A smart man would not have done this.
I am not a smart man.
•
“Happy Tuesday, Mr. Fowler!” Rowan hollers as she enters my office.
“Happy Tuesday, Rowan.”
I keep my eyes on my desk as she removes her coat and sets her things down. I’m afraid that if I watch her, I’ll be on her in a breath, and everything will be ruined.
Strutting over to me, she takes a seat at the edge of my desk and pulls away the papers sitting in front of me. “Did you finally get some sleep?” She asks, mischief shining in her eyes.
“Didyou?”
A blush creeps across her cheeks and the corner of her mouth ticks up in a small smile before she answers. “Eventually,” she tells me.
Her face tells me everything that I need to know; she was doing the exact same thing that I was last night. My eyes drift to her legs, one crossed over the other, while she sifts through the papers in her hands. All I can think of is pulling those legs apart and diving between them to devour her until she screams my name.
I bet she tastes so sweet.
“Colt Fowler’s office, this is Rowan speaking,” she says into the phone sitting atop my desk. I hadn’t even realized it was ringing.
She hops off of the desk and paces around in front of it while she talks, and I keep my eyes glued to her until she hands me the phone, effectively drawing my focus away from her, centering me back onto my work. I pull out a padof paper and scribble a quick note on it, shoving it toward her.
New dev grand open
party Sat night
9pm – come?
Picking up the pad of paper, she reads the note, a small grin working itself onto her face as she writes back:
it’s a date
FIFTEEN
Rowan
I’ve never been to a grand opening party before. In fact, the office holiday party was the fanciest event I’ve ever been to. I didn’t even get the chance to go to my senior prom because I was neck deep in a horrible flare up. Maybe the dress still fits. If not, I have no idea what the hell I’m gonna wear to this thing. I don’t think I can exactly stroll in wearing a sweater.
Looking at the pile of clothes on the floor next to me, discarded and deemed unworthy of such a fancy night out, I sigh. I lower myself to the ground and start digging through the back of the closet, also known as the bermuda triangle, where new clothes vanish, never to be seen again.
I drag out a large paper bag that has some weight to it and start digging, tossing items into the discard pile, until I find a dress. I pull it out and give it a quick once-over, letting out a low whistle of approval. It’s perfect.
After slipping into the dress, I walk over to my mirror and take a look. The eggplant-colored velvet catches the light in all the right places, making it look almost sparkling, and the off-shoulder straps accentuate my collarbone and let just enough cleavage show that I feel alittle bit bold wearing it. The skirt hits the ground and features a slit that goes up to my thigh.
I pull the rollers from my hair, letting it cascade down my back and over my shoulders, and I use my fingers to tousle it and give it some extra volume. I add a dainty necklace and bracelet to tie the outfit together and give mirror-me a satisfied nod before heading downstairs.
“Where are you going?” Dad shouts at me from his worn-down recliner, plastic cup in hand. I think it’s the same one he always uses; guess it survived being thrown at me. I don’t think he ever even bothers to wash it – I suppose the alcohol serves as a type of disinfectant.
“I’m going to my friend’s party, remember?”
“Right.” He uses a finger to tell me to come toward him. “Lemme see ya.”
My heart swells as I walk over toward him and bite my lip in a tentative smile. I put my hands out at my sides and give him a twirl, like the ones that Macie gives me when she shows off a new outfit.
“What do you think?” I ask with a smile.
