Chapter Sixteen
Elijah
As Rowan fled from my house on Saturday night, the last thing he said to me was a casual“See you later,”thrown over his shoulder.
I thought his fleeing was cute—how he couldn’t get away fast enough as his desires might win. Or Ithoughtit was cute.
But now it’s late afternoon on Wednesday, and I have not seen him since. Maybe his definition ofsee you laterand my definition are completely different.
Our date went very well, in my opinion. After the singing incident—which went over rather smoothly if I do say so myself—we drank in peace until that dumbass DJ approached me.
He waited until Rowan stepped away, of course. As a coward does.
And right as the man was about to appoint me the new proprietor of a few choice insults, Rowan swept back in and claimed me for all to hear.
On the one hand, it was extremely hot. I’m talking dick instantaneously erect hot. I’m talking take me to the bar bathroom and shove my briefs into my mouth while you—anyway.
On the other hand, I was reminded of the role I’m meant to play in Rowan’s life.Angelisn’t just a nickname meant to get me off during sex, or a casual pet name used to make me blush.
Sure, it does both of those things, but it also represents something. Rowan is a strong, dominant man. And outside of a few areas in the bedroom, he craves a submissive boyfriend. I guess I’m lucky enough to get the upper hand in the more exciting areas.
But before I could defend myself against Fuckface McGee, Rowan came in and defended my honor like a knight in shining armor.
Which really wouldn’t be so bad—if it didn’t remind me that I’m manipulating him daily by pretending to be his cute little boy angel.
Now it’s been days since I saw him last, and I’m no longer appeased with constant text messaging. And even those have slowed—I’ve heard from him two times today, when last week I couldn’t get my phone to stop buzzing.
I can’t help but wonder if I did something wrong. Was I too grumpy about the late pickles? Did he see me about to gut that DJ? Was I too forward on the dance floor?
It’s hard to pinpoint a moment during the night where I could have fucked up when he had me pinned to my apartment door, whispering dirty things in my ear after everything had already gone down.
If I had upset him at the bar, he wouldn’t have done that, right?
Maybe he’s having second thoughts. Maybe I’m bad in bed, and no one has bothered to tell me. I did get a little clingy and weird toward the end of our time together the last time we had sex…
Fuck, this is driving me crazy; this ache in my chest is notching higher and higher. And while before it was an ache I could relish in, now it makes me angry and a little frantic. Almost as if I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
“Elijah?”
I look up from my phone screen—it’s bare of all notifications related to Rowan—and find John watching me from the doorway of his office.
“Yeah?” Putting my phone to the side, I watch as he observes me curiously.
“Are you okay?” His expression tells me I have not been discreet with my irritation.
“Ah,” I start, and I ponder for a moment if it would be worth sharing with him. John is a nice man, and he seems wise as well. Plus—he knows Rowan. “Rowan and I are in a… weird place right now.”
John raises a brow, crossing the room to sit at the desk opposite mine. He slides the straps of his suspenders off and lets them hang loosely around his beer belly.
This is an indicator that he’s ready to sit down and chat for a while.
“Already? Didn’t ya just go on a date?”
I shrug, fiddling with the sleeves of my maroon sweater as I contemplate how to explain my situation. “Yeah. But when he dropped me off on Saturday, he didn’t come inside. He just told me he’d see me later and left. I haven’t seen him since, and his text messages are becoming less frequent. I guess I’m just…”
“Anxious?” John finishes for me. I nod. “Well, you didn’t do anything wrong, did ya?”
“I don’t think so. Not that I can work out, anyway.”
