The guy—Alec, or no, Alan maybe, goes on and on about how he’s looking for a girlfriend and thinks dating is important before having sex. I hold back my eyeroll and nod along, even though I don’t agree with anything he’s saying, but at this point I’m tired.
I thought college life would be easy—I expected to becomebest friends with my roommate, who would also play NCAA D1 tennis, preferably, find a respectable boy to have sex with, and explore all California has to offer. That life seems like a far off dream.
Let’s just say that my college experience so far has been constant training, exercising, and doing my homework on the bus, always onto the next tennis match. My roommate is not an athlete and she’s annoyed with my intense schedule. As for the boy department:see exhibit Alan (or is it Alec?).
Why is it that all of a sudden everyone wants a relationship? This is college. Aren’t we supposed to be wild? Sow our oats?
“So what do you think?” Alan asks, giving me what must be his attempt at puppy dog eyes. The more I look at him, the more I realize there’s absolutely no spark there. Ugh, am I that desperate to get laid that I’d go home with someone I have no chemistry with?
“What do I think about what?” I ask slowly, absentmindedly stirring the ice at the bottom of my drink. When I take a deep pull, the remaining liquid sputters loudly. Huh, when did I reach the bottom?
Alan frowns at me and takes the glass away, so my hands have nothing to clutch onto now. This time, I do roll my eyes and his frown deepens.I’m definitely not getting any tonight.
“Would you like to go on a date sometime?” he asks and my eyes go wide. How did the conversation turn to dating, again?
I sigh and run a hand through my long blonde hair, trying to come up with a nice way to let this guy down. “I’m sure you’re a lovely person and would make a great boyfriend, but that’s just not something I’m looking for,” I say, searching the room for my partner in crime. This night was a bust and I’m ready to go back to my dorm and crash.
“So what was the point of talking for the last hour?” he asks petulantly, but I’m done paying him attention. I spot my bestfriend from across the room and stand up, smoothing a hand down my black dress. I opted out of wearing heels so I wouldn’t be taller than the guys here tonight, but now I’m regretting it. My ass looks amazing in heels.
“Sex, Alan. Sex was the point,” I say, patting his shoulder and leaving him behind to gape as I walk towards the one person that’s understood me the most during these four years of college.
His back is to me and he seems to be in deep conversation with a group of guys, all of which eye me with interest. That interest quickly dies down when I stand next to Rowan and they realize I’m almost the same height as them.
Why do guys care so much about height? It’s not like I would look down upon someone shorter than me. But at five foot and eleven inches, they see me as intimidating.
I sigh and look over at Rowan who gives me an easy smile and throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his warmth. He smells faintly of tequila mixed in with his signature scent of sea air—a little salty with a hint of evergreen. Even though he’s six feet tall, he’s a perpetual sloucher, so my straight posture still makes me seem like I’m the tallest of the group.
“Hey, aren’t you David Taylor’s daughter?” one of the guys asks. I vaguely remember him from the men’s tennis team, but I don’t recall his name.
“I am,” I say through gritted teeth, annoyed that my dad is being brought up in conversation. Back in the day, my dad was an up and coming tennis player from Romania, making headlines and sweeping every tournament he could play in. Until an injury kept him from the courts.
“Can you get me an autograph?” He smirks, fist-bumping the guy next to him. I roll my eyes and turn to Rowan.
When he leans in to whisper a question in my ear, I get a little chill down my spine and shiver. “Do you want to leave?Are you cold?” he asks softly, rubbing his hand over my shoulder and down my arm.
It’s not lost on me that Rowan is the only person I allow to touch me like this. I’m not a highly affectionate person, but Rowan always knows how to worm his way into my heart. And there's just something about him that makes me feel safe. Cherished. In a friendly way.
When I turn my head to tell him I’m fine, I realize how close we are. His lips are mere inches away from mine and—woah, were they always so plump? Why can’t I stop staring at them?
Belatedly, I realize he’s still talking to me.Shit. “Mags, you wanna leave?” he asks again, his hand traveling up and cupping the back of my neck.
My gaze flicks up to his hazel eyes and I once again have the strong urge to run my fingers over his sharp jaw, his strong nose.
Yet, Rowan and I keep our friendship light and bubbly. He’s been nothing but kind and warm to me since the first day we met at practice during freshman year. Back then, my dad was in the news a lot and that kind of negative attention only made me hide from people. I was by no means a celebrity, but people knew me, they knew about my dad and his nasty divorce. And the whispers behind my back were never kind.
And then I met Rowan and he had no idea who I was but he was more than happy to play tennis with me. Eat lunch with me. Walk me to my dorm. Since then, he’s been the one I’ve trained with on the court and beyond.
“I want to leave,” I say, knowing he’ll walk me back safely to my dorm just like all the other times we go out, which is not often due to our training.
“Let’s go, then,” he says, low enough just for me to hear. I follow him out of the bar and I once again notice that he waves and says goodbye to pretty much every person he passes by. He really is a social butterfly.
CHAPTER 4
Rowan
Ten Years Ago - Stanford University
Maggie keepsher arms crossed the whole way back to our co-ed residence hall and I get the feeling that she’s upset about something. She’s quieter than usual and I frown, something in my gut twisting at the thought of her being sad.
