull into the driveway behind Rowan’s old Jetta and smile. “You’re still cruising the Jetta.”
Her shoulders slump. “Yeah, I was, but she may have breathed her last breath.”
I put the truck in park. “I’ll check it out.”
“What do you know about cars?”
“My mom’s a mechanic. She taught me and my sister everything she knows.” I hop out of the truck and head to the silver Jetta that looks about the same as it did in high school with the addition of oxidized spots on the roof and hood. I hold out my hand. “Keys?”
She fishes them from her bag and hands them over. “Hold on, did you say your mom is a mechanic?”
I unlock her door and pop the hood. “She is. Best in Las Vegas.”
“That’s so cool,” she mumbles.
I prop the hood up and take a peek inside to see if anything immediately jumps out at me. “Try to start it?”
She scurries around and tries to fire the engine and the grinding sound that comes from under the hood is undeniable.
“Your starter blew.”
She rejoins me at the engine. “What?”
“See that?” I hit my phone light and move some electrical around to reveal her starter. “You need a new one.”
With her hands braced on her car, her head drops between her shoulders on a groan. “This is going to cost a fortune.”
“I’ll call my mom and see if she can get one overnighted from her VW vendor. I’ll put it in for you.”
“I can pay you.”
“No need.” I drop her hood and smile. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Well I can’t let you do all that for free.”
I look at my hands, covered in grease, and feel oddly comforted by it. I have the best memories of weekends tinkering in my parent’s garage while we work on my mom’s latest project and listen to Motown.
I wonder if Rowan has any family memories like that.
Something tells me I won’t like the answer.
“We’ll figure something out.” I hold up my hands. “Can I wash my hands?”
She shifts uncomfortably. “Sure.”
I head to the front door.
“Over here!”
I turn around and see her walking behind the house. I assume we’re headed to the back door until she ducks alongside the detached garage. I follow her and when she pulls out her keys to unlock the door it hits me. She doesn’t live in the house, she rents the garage.
I walk inside the dark space behind her and when the light turns on the space is smaller than I thought it would be. A one-car garage most likely built in the 20’s. No windows, and the scent of gasoline and grease lingers on the walls. There’s a sink, a table with a single hot plate, and late addition walls with a door that I assume is a bathroom.
“It’s not much,” she says clearly embarrassed.
“It’s cute.” The concrete floor is covered in multiple shaggy rugs, a twin bed made up with bright white bedding is against the wall. There are two space heaters, no television, but a bookshelf full of beat up paperbacks.
“The sink is over there.”
“Can I use your bathroom?”
She has a little of that deer in the headlights look, but nods and says, “Sure.”
I hardly fit in the tiny washroom, the shower nothing more than a tiled base surrounded by a curtain and a crappy spigot off the wall. A tiny sink is hardly big enough to get my hands in and the toilet looks like it was made for little people. It’s clean, smells like fresh baked cake and her towels are white like her bedding. I press the hand towel to my nose and my stomach growls. Whatever she uses in the shower smells like donuts and cinnamon rolls.
Rowan’s place is smaller and fifty years older than the house I share with some of my teammates and yet it’s cleaner and smells better.
I pull out my phone and hit my mom’s cell.
It rings twice before her perky voice chirps, “Care Bear!”
I grin. “Hey, mom. How’s it hanging?”
She laughs. “Good, I guess. Depends on what ‘it’ yo
u’re referring to.”
After a short exchange of small talk where I tell her I’m good, I’m getting enough sleep, and no I’m not drinking too much, I get to the point.
“Mom, I need a starter for a ’98 Jetta GLS. You think you could get your hands on one?”
“Of course.”
“A friend of mine is in a tight spot and could really use the help. If I could get it here by tomorrow…”
“Sure, I’ll make a call and have it overnighted.”
I knew mom would pull through, she always does. Excited to tell Rowan the good news, I step out of the bathroom to find her on her bed, her eyes on me.
“Is this one of your teammates?”
I pause, my gaze fixed on the pretty girl staring up at me with big, curious eyes. “Uh…no, actually it’s a girl I went to high school with.”
“A girl? Do I know her?”
“No, we didn’t hang out much then, but she’s tutoring me for my accounting final. I bombed it. Coach is giving me a chance to retake it before the bowl game.”
“That’s generous of him.” She pauses for a few seconds before she says, “Does this girl have a name?”
“Rowan Campbell.”
“Do you want me to send the part directly to Rowan?”
“No, I’ll put it in so just send it to me.”
“Alright, son.” Why does it sound like she’s smiling? “I’ll get it ordered now.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“I love you.”
“Love you.” I hit end and stuff my phone, coming to sit on the bed next to Rowan because there’s nowhere else to sit in her tiny place. “Your new starter should be here tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding? How is that possible?”
“My mom is kind of a big deal in the car world. Anyway, I have a team meeting tomorrow after our tutoring session, but I can swing by after and put it in for you.”
“That’s fine. I had to cancel my cleaning jobs until I get it fixed so I’ll be here.” She stands up and crosses to the bookshelf where she pulls out a tin box with a lock on it. After a quick fumble with the lock, she opens it and pulls out a stack of cash, counting tens, fives, and ones. “I can pay you monthly—”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“—maybe sixty a month.” She’s still counting her money.
I stand and move behind her, reaching around and putting my hand on her hands. “Stop.” She can’t see me dip my head and smell her hair. Mmm…warm sugar cookies. Yum.
“I have to pay you back.”
“Let me do this for you.” Usually I’d appreciate a woman who doesn’t want to accept a handout, but not with Rowan. After the shit I pulled in high school, allowing her to take the fall for my cheat sheet water bottle, this is the least I can do. I don’t frequently come in contact with people as hard up as Rowan. She’s clearly hurting for cash, and she works her ass off. The combination gives me an overwhelming desire to take care of her, and I would really fucking appreciate it if she’d just let me.
She puts her money away and when she turns around she startles at how close I’m standing. I should take a step back, give her some space, but I can’t force my feet to cooperate.
“There has to be something you want.”
I want to push the wisps of hair that fall around her face out of her eyes. I want to trace the freckles on her cheeks with my fingertips. I want to taste her lips. More than anything, I want that. “I can’t think of anything.” My fucking voice cracks.
“Hm…” She runs her teeth over her bottom lip and I feel a growl of jealousy rumble behind my ribs. “How about dinner? I can make you dinner.”
“Really? You cook?”
Her gaze darts to her makeshift kitchen. “I used to. I can’t do much here, but I’ll come up with something.”
“You can do it at my house.”
She holds out her hand. “Deal.”
I take her tiny hand in mine marveling at how soft it is and allowing my thumb to brush against her knuckles. “Deal.”
“Just let me know which night works best for you.”
“Tomorrow.”
Her eyes grow big. “Oh…um.”
God I sound like an overeager hard-on. “I’ll fix your car, and then you can hit the store in your updated ride and meet me at my place.” She looks worried, so I dip down to get her eyes. “If that doesn’t work—”
“No, that’s fine. I’m just nervous. I haven’t cooked for anyone in a long time.”
“Something you should know about me? I fucking love food. There’s nothing you could make I wouldn’t like, trust me on that.”
She smiles and I feel that shit in my chest. “That does make me feel better.”
I want to touch her. I want to walk her to her bed and kill the rest of the day drowning in her body, so I step back and shove my hands in my pockets. “I should go.” Or you could ask me to stay.
“Okay. Thanks again for the ride and everything.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t forget to go over the collection period ratio, including the accounts receivable turnover.”
“Fuck, you know how to talk dirty.” I smirk.
“Shut up.” She tucks loose strands of her hair behind her ear. “Just…go over it okay. I feel bad, we didn’t really get to finish that, um, this morning.”
“I will.” I throw myself toward the door before I do something I’ll regret. Or worse, I won’t regret at all.
I step through the door, then stop and turn around. “Rowan.”
She tilts her head back to give me her eyes.
“How are you getting to campus tomorrow?”
“City bus.”
“No.” No fucking way. “I’ll take you.”
She laughs. “That’s dumb. You’ve already done too much. You can’t be my chauffeur.”
“I can.” The thought of Rowan walking to the bus stop in this neighborhood at three in the morning to get to work makes me fucking homicidal.
She crosses her arms at her chest. “You’re going to get up, drive across town at three in the morning to get me to Bean Madness by four o’clock in the morning?”
Damn, that is early.
When her palm rests on my bicep my brain momentarily short circuits. “I’ll be fine, really. Don’t worry, I will make sure nothing happens to me so you won’t fail your accounting final.” She smiles sweetly.
I frown, miserably staring at her hand that she quickly retracts from my arm. She thinks I’m worried about something happening to her because of my stupid final?
Rather than rip into her about her obvious low opinion of herself and me, I back away. “See you tomorrow, Rowan.”
She seems a little worried, maybe she thinks I’m mad at her. I am. Not mad, so much as frustrated. And not at her so much as myself. I’ve never had a hard time controlling my temper with women before. With Rowan, I want to shake her and kiss her until she agrees to do what I say. Agrees to keep herself safe.
I head to my truck trying to shake off these feelings I’ve begun to have that I can’t explain and have no use for.
I tell myself when I get into my truck that I’m a twenty-one-year-old male with hot blood. It would be weirder if I didn’t fantasize about screwing my cute, innocent tutor.
“Don’t overthink it,” I say to myself as I back out of Rowan’s driveway counting down the hours until I get to see her again.
Chapter Five
Rowan
At three-fifteen in the morning it’s still dark outside, and cold, when I leave for work. I did my best to dry my hair, but it’s so thick I ended up wrapping it up in a bun to keep the damp locks off my back. I need a haircut but refuse to spend the money on something as superficial as my hair.
I zip up my hoodie and with my pepper spray in hand begin my trek to the bus stop two blocks away. If the bus is on time I should get to Bean Madness in time to enjoy a few sips of coffee before I unlock the doors.
I
make it past my Jetta when I see a strange car parked in the street at the end of my driveway. I freeze. The Gonzales family, the owners of the main house, are in their late seventies and rarely have visitors, certainly none who stay the night. The big, white, lifted truck seems to be breathing as exhaust curls from the back, the brake lights giving it an ominous red glow.
I’m about to go back inside and call a cab, forfeiting the extra money I planned to spend on tonight’s dinner for Carey, when the door slams and a guy comes jogging around the front of the truck.
I’m already backing away when he says my name.
“You must be Rowan.” He spots my pepper spray and holds his hands up. “Whoa, no need for that. I’m Levi, Carey’s roommate.”
The guy looks about Carey’s size, maybe an inch or two shorter and not as muscular, but still intimidating in size. He’s wearing a baseball hat but from what I can see of his hair it looks like a light brown. He has kind eyes and a sweet boy-next-door smile.
“I’m here to give you a ride to work.”
“Why?”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his Bear State Grizzlies Football sweatshirt. “I’m the rookie in the house,” he says by way of explanation. When I don’t respond, he continues. “It’s my first year.” He steps closer and holds out his hand. “Levi McCallister, but most people call me Mac.”
He seems genuine. If he’d wanted to kidnap me or kill me he could’ve easily done it by now. I hold out my hand while keeping my pepper spray ready in my opposite hand. “Rowan Campbell.”
“I know who you are. Carey told me all about you.” He jerks his head toward the idling truck. “I’ve got the heat on, so if you’re ready to go?”
“I don’t understand why you’re here. I told Carey I was fine taking the bus.”
“I’m sure you did. The thing about Carey is, well, he’s determined.”
“Don’t you mean stubborn?”
He chuckles and the sound is light and friendly. “Yes. But it’s one of the things that makes him such a kick ass football player.” He motions toward the truck and I follow him, swallow hard and pray I’m not making a huge mistake. He opens the door and I toss my backpack in before grabbing the handle and pulling myself inside.
