After a couple of minutes, I tried calling again. The phone rang, but after the fourth ring, it went to voicemail.
Thinking he might not have been able to hear it over the music, I tried again, but he still didn’t answer.
“Seriously?” I grumbled, staring toward the house.
Some people walked past my car laughing, and I knew waiting outside would just make me look suspicious anyway.
With a sigh, I climbed out.
The closer I got to the house, the louder the music became. Bass rattled the windows, and the front door was half open with people drifting in and out. Luckily, no one stopped me when I walked up.
Inside, the place reeked of beer, sweat, and way too much Axe body spray. Bodies filled the living room with barely any space to move. Someone had pushed furniture against the walls to create a makeshift dance floor, and red plastic cups covered every surface.
I checked the kitchen first, but I just found a bunch of guys leaning against the counters, talking about the game. I hurried out of there and slipped down the hallway. Most of the doors were shut, and a few couples were making out against the wall. At the end, a door swung open, and Rowan stepped out.
Relief hit me immediately.
“Rowan.”
He blinked when he saw me. “Keaton?”
The surprise in his tone made something twist in my gut. “You texted me to pick you up.”
“Right.” He rubbed a hand over his face, then laughed. “Shit.”
That laugh told me everything I needed to know. He’d had more than a couple of beers.
“You ready?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He stumbled closer, and I noticed his eyes were a little glassy. “You didn’t have to come in; you could have texted me.”
“Ididtext you. Then I called.”
“You did?”
“Twice.”
He winced. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not,” I lied. “Let’s just go.”
I turned toward the hallway, but he reached for my arm. “Wait.”
I spun around. “What?”
Instead of answering, he tugged me toward the nearest bedroom and shut the door behind us.
“Rowan—”
He kissed me.
Hard.
My brain short-circuited for a second. This wasn’t the careful, quiet kind of kiss we usually shared when we were sneaking around. His hands fisted my shirt like he’d been waiting for hours to do it.
I pushed him back a little. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to apologize.”
