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“Doesn’t matter.” At this very moment, hormones are raging through my body, singeing me from the inside out.
He drops a kiss against the top of my head as his arms tighten around me. “Go to sleep, Demi.”
A snort escapes.
Like that’s going to happen anytime soon?
I don’t think so.
21
Demi
Sunlight slants across my face as I wake with a stretch. My eyelashes flutter open as I focus on the ceiling overhead. For a sliver of a moment, a deep sense of calmness fills me, which is odd. I escaped home because of all the bullshit at school. So, I don’t understand why everything feels kind of—
Perfect.
That’s when the memories from last night crash through my head like a ton of bricks. One moment I’m blissfully unaware and the next—boom! They’re there. I’m suddenly wide awake and jackknifing to a seated position.
Holy crap! My gaze flies around the empty room. Except for the masculine scent clinging to the sheets, there’s no sign that Rowan slept in my bed. With a deep lungful of air to prove I’m not delusional, I collapse against the pillows.
Last night...
Did that really happen?
My fingers drift across my lips.
Did I kiss Rowan?
Hold on a second...did he actually admit to being a virgin?
Mind.
Officially.
Blown.
My breath gets clogged in my throat at the thought.
Rowan Michaels.
Campus player.
Hot commodity with a golden ticket to the NFL.
Now we’re adding virgin to that list?
And he’s seriously been holding out for me?
Me?
It seems a little too farfetched.
And yet...
I believe him. There’s no reason not to. I’ve known Rowan for a long time, and the one thing I can unequivocally say is that he’s never lied to me. I trail my fingers over the cold sheets. We talked. And kissed. Then fell asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms.
And now he’s gone.
Does Rowan think he can dump all that on me and then take off at the crack of dawn?
Are we supposed to pretend it never happened?
Rowan could have allowed me to finish out senior year blissfully unaware of his true feelings, but he didn’t. He took a chance and disclosed everything. At the same time, forcing me to acknowledge what I’ve always kept bottled up inside. Now, knowing what I do, how can I pretend it doesn’t exist?
With a huff of frustration, I throw off the covers and pad over to the window before drawing back the gauzy curtain to peer outside. It might be early September, but it’s absolutely gorgeous out. My gaze lands on the now empty spot where Rowan’s pickup truck had been parked last night. I draw my lower lip between my teeth before chewing on it, dropping the sheer material back into place, and taking a step in retreat.
I’m confused as to what his absence means. Is the ball now in my court? Am I supposed to make the next move? What is my next move? Do I even have one?
Not really.
Well...it appears I’ve got some thinking to do this weekend. I can mull over the issue with a steaming cup of coffee. Hopefully, that will get my neurons firing.
Since I have the house to myself, I don’t bother to throw a robe over my tank top and panties. I’ve never been self-conscious about my body. I’ve been an athlete my entire life. I’m used to changing in a locker room full of girls.
With my mind full of Rowan, I pad down the staircase to the entryway before turning toward the back of the house. Sunshine pours in through the eastern facing windows as I pull open the refrigerator door and peer inside.
Yup, it’s like I suspected—a barren wasteland. Since Dad lives alone, he doesn’t keep up on domestic chores like cooking, cleaning, and shopping. After the divorce, he hired Mrs. Granger, an older woman in the neighborhood to stock the fridge once a week, tidy up the house, do the laundry, and prepare a few quick meals for when he’s running late. Otherwise, the guy would probably camp out at the stadium and subsist on cafeteria food.
What he needs is a girlfriend. Every once in a while, I make noises about him dying alone. With a roll of his eyes, he’ll remind me that he’s perfectly content living a bachelor lifestyle. His excuse is that he doesn’t have enough time to devote to a girlfriend, and no woman wants to be a distant second to football. He’s not wrong about that, but maybe if the right woman came along, it would change his mind and his priorities.
What?
It could happen. Although, I won’t be holding my breath.
It takes seconds to scour the entire contents of the fridge. There’s not even a single slice of pizza to be found because Rowan and I polished it off last night. Had I known he would be making an unannounced appearance, I would have ordered two larges. My plan had been to nibble on it throughout the weekend.
