“Are you cold?” he asks, completely ignoring my comment. He pulls off his jean jacket and lays it over my shoulders, leaving him in just his grey, long-sleeved Henley.
“Won’t you freeze to death? I already have a jacket.”
Rowan shakes his head. “That jacket is too thin, you’ll catch a cold. Where are we headed?”
Hiding my grin, I follow him to where our cars are parked on the street.
“I did some research while I was working, and I found out that the community center is having a bingo night tonight. We should go,” I suggest.
Rowan laughs at my suggestion, turning his head to look down at me where I now walk next to him. “Bingo? What are we, sixty?”
I shove him with my shoulder.“Bingo can be fun, don’t judge.”
“Alright,” Rowan says, nodding several times. “Then let’s go. I’m down to beat your ass.”
I scoff. “Bingo is all about luck—even if you do win, it’s not a great feat.”
“Spoken like a true sore loser.” Rowan smirks, and I find myself leaning into him slightly.
He smells of my shampoo, like coconut and a hint of sunscreen. But he also still carries that lingering smell of fresh-cut flowers and security.
I breathe him in deeply. Rowan, as if sensing my motives, drapes an arm over my shoulders and pulls me against him. His scent completely overwhelms me, and I shudder against his side.
“The community center is on Camelback Avenue, isn’t it?” Rowan asks, his fingertips grazing my bicep as he speaks, transferring warmth from his skin through the fabric I’m wearing and into mine.
“That’s what Google said,” I confirm, and he stops, angling his body toward mine as he drags me flush against his chest.
“Then I’ll see you there. Drive safe, okay?”
Rowan releases me and heads toward where his truck is waiting, and I watch him disappear into the night before I head toward my own car.
I swear, it’s as if he knows that just by touching, I’ll be set ablaze for the foreseeable future. That just his flesh is able to ignite something wild and hot inside of me.
The drive to the community center realistically takes ten minutes, but it feels like a lifetime. Knowing who is waiting for me and the promise of being in his company for an extended period of time is enough to quicken my heart rate and moisten my palms.
When I arrive, Rowan is climbing down from the driver’s side of his truck, and he makes a beeline for my car, opening my door before I have the chance to do so myself.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he jokes, and I roll my eyes for the tenth time as he places his palm on the small of my back and guides me to the entrance.
Directly inside the double doors is a small table where two elderly women sit. We pay them our entrance fee and collect a few paper bingo cards and our daubers.
The community center is only half full by the time we enter the main hall, and we find our seats at one of the long tables toward the center. The stage at the front of the room holds a podium and a bingo cage full of circular balls.
We settle in, and Rowan spends the first few minutes laying out his cards as his knee bumps continuously into mine. I’m so distracted by the contact and the smell of him so close that I don’t notice the caller take the podium until he clears his throat into the microphone.
He’s an elderly man dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt withFort Myerswritten on the front. His salt and pepper hair is cut short and neat; his mustache curled at the ends. After adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, he speaks.
“Welcome, everyone! We will now begin our first game of the night. Our prizes this evening are going to be centered around our upcoming fall festival. They will alternate between game tickets, food vouchers, and wrist bands for the attractions. Is everyone ready?”
A few small murmurs break out across the crowd, and I take notice that Rowan and I seem to be the youngest people in the audience.
“I love that you picked an activity where I have to whisper just to talk to you,” Rowan says lowly, his lips brushing my ear ashe speaks. When I shiver, he chuckles. “I think you wanted an excuse for me to get close to you.”
“Or maybe I wanted something opposite of the loud bar where I had to scream to be heard,” I shoot back, turning my head to stare at him. He’s so close to me that our noses almost brush, and the green of his eyes is so bright I find it difficult to breathe.
“So you weren’t a fan of Cocktails and Consonances, huh?”
“I was.” I turn my attention back to my bingo card as the caller draws the first number.
