“That’s vague.”
“Yet you voluntarily got into my car without knowing the plan.”
He grinned, and I kept driving toward the edge of town where the streetlights grew farther apart and the houses gave way to long open stretches along the river.I finally pulled into a dirt turnout overlooking the water.
Rowan took in the view. “You bring all the boys here?”
“Shut up.” I snorted and killed the engine.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then Rowan turned to me, and I leaned over the center console to kiss him.
It started slow, just like it usually did. His hand slid into my hair, fingers curling at the back of my head as he pulled me closer. Instantly, my heart started beating faster. Kissing him always gave me a rush of adrenaline and I never wanted to stop.
When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing a little heavier.
He rested his forehead against mine. “You smell like pizza,” he teased.
I tugged at the collar of my work shirt. “I literally work at a pizza place.”
“Still.”
“You’re welcome to stop kissing me and get back on your side of the car.”
“Not happening.”
I chuckled and continued making out with my best friend.
Eventually, the alarm went off on my phone, signaling that we needed to head home if we wanted to make my curfew. I cranked the engine and began the drive back.
As I parked once again on our street, I stared at my house, not sure if enough time had passed for my parents to stop arguing.
He nudged my arm. “You going in?”
“Yeah. I hope they’re done fighting.”
He nodded. “If not, just come on over.”
For the past six years, I thought of his house as my safe space. But recently, I realized it wasn’t the house—it was him.
“Okay.” I moved in to give him another kiss before we went our separate ways.
“Hey,” he said, his hand hovering over the door handle. “You should come to my game tomorrow.”
I blinked. “Your baseball game?”
“Yeah. You’ve never watched me play before.”
“You know sports aren’t really my thing.”
“I know. I just thought it might be fun.”
“Fun for who?”
“For me.” He sat back in his seat and waited. “You don’t have to,” he said when I didn’t reply. “I know it’s not really your scene.”
Sitting in the bleachers surrounded by loud parents and kids from school didn’t sound appealing. But he’d never asked me to go before, and the way he said it made it seem like it would matter to him if I went.
“I’ll think about it,” I conceded.
