I wave my hand at her. “Nothing happened.” To Rowan, I whisper, “Nothing happened, right?”
“Her tits threw themselves at me, and she told me my chest felt like a chinchilla.”
“I said that out loud?”
“Mumbled it,” he says, awkwardly patting me on the back.
“What a . . . thrilling night,” Dakota says, still looking confused. “So is this . . .” She wags her finger between us. “A thing?”
“What? No.” I shake my head. “Nope. No . . . no.”
“If you didn’t get that, it’s a solid no,” Rowan chimes in.
“Okay.” Dakota rocks on her heels. “Would you like to stay for breakfast, Rowan?”
“Oh, he has to get going—”
“Would love to.” He pats me on the back again and then makes his way to the kitchen, shirt and jeans still undone. “Shall I cook us up some eggs and toast?”
“That would be great,” Dakota says, smirking at me.
Why does it feel like they’re on the same team—one I am forbidden to join?
“So, tell us about your date,” I say, sitting down at the dining table with Dakota while Rowan moves around in the kitchen.
“It was really good.” Dakota plays with a napkin on the table. “She’s pretty awesome, but Rowan already knows this.”
“I do,” he says, his perfectly deep voice adding to the conversation. “She’s quite the catch.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Everything. Our childhoods, how different they were. Spoke about our friendship, and how even though I don’t have siblings, you’ve always been a sister to me.”
“True. I have no problem fighting you for the last piece of cake.”
“Claws out and everything,” she says, and we both laugh. “But it was also nice to have someone actually look me in the eye while I spoke. It felt like she cared about what I had to say. Isabella was never like that. Maybe a little at first, but then . . . I don’t know. I felt more like a puppet to her than anything.”
I nod, remembering just how toxic that entire relationship was. “Tell me about the hand holding.”
“Well, she asked if I wanted to go for a walk, and of course I wanted to since you and Rowan were starting to get rowdy and loud.”
“Were we?”
Dakota laughs. “Uh, yeah. It was quite the sight to behold.”
I cringe. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, you were having fun. You need fun.”
Rowan glances over his shoulder at me from the stove, and I quickly look away. I don’t want him to see any ounce of vulnerability, because yeah, I did have fun last night—at least from what I can remember.
I had one of the best times I’ve had in a long time that didn’t involve Dakota. He helped take my mind off my nagging need to prove something to myself, to find anything that shows I’m on the right track, that I’m worthy. It’s a feeling that’s been plaguing me for what feels like every second of the day, and he erased that. He helped me relax, chill, just enjoy life for a moment rather than focus on what I could have done differently the last few years.
Yes, we might bicker and pick on each other, but I know it’s all in good spirit. I like a guy who doesn’t hold back, and Rowan doesn’t. He says whatever is on his mind. It can be terrifying at times, but also thrilling. And that realization is startling because I think . . . oh God . . . I think I might be having some sort of affectionate feelings toward the man.
No . . .
Right?
It must just be indigestion from the beer last night.
At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself, because there is no way I want to face these feelings right now. I’d rather lay down the denial card, thank you very much.
“So, the hand holding.” I nudge her under the table, a sign I want her to move on.
“Yes, well, we started walking through town, along the loch. I was telling her about LA when she slipped her hand into mine.”
“Smooth,” Rowan says, and I detect a hint of pride in his voice.
“I was a little surprised at first, but then it felt so right, and we wove our fingers together. It was perfect. I had so many butterflies take off in my stomach that it almost felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“Gah, my heart can’t take this.” I reach over and take Dakota’s hand. “I’m so excited for you. So, does this mean you’ll go out again?”