His words are soft, almost teasing, but his eyes say something entirely different, as if he’s holding onto more than he’s ready to say out loud.
I swallow hard, suddenly too aware of how close we are. He’s looking at me like he wants to tell me everything.
“I’d like that,” I whisper.
He nods, his gaze dropping to my lips, then climbing back up. His eyes linger, asking for permission, waiting to make sure I won’t flinch or pull away.
I don’t.
He closes the space between us and kisses me. His lips are warm and steady, and the press of his mouth against mine makes something deep in my chest ache in the best possible way.
“Oh,come on,” Whitley groans from across the table.
Rowan pulls back, smiling against my lips. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding even a little apologetic.
I laugh and bury my face in his shoulder for a second. “She lives for the drama, don’t let her fool you.”
Whitley lifts her drink in salute. “Live, laugh, judge my best friend’s life choices. It’s what I do.”
Beau mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “God help us,” but Rowan’s still watching me, his thumb brushing slow, easy circles against my hand under the table.
Somehow, even with Whitley’s commentary, Beau’s grumbling, and the chaos around us, the only thing I can focus on is where my fingers meet his.
twenty-one
. . .
Rowan
Violet slips her arm through mine as we head for the door, laughing at something Whitley says over her shoulder. It’s one of those unseasonably warm days for March that tricks you into believing winter’s done for good, but now that the sun’s gone, the night has cooled fast.
I barely register the chill, though. It’s impossible with her beside me, looking the way she does.
Jesus. Her sundress is soft and some kind of silky blue that hits her thighs and makes me think of every place I want to touch. She probably threw it on without a second thought or clue that it would wreck me.
I’m trying to be good. Iam.
But it’s damn near impossible when she looks and laughs like that and makes me feel like I’m seventeen again with no clue what the hell to do with my hands.
The words are out before I can stop them. “Come home with me.”
She looks up at me with a startled expression, and her lips part. For half a breath, I think I’ve ruined everything.
“I don’t expect anything,” I add quickly, holding her gaze. “You don’t owe me a damn thing, Violet. I just want more time with you. That’s all.”
Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe I should’ve just walked her to her car and said goodnight like a gentleman. But I’m really not any kind of fucking gentleman.
“I rode with Whit,” she says softly.
“I can get you home,” I say, before she can finish the thought. “If Whitley doesn’t mind. And only if you want to.”
Violet glances over her shoulder at Beau, who’s offering Whitley the most begrudging one-word responses humanly possible. Whitley looks unbothered, if not downright delighted.
Violet turns back to me. “I want to.”
I nod, something loosening in my chest.
“Whitley,” she calls, tugging her arm free from mine for a second.
