Beyond the physical, there’s something different about him. The Rowan I knew was bright, full of laughter and mischief. This version of him seems darker. There’s a haunted weariness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a guarded look that makes me wonder what else has happened in the years since I’ve seen him last.
The air between us feels charged, heavy.
I don’t know how the fuck I manage to form words, but by some miracle I do. “Hey,” I squeak, my vocal cords betraying me before I clear my throat. “Welcome back. Nice to see you, Rowan.”
Rowan’s eyes flicker with surprise, maybe even hurt, and I think I know why. I can’t remember the last time I called him by his full name, if ever. It’s always been Ro. But right now, in this moment, it feels much too intimate. Much too familiar for someone who’s been nothing but a ghost to me. Come to think of it, hedidghost me.
Already backing away from a moment that feels way too big, too overwhelming, I gesture vaguely toward the stairs. “I’m... gonna go.”
No one tries to stop me as I turn and climb the stairs, each step taking me further away from the stranger who looks like a grown-up, colder version of my childhood friend.
My heart is pounding so hard I swear the stars can hear it.
When I finally get to my room, I close the door with a quiet click, releasing a shuttered breath as I slide against it to sit on the floor.
What the hell just happened? How can Rowan show up looking like...that? Throwing out a casual“Hey, Iz.”as if no time has passed at all?
My brother’s voice floats up from downstairs. “Come on, let me show you your room.”
Heavy footsteps echo on the stairs before they move past mydoor and down the hall. I hold my breath until I hear the guest room door open and close before I finally let it go.
This is really happening.
I push myself up from the floor, collapse onto my bed, and stare up at the ceiling. Right now, the worst part of all this is how hot he looks. How the sight of him makes my stupid heart skip a beat. I should be over him by now, for shit’s sake.
The muffled sounds of Logan’s animated voice and Rowan’s deeper baritone responding drift down the hall and under my door.
Glancing over at the photo, now back in its original place on my desk, I whisper to the boy looking back at me with a bright, happy smile.
“Who are you? Where’s the sweet boy I used to know?”
After dinner,I retreat back to my room, mumbling an excuse about homework. The truth is, I can’t handle another minute watching Rowan charm my parents with stories about Ireland while Logan hangs on his every word. The way my mom laughs at his jokes makes my stomach hurt.
Climbing onto my bed, I grab my worn copy of “Sea Swept,” hoping a Nora Roberts novel will take my mind off the boy turned man downstairs.
A little while later, the floor creaks and I look up from my book in surprise to see Rowan leaning against my doorway.
“What do you want?”
Pinning me with a dark stare, he steps inside and closes the door behind him.
“Open the door, Rowan. My mom is gonna freak if she catches you in here alone with me.”
Pushing off the door, he saunters over to my side of the bed. “And why is that? You bring a lot of boys over, Iz? Sneak them into your room late at night?”
My heart is practically beating out of my chest. “No. Of course not.”
“You sure?” He glances down to where my braless boobs are straining against my T-shirt with a smirk. “You still a virgin, Iz?”
My blood boils, and I jump off the bed to slap him, but he catches my wrist before my hand can connect with his smug, sexy face.
“Ah, so that’s a yes then.”
“Screw you!”
“Maybe,” he shrugs before bending down to whisper in my ear. “If you’re lucky.”
I suck in a breath, shocked at this new version of Rowan I’ve never encountered before.
