First of Many Read online

  Rowan pulls out a chair—chivalry isn’t dead folks, other men take notes—and takes the one next to me. He opens the menu and shuts it just as fast. “I don’t know why I bother looking, I always get the same thing.”

  The woman who took my order earlier strides up to the table and each of them orders a burger and fries, an obvious fan favorite. And on the house.

  “Not very adventurous?” I joke, taking a nervous sip of my drink.

  “When you find something you like …” He shrugs and fumbles with one of the straws the woman tossed on the table. “So are you talking to anyone?”

  “Me? Yeah, that’s a no. One, I’m not much of a talker and two, I’ve got a lot going on. Between school and practice, I don’t have much spare time.”

  “I’m not much of a talker, either. I’m more of a relationship kind of guy,” he shyly interjects.

  Okay, give me a single reason to walk away, Rowan. Nobody can be this perfect. Where are the bodies hidden? Secret children? Sixth toe? Something?

  “Why do you say it like that? Like you’re embarrassed?” I ask, regretting it the moment the words slip from my lips. Filter, Charlie. Filter.

  “I’m not embarrassed at all. However, I don’t think my personal business needs to become public, you know? If I’m dating a girl, that’s between us, not half the student body.”

  “You’re a rare breed, Rowan Thorne.” I’m kind of shocked how much he intrigues me during only a few short conversations. These are definitely feelings I haven’t felt before. It’s strange, yet welcoming. I like it. And I think more than maybe like him … I really do.

  “Not the first time I heard that one, Thompson,” he teases, and I remember what I said to him the day after practice when we were standing at our cars.

  Tucking a stray hair behind my ear, I shrug. “I call ‘em how I see ‘em. What can I say?”

  “You look very pretty tonight, Charlotte,” he offers, changing the subject, much to my pleasure—I’m finding it more and more difficult to stay calm and collected. While the ease is still present, I keep waiting for him to ask a simple question like what’s my favorite band and I answer string cheese. The struggle is real.

  “Charlie,” I correct, blushing at his compliment. “Charlotte’s fine, but my dad really wanted a boy and when I turned up all girl, he gave me a boy nickname. Plus, I’m not really a Charlotte. Not refined enough. Charlie fits me better.” Geeze, ramble much?

  “Sorry. You look very pretty tonight, Charlie.”

  “Thank you.” Lowering my head to allow my hair to fall in front of my face to hide my rosy cheeks, his hand gently touches my chin, forcing our stares to connect, and the other pushes the locks behind my ear.

  “Now who seems embarrassed?” he jokes trying to ease my anxiety, and it’s making me more anxious but in a good way. A kiss-me-now-this-is-the-perfect-moment way.

  “I’m not. I just don’t get compliments very often.”

  “You should. Every day.”

  “Rare breed,” I repeat.

  “Who drove tonight? You or your friend?”

  “Sheena.”

  “Do you think it would be okay if we got out of here? I’d like to drive you home.”

  “I’d like that,” I whisper, enamored by his abnormal charm for a high school football player. He truly is the exception to the rule.

  “Hey, Sheena.” I tap her on the shoulder, needing her attention so she doesn’t think she lost me when she comes up for air. She and Jansen glare up at me with annoyance. “I’m gonna take off. You okay here?”

  “Sure am, baby cakes. Call me in the morning?”

  “Yep. Text me when you get home so I know you made it.”

  “I might. I might not,” she adds with a wink and dives back into Jansen, her full attention stolen by the quarterback.

  Rowan stands first, reaching his hand out for mine, and together, with our fingers intertwined, we walk out of the diner to his car parked right up front. Again with the chivalry, he opens the door, shutting it only after I’m tucked safely inside. I give him the simple directions to my house which is only a few minutes from the school.

  “Oh, you didn’t get your food,” I mention as we pull out. If we turn around, he’ll still be able to eat.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You’ve gotta be starved. I know after a meet, I can put away a whole cow if I could get my hands on one.” Foot in mouth, yet again. I’m really slaying this charm and class nonsense.

  “Seriously. I’ll grab something at home. Right now, I just wanna hang out with you. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “That’s more than okay.”

  When we pull up to my house, I expect him to just let me out at the curb, yet he stuns me when he gets out of the car, walks around the front, and opens my door. Extending his hand, I take it, allowing him to help me out of the car. All hands should know how it feels to be wrapped up in Rowan Thorne’s. There’s just something about the way he holds them—like he’s never going to let go.

  “I liked spending time with you tonight, Charlie.”

  “It was a good time. I guess I’ll see you on Monday.” We reach the front door and I fish my keys out of my bag, prepared to call it a night.

  “We have a date tomorrow, or am I mistaken?”

  “I didn’t know if you’d want to hang out again, since you invited me to the diner. I just … I don’t know what I thought, but … I’m not making any sense, am I?” I laugh nervously—shocked stupid.

  “You’re adorable,” he says, using my words against me. “I invited you tonight because I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. Now that I’m dropping you at the door, I want to see you again. A real date this time, not just the diner with friends.”

  “I’d like that.” I blush and try to duck, and again he catches me. “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “Don’t be sorry. Just be ready by seven tomorrow.”

  “Alright.”

  “Sleep tight, Charlie,” he says, letting go of my hand and making his way down the sidewalk to his car, my fingers tingling and missing his touch already. When he reaches the driver’s side door, he flashes me one of those signature grins, hops inside, and drives away, all while I stand on the front porch, keys in hand, smiling like a fool.

  And I like it.

  Chapter 3

  The First Kiss

  I was looking forward to sleeping in, but that might give you the impression I actually fell asleep … which I didn’t. Not for a lack of trying, though. I couldn’t get Rowan out of my head and my mind wouldn’t stop churning long enough to pass out. Something about him has me reeling. So many unfamiliar emotions … I’m heading for a tailspin if I don’t get it together.

  Rowan Thorne: the enigma. He’s a catch by any girl’s standards, and he wants me. Me! Not to mention the hope he gives me without trying. Dating might be in the cards for me yet. Boyfriends have always seemed like a nice idea in theory, but they wind up sucking all your time, turn you into a bumbling idiot when you look at them, and eventually, you’ll have sex with them, which is going to put you at risk for herpes or a baby, neither of which fit into my five-year plan. Or they’ll just flat-out break your heart. Just ask Sheena, though, she does her fair share of breaking. Fine, ask any other girl. Boys are nothing but trouble. But he’s so damn handsome. I should be calling him hot or sexy, but Rowan is seriously handsome in way that only exists in movies.

  His smile’s endearing and genuine. His eyes are mysterious and you can drown in their dark-blue depths. Throw in the fact he’s significantly taller than me … I can’t even. Do you know how hard it is being five foot nine and a girl and athletic? All the girls are so much shorter than me, the boys are working on growing but it’s a slow process, and let’s not forget my muscles are bigger than most of these guys’ … I’m a freak. Then there’s Rowan—a perfect everything that only compliments all the things that drive me crazy about myself. If I had to guess, I’d peg him around six five
and if he got bored later, he could probably bench me if I asked. He’s my perfect.

  Sluggishly, and a bit slap happy from lack of sleep, I climb out of bed and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee. If I didn’t know my body so well, I’d keep trying, but I’m also the weirdo who can’t nap. Pitch black or I’m wide awake, no in between. Even as a baby—no day resting. I’m sure I drove my parents crazy. Sheena, the little shit she is, can catch some Zs whenever and wherever. The jealousy runs deep. Maybe when I get older, but for now, today, I’m going to overdose on caffeine and just be happy there’s no Saturday practice.

  “You were out late? And up so early?” my dad asks through a yawn as I drag myself into the kitchen.

  “Couldn’t sleep.” I contagiously yawn as well. I can barely contain my excitement when I see the coffee already prepared. I pour myself a cup—much larger than a girl my age should drink—add far more cream and sugar than needed, and slide onto the stool at the breakfast bar. “Wait, why are you up this early? Didn’t you and Mom go out last night?”

  “Haven’t slept yet,” he responds with a wink.

  “Dad. Gross. Too early.” I take off my teenager hat and offer a little lecture of my own. “It makes breakfast super awkward when parents make sex innuendos. Like, kids across the world might stop talking to you guys altogether, and that’s just unsafe, Daddy. Maybe we could write a manual for parents everywhere. Call it ‘How to Not Make Your Children Avoid You’. We’d make bank.”

  “Speaking of gross.” He turns toward me, ignoring my clever idea, and I don’t know what to expect, but by the stern look on his face, he means business. I’ve only seen this look once before when I skipped sixth period and in turn failed a test. I’ve been great lately and have certainly done nothing to warrant “the look.” Unless … a college rejection letter came from Columbia or Oregon State. If that’s it, I’ll go give myself “the look” in the mirror.

  The unwavering expression doesn’t so much as shift as he starts talking. “Imagine my surprise when I watch you leave the house with Sheena and Tom calls me around twelve to tell me some boy, driving a pickup truck, is dropping my only beautiful, perfect, never-sly baby girl off at the door, no Sheena anywhere to be found. Care to explain?”

  Damn Tom and the rest of those nosy neighbors. Remember when I said we lived in a not-so-small, small town? There’s no better example than this. Tom Davison, our across-the-street neighbor, has lived on this block for as long as I can remember. He and my dad went to elementary, middle, and high school together. After they graduated, the two were able to remove their attachment at the ass long enough for my dad to go to Oregon State and Tom to go to UCLA. Tom came back to take over his father’s accounting firm right around the time my parents got married and was my dad’s best man. Even if I wanted to get away with something, I couldn’t. Unless Damn Tom wants to mind his business so I don’t have to talk boys with my dad, that is. That’d be super.

  “Long story? Or short?” Yep, I’m gonna make him work for it. Only another few months until he can’t grill me anymore. It’s gotta be worth it.

  “Full story, Charlotte,” he demands, using a name he says so infrequently, I forgot he knew it.

  “Well, Sheena’s into the quarterback, Jansen, and he was at the diner. They weren’t coming up for air and I was bored and wanted to come home. Instead of breaking up their makeout session, a friend drove me home.” So ha-ha to Damn Tom, thinking he caught me trying to be a sneak.

  “A friend? Who’s a boy? That I’ve never met? And he walked you to the door? Baby girl, don’t try to give me a wooden nickel.”

  Jesus, Damn Tom, did you write down the plate number and a description, too? Maybe how many steps it took me to get from the truck to the front door?

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Stop changing the subject. Fill me in before your mom gets up. I’m only hitting you up for the important stuff. She’s got a whole notebook full. Tell me what I need to know and I’ll let you run off and pretend to sleep or whatever. Your call.”

  “Daddy,” I sigh, suddenly exhausted. “Rowan Thorne drove me home. He was a gentleman and made sure I got inside okay. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Thorne? Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  Protective to the ends of the Earth, I can already see his internet browser history filled with Rowan’s information … complete with an ancestry profile to find out who he really is. Why Dad’s a mortgage broker and not a detective, I’ll never know.

  “He’s new, plays football, and seems like a nice enough guy.”

  “They’re all nice enough until they’re not, Charlotte. Remember that.”

  “Seriously, Dad? And what’s with the Charlotte?”

  “It’s your name, and I mean business.”

  “Okay. Fine. Got it. I understand what you’re saying, I’m not dumb.”

  “I never said you were. Put yourself in my shoes for a second, and then you can go back to your angsty, teenage life where all I want to do is make you miserable, alright?” I try not to roll my eyes, but it’s as if they have a mind of their own. “Roll ‘em again and see what happens.”

  Well, this is all very new and uncomfortable. Charlottes. Boys. Threats. Talks. Geez. And still, I want to roll them just to see what’ll happen, but I think he’s short-circuiting and it’s making me nervous. It’s Damn Tom’s fault, opening his fat, nosy mouth. I’m gonna walk across his perfectly manicured lawn later. Take that.

  “Sorry,” I mumble like I did when I was little and didn’t want to apologize. How does one act in this situation when they’ve never really been in trouble? What’s the protocol? “Okay. I’m in your shoes. What should I be doing in these shoes that are way too big for me?”

  “First, you should remember who you’re talking to and watch your tone. You might be seventeen, but that’s still plenty young for me to take you over my knee like you were a toddler.” Smooth, Charlie. Way to deescalate the issue. “Second, think about this … your daughter, who up until last night hadn’t taken much interest in the opposite sex, goes out with a girlfriend, only to be dropped off by a boy nobody knows and he plays football. Your only little angel, who’s the sweetest and most giving person you know, is alone in a truck with that same boy and not a soul knows what was happening. You could have gotten yourself into a situation your mother and I couldn’t fix, honey.”

  I’m wearing cleats when I walk across Damn Tom’s lawn later.

  “What kind of situation, Dad? The kind where I might like a boy and he likes me back? Alert the presses, there could be unsupervised handholding in my near future.” My mouth’s still running a mile a minute, and judging by the tick in my father’s jaw, I’m pushing his buttons. Probably not the wisest of decisions. Even more strange than his change in demeanor is my attitude. I’m the princess. I never stop out of line, let alone talk to him—or anyone—this way. It’s gotta be the chlorine poisoning.

  “You ever hear of date rape, Charlotte?!” he questions with a harsh and loud tone, obviously having had enough of my smartass mouth.

  “Dad,” I soften my voice, “Rowan’s a good guy. He wouldn’t hurt me,” I defend Rowan, refusing to entertain any notion he’s not an honest-to-God good guy with only the best of intentions in mind. In this day and age, that’s hard to find, but I might have done just that.

  “They’re always nice guys until they aren’t,” he says with a shrug like it’s the most common thing ever.

  “I’m gonna step out of your shoes so you can jump into mine for second, alright?”

  “Let’s do it. That’s the best way to parent—being open-minded enough to look at all angles. There won’t ever be a day, I hope, we can’t talk openly.” He gives me a pointed stare. “Provided you keep that mouth in check.”

  “Fair enough.” I nod in agreement. “Picture this.” I wave my hand in front of our faces as if I’m painting a literal portrait. “Your sweet little angel, as you say, is pretty tough. She’s not a fragile l
ittle thing like the other girls. She knows how to shoot a gun, immobilize a predator in a few moves, and faithfully carries a can of mace in her purse. Pardon my language, but she’s pretty badass. And she’s so badass because she has a daddy who taught her how to protect herself if she’s ever uncomfortable.” I take a step back, drop my hands to my hips, and give him a look that says, “Bam.”

  “Touché,” he laughs. “That was pretty good, kid.”

  “I promise you, Dad, I would never put myself into a dangerous situation. No, I haven’t known Rowan long, but I did make sure Sheena knew I was leaving and who I was leaving with. If nothing else, remember I was raised by you. I’ll give you plenty to worry about between now and me being an old woman, but I don’t think Rowan’s one of them. And if he does become an issue, you’ll be the first to know. I can’t exactly bury a body by myself, now, can I?”

  My dad walks around the counter, pulls me into a tight embrace, and kisses the top of my head. “Smart-mouthed, funny as hell, and all I got. Just the way I wanted it. It’s your old man’s job to worry, but thanks for reminding me you have some sense. I don’t know how the Zieglers do it, Sheena’d give me a heart attack.”

  “Sheena is a lot,” I laugh. “And I’ll never get sick of you looking out for me. Don’t scare this one off, though, I kinda like him, and he might be around for a bit.”

  “We’ll see,” he scoffs.

  “It’s gonna be alright, Daddy. Yours will always be my favorite hand to hold,” I tease, squeezing his middle tightly. Maybe it’s less me and more him that’s causing this new kind of “talk” we’re having—him not wanting to let go and for me to stay little forever.

  “Oh, shut the hell up and drink your coffee before I wake your mother. And can’t you wait until you’re thirty to like boys and date them?” he asks, confirming my thoughts … I’m growing up and he’s not a fan.

  “I tried that, Daddy,” I giggle. “This one kind of snuck up on me.”

  “Those are the best kind, you know. The ones you don’t see coming are usually the ones you’ll remember long enough to tell one heck of a love story about.” He looks around me toward the stairs, no doubt thinking of how lucky he got with my mom. Such a romantic, my daddy.