“Don’t go getting ahead of yourself, old man. I just met him.”
“Mark my words, baby girl. He’s gonna end up being something really special. I’d bet on it.”
Okay, maybe I’ll keep the cleats at home when I walk across Damn Tom’s lawn.
*****
Unsure of what time Rowan’ll be picking me up, I start getting ready around five. Sheena, the dating queen, always seems to leave around seven. It’s a good a guess as any, I suppose. Then, at quarter after five, I wonder what the hell I was thinking getting dressed so soon. Being a simple girl with a simple wardrobe, thirty minutes is my absolute max, and that was for Homecoming.
Picking up my phone, I text Sheena since I just realized I haven’t talked to her all day. And let me tell you … hindsight, it’s annoying. No sooner than I tell her I’m dressed and waiting on Rowan, she’s running across the three yards between our houses, flying into my room, and bouncing on my bed, demanding to do the hair and makeup thing again.
“Thanks for the offer, Ulta Makeover Department, but I’m gonna stick with what I’ve got going on.”
Sheena scrunches up her nose, shakes her head, and goes to her purse. “Here, try this.” From her Poppins Bag, she pulls out a black dress. All of the nos. If the dress fits in a purse, it’s too skimpy for me.
“Cool your jets, I look good.” I glance down at my black capri leggings and fitted gray tee with a dip in the front to show off the cleavage generously provided by the pushup bra I stole from Sheena weeks ago. No regrets. I look like me.
“Jansen did tell me Rowan’s kind of weird. Not like the other douchey assholes. He’s down to earth and simple, I guess.”
“Looks like my outfit choice was spot on, then, huh?” Maybe I’m not so bad at dating after all.
“Honestly? These pants make your bubble butt look amazing. Like, I can’t stop staring at it, and I really like dudes. Like, I just want to smack your ass or something. And the shirt, it’s carefree but still sexy. You gonna wear sandals or Chucks?”
“We’re gonna have a talk about your obsession with my butt later,” I joke. “And on the not-so-pervy note … Chucks. The purple ones.” Sheena tosses them to me from their resting spot under my desk. When I pull the ensemble together, she offers a nod of approval. I should also note, and give her props, for not mentioning my makeup since she first walked in—we’re talking a world record, friends.
At six thirty, the doorbell rings and panic sets in; there’s no turning back now. Sheena leans out my window to scope out Rowan, then runs back to my closet. “We were wrong. Abort. Abort. He’s wearing a button-up and sexy jeans. You can’t wear this. You gotta change.”
“Are you kidding me, Sheena? All signs pointed to comfy-chic. Do I even have time to change?” I frantically start ripping the clothes from my body, and when I’m done, I’m standing in the middle of my bedroom wearing nothing but a stolen bra—something she notices immediately—and underwear. Moments later, my dad calls up the stairs letting me know I have company. In those few stressful minutes, I can attest you can sweat from anywhere, even places that don’t seem normal. “Come on, dude. Find something.”
Sheena holds up the purse dress, and I all but flip the hell out. “With all the love in my heart, best friend, get fucked. That’s not anywhere near something I’d put on my body. I’m four inches taller than you … my vagina would be the main attraction. And just … no. My Britney is not on tour and will not be taking the stage tonight.”
Through uncontrollable bouts of laughter, Sheena heads into the closet, scanning items hanger by hanger. Finally, when I’m ready to explode, Sheena tosses me an above-the-knee summer dress with a halter top which I quickly yank over my head. Of course, my butt causes the back to ride up higher than I’m comfortable with, and my longer-than-life legs don’t help the situation. “I can’t. My ass’s exposed and one false move … Hola, Britney!”
She rummages through my drawers and retrieves a pair of yoga shorts. “Put these on. Like cheer spanx. Dress comes up, you see shorts. Perfect fix.” I follow her directions, out of time as my dad yells for me again. Smoothing down the fabric, I do a few half turns to be sure I can’t actually see the shorts, and Sheena looks over at me and smiles. “You look amazing. Next time, I’ll do your makeup.”
“A) No. and B) next time you stay home and I do this on my own.” If there’s a next time, that is.
“But you love me. Now, go before your dad gets to rambling and scares him off.”
Forgetting I wanted to wear Chucks, I slip into a plain pair of black flip flops and make my way down the stairs and into the living room. My dad and Rowan are sitting on the couch watching the ending minutes of the Ducks game, neither one of them noticing my presence. The Ducks intercept the ball and run it back for a touchdown. After they score the extra point, Rowan looks in my direction to say something to my dad and finally sees me.
“Hey, Charlie. You shoulda said something. Didn’t know you were ready.” Said something? I was raised in a football house, I know what a game on TV means … shhhhh, and don’t block the view.
“No worries. Dad’s a huge Ducks fan. I know better than to talk when they’re just about done,” I tease, taking Rowan’s outstretched hand to stand. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Let’s hit it,” he responds, then turns to my dad. “It was great to meet you, Mr. Thompson. Thanks for letting me squeeze in on the game. I had it on in the truck and don’t know if I could have survived missing the last three minutes. But didn’t wanna be late picking up Charlie. Not every day a pretty girl agrees to go out with you. And her dad’s a Ducks fan? I hit the jackpot.”
“Ducks fan? No, son, I was a Duck. Class of eighty-one,” my dad proudly states, pointing to the football and bowl ring on the mantle. Yes. The glory days. Prayers go to every god known to man we don’t have to sit through a story about that one time he caught the winning pass.
“I’ll have to pick your brain sometime, if that’s okay with you, sir. It’s my top school, and I’d be lucky to play ball while getting an amazing education.”
“I checked up on you, son. Your stats are phenomenal for a high school football player, and your grades are something I’m sure your folks are real proud of, too. Oregon State would be lucky to have you. I have a few friends down there … an admission counselor and an offensive coordinator. I’ll gladly make a call if you’d like.” I don’t know who’s digging Rowan more … me or his new best friend—my dad.
“That would be great, thanks so much.”
“I can stay home if y’all wanna finish this over dinner?” I laugh.
“If the man’s gonna help me get my number-one school, least I can do is buy him a meal,” Rowan tosses back. Before I can say anything in response, he positions his mouth at the shell of my ear, whispering for only me to hear, “But I’d rather spend time getting to know you.”
Swoon!
“You kids get out of here. If I know my daughter, she’s getting a little antsy and thinking about bolting right back up those stairs. Have a good time—not too good a time—and have her home by midnight.”
“Yes, sir.” And with that last statement, Rowan ushers me out the door. After Rowan opens the car door and I climb inside the cab, I inadvertently look up to see Sheena sitting on the window sill and smiling like a fool. Chances are, she’ll be just where I left her when I return and maybe, even for once, I’ll be able to give her some juicy details.
*****
My dating experience up until now has been recounts of Sheena’s many men—lakes and picnics and sunsets were never a part of those stories. Of all the things I could think of that Rowan would plan, this wasn’t remotely expected. Then again, I don’t know why I think Rowan would do anything like a normal teenage boy; he doesn’t follow a rule book, he makes his own.
“You look beautiful tonight.”
Blushing at the compliment, I carefully take a seat on the blanket he’s laid out, feeling lucky I put on those shorts.
I think the wind caught the hem of my dress, but even if Rowan noticed what I had going on underneath, he was gentleman enough to not mention it, and for that I’m thankful.
“Thank you,” I respond, unsure of what happens next. “So what’s on the menu, Chef Thorne?” Yeah, that seems like a super smooth transition, and it’s not at all obvious I’m uncomfortable with people complimenting me.
“You know, I debated on what to pack. Then I remembered, at the game, you ordered nachos. I didn’t want to risk getting something you wouldn’t like, so I went with what I knew you did.”
At this point, I wouldn’t care if I was one of many … the way he can make me feel so special and important with such ease … I’ll take it.
“Well, you happen to be in luck. Nachos are my most favorite thing ever.”
“You ever watched the sun set on the water?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“You might wanna wait, then, to tell me about your favorite things. This is gonna take the cake.”
I don’t respond, then again, I don’t have to. There’s no point in arguing with him. That list is constantly changing, and the common theme between all the great things? Rowan. It all revolves around him. Safe to say, I can finally say I know what falling feels like. And I like it.
As the sun starts to dip beneath the horizon, lighting up the sky with the most gorgeous hues of oranges and reds, I pop chip after chip in my mouth, soaking up the sight before me.
“This is really nice, Rowan. Thank you.” I can’t look at him just yet. Everything’s so perfect. He’s either going to kiss me and make it better. Or he won’t and it’ll run the entire night. That’s just how right this moment truly is.
“No thanks necessary. I’m just happy you agreed to go out with the new kid. You must have guys lined up to take you out. I’m surprised you gave me a shot. Actually, hold that thought.” He jogs back to the truck, puts away the picnic basket and trash, and flips on the headlights and the radio. “What were we talking about?” he asks upon his return.
“All my suitors,” I sarcastically giggle. “I’m not as high demand as you’d like to believe. Don’t get me wrong, I get asked out every once in a while, but I’m really focused on school and swim.” Before we go any further, he needs to understand how dedicated I am to my athletics and academics. Better than waiting a month and him getting butthurt about it.
“Gotta love a girl with goals.”
One in million, folks.
“Yeah, it’s great until you realize you’re not going to get all my attention.”
Sure, Charlie, just put your foot in your mouth again. It’s attractive as hell.
“Seriously, Charlie, goals and dreams are important. I have mine, too, and I’m going to achieve them.”
“You might be the only one to think that. Nobody wants to date a girl who can’t give her boyfriend all her time. So many girls at our school seem to drop everything at the thought of a boyfriend. I’m just not like that. I need to pay for college. My parents would go into debt to put me through school, and I refuse to accept that. Not when I have the opportunity to earn my way with grades and swim. I won’t selfishly take their life savings.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you before, Charlotte Thompson. And you say I’m the rare breed.” He chuckles softly, but the sound vibrates all the way to my belly. “You’re like the needle in the haystack.”
“Or the neurotic swimmer with her nose constantly in a book.” Do I have some work to do, or what? Boys—handsome boys—saying nice things to you and about you isn’t ever a bad thing, and I still want to turn it into a comedy show to disguise my nervousness.
“No,” he returns, leaning into me. “You’re the intelligent, beautiful woman who wants to make her parents proud and won’t sacrifice her dreams for anything. You’re the needle.”
“Rare breed, Rowan Throne. Much more mature than any boys at school,” I whisper, wishing I’d kept the last part to myself. I want him to kiss me so badly. I shouldn’t have turned to face him. Shouldn’t have locked onto those deep-blue eyes. And hell, I sure as hell shouldn’t have licked my lips while gazing at his.
He—this insanely amazing man, the new kid with tons of followers and admirers—leans closer, places his hand on the side of my face, and caresses my cheek. I move into his touch, seeking so much more. The heat from his palm is spreading throughout my body. If he doesn’t kiss me, I’m going to explode.
“You’re breathtaking.” He’s so close I can feel his breath on my lips, and I lick my own in anticipation. “Charlie?”
“Hmmm,” I hum.
“Would you be upset if I wanted to kiss you?”
“No,” I sigh. Kiss me now.
“Good. ‘Cause, Charlie, I need to kiss you.”
“Please.” The second I breathe the word, our mouths gently connect, and in one sweet motion, his lips capture mine and I’m lost. Rowan’s hand moves from my face to rests on the back of my head, having never lost contact, holding me in place. My fingers find purchase in his short, dark hair, and I silently hand over control of the kiss, allowing him to claim me with one earth-shattering, mind-blowing kiss.
Before I know it, he’s pulling away, our lips only having been together mere seconds. Maybe longer, I have no concept of time or reality at this point. This kiss … it’s changed me to my core. I’ll never be the girl I was before this boy put his lips on mine.
“Wow,” I whisper, my eyes still closed, unwilling to snap back to now when then was so unbelievably perfect.
“Oh yeah, you’re the needle, alright,” he slyly remarks as we lie down on the blanket, our backs to the ground, eyes to the sky watching the stars. There’s no need to tell him I haven’t opened my lids yet—the stars swirling here are probably better than anything out there. I’m pretty sure he already knows what an amazing kisser he is and how much I want to do it again.
This is my new favorite thing.
Eventually, I do open my eyes and am a little embarrassed to find Rowan watching me. Instead of making a big deal about it, regardless of how strangely comforting yet kind of creepy it is, I grab onto his hand and interlock our fingers. I turn away from him and glance up at the night sky. It’s the clearest I can ever remember seeing it—the background a black so black it’s nearly blue, spotted sporadically with tiny flecks of light. While I stare off into infinity, Rowan caresses my knuckles with the pad of this thumb, and in that very moment, I know I could very easily be one of those girls who throws everything away for a boy. Rowan loves me having my own aspirations, he’d never let me turn into one of them. That thought allows comfort to enter where anxiety and fear have hidden for so long. Rowan would make sure I follow my heart and it’d be safe to let him in.
My dad was right. I’d have a great story to tell one day about the boy I met my senior year of high school, who treated me to the most wonderful date and looked at me like I looked at the stars—with appreciation of their beauty, wonder, and happiness. He was going to be someone very important to me.
Chapter 4
The First Near Miss
With only two more meets to qualify for States, this might be my most important race I’ll ever swim. Based on the official rules of the invitational, it isn’t the school with the most wins that make it into the finals, instead the best swimmers. In terms of ranking, I’m only a tenth of a second ahead of the last available slot going into this final heat, and it just happens to be her—and her team—in the lane next to us for the four-by-four relay. Not to mention, this is the first time Rowan will watch me in my element. While I’m still in the locker room jogging in place to keep my muscles warm, my phone dings with a text from Rowan.
ROWAN: W/Jansen in the stands. Front and center.
ME: Great spot to be!
ROWAN: You know what’d be great? Kissing you again
ME: Kissing’s for winners
ROWAN: Give ‘em hell & I’ll meet you at the finish line
ME: Kisses promised for a
W? She’s gonna be eatin’ my waves
With a shit-eating grin plastered on my lips, I throw in my earbuds and cue up the Rent soundtrack. Don’t ask why, but for some reason, “Seasons of Love” gets me pumped. Maybe it’s all the talk of numbers keeping me aware of time, or because it’s my favorite musical and dammit, the soundtrack’s amazing. Glancing around the locker room, the other girls are doing their usual pre-meet rituals. Gabby’s doing some weird yoga poses, making me and the rest of the team wonder why she didn’t try out for gymnastics. Sheena’s stretching and counting … in French. Carly—the should-be circus worker—is walking across the bench like it’s a tightrope. Then there’s me, belting out “Seasons of Love” like nobody’s watching—or listening—and all’s right in the world. Oh, and the memory of Rowan’s lips on mine. A shiver runs through my body, adding a little wiggle to my jog.
Sanderson’s fist pounds on the door as his voice bellows through the tiled room. “Sixty seconds, ladies, let’s get out there and do our jobs.”
As usual, we all convene in the shower stalls to say a small prayer to the Swim God to be fish in the water with great entries, fast feet, and quick turns. “Lady Cougars,” we start chanting slowly and softly until it becomes a deafening roar the crowd outside can undoubtedly hear and responds to respectfully.
Before we make our way through the couple turns into the pool area, each of us pulls on our caps aptly decorated with a cougar, straightening our mesh shorts that cover our one-piece, unflattering suits and march out with pride and determination—me leading the pack. I’m just starting to feel the normal nerves I feel before getting in the water when I make the mistake of looking in the stands and notice Rowan standing on his feet, cheering us on as the team gets to our assigned lanes. A surge of panic hits, and I’m worried I won’t be able to do my best because I’ll be more focused on showing off than doing what I train to do. Rowan seems to sense my anxiety.
First of Many Page 4
