Page 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

RUTH

ROWAN

Are you gonna keep avoiding me forever?

I scowl down at my phone. I don’t appreciate being called out like this.

Ruth

No.

ROWAN

You don’t need to be embarrassed

Ruth

I’m not embarrassed.

ROWAN

Is that why I haven’t heard from you in two weeks?

I don’t reply because he’s right, and I hate it. Every time I’ve thought about contacting him, a giant ball of shame and anxiety bubbles in my gut until I’m ready to hurl my phone across the room. Before I can respond, my phone starts buzzing in my hand. Rowan’s caller ID flashes on the screen. He’s really not going to drop this, is he? After a little hesitation, I hit the accept icon.

“Ruth?”

“Did you call me on purpose?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh.”

“Were you hoping it was a butt dial?”

“A little.”

“Still don’t wanna talk to me, huh?” Behind the challenge in his voice, there’s a flicker of hurt. I feel sick, knowing I put it there.

“It’s not that, I just…” I let the words hang in the air.

“Yeah.”

There’s a deep exhale coming from his end and I know what’s coming before he says it. I could just hang up, turn off my phone, and hide under the covers, but I know he’d keep trying until we had it out.

“Can we talk about what happened?” His voice sounds reluctant, matching how I feel. I know that we have to clear the air, but at what cost?

“I guess we’d better,” I groan.

“Just listen, okay?” I hear a rustle, as if he’s holding a piece of paper. Did he write out a speech? “I’m not mad, or freaked out, or whatever it is you’re thinking. You don’t have to be embarrassed about what happened, it was just one of those weird things and I think it’s better if we forget about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I think that we can just chalk it up to the moment. And the fact that I’m a dumbass and drove us to a make-out spot. We probably got a little carried away.”

“Yes,” I agree, the knot in my chest loosening for the first time since that night. All I’ve wanted for the past two weeks was to go back in time and tell my past self to keep my tongue in my mouth instead of trying to put it all over Rowan, so if he wants to wipe the slate clean and never bring it up again, then that suits me fine.

“Thank God,” he says and I have to grin at his tone. “So, you wanna hang out with me tonight or what?”

I sit up, a little surprised. “Like, now?”

“Sure.” He sounds relaxed, but there’s a tightness in his voice that I don’t miss.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just…” He pauses, and I bet he’s scratching at his neck. “I actually had something in mind.”

“What?” I draw out the word, every letter ridged with suspicion.

“I’m outside your apartment.”

“What?!” I screech. He lets out a string of curses, but I don’t hear them as I rush to the window, barely managing not to trip on yesterday’s jeans as I go.

Just like he said, he’s parked out front, leaning against his car. The soft breeze tousles his hair in a way that I am determined not to find attractive. If I’m going to survive being this man’s friend, then I need to keep my eyes to myself, at least until my lizard brain calms down.

I open the window, wincing as the cold air makes my eyes sting. “What are you doing here?” I yell down at him.

He startles again. “Still on the phone.”

Shit. “Sorry,” I whisper into the receiver.

“You gonna yell at me some more, or are you buzzing me in?”

I don’t answer. He knows exactly what I’m going to do. Unfortunately for me, I seem to have a real inability to say no to this man.

When Rowan gets inside, we stand in the kitchen for a long minute, silence stretching taut between us. We must make a real sight, me looking anywhere but at him, him staring me down like I’m a rabid animal. If it weren’t for the blush that gives him away every time, I would have thought him completely unaffected by the awkwardness.

“Can I just say-”

“No,” he cuts me off.

“Excuse me?”

“No,” he says again. “We don’t need to. You’re gonna do some big apology, I’m gonna tell you that we’re cool, we’re gonna promise not to bring it up again, and then things are gonna be all weird and stiff for a while until you decide to believe me when I tell you I’m not mad. I’d really love it if we could skip all that and jump straight to the part where we’re friends again?”

I can’t help but laugh a little at the challenge in his gaze. “Yeah, I guess that sounds great.”

“Awesome.” He makes a beeline for my room. “You wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Is your roommate home?” Rowan asks around a mouthful of toast. We only made it through half of an old movie he likes before he got snacky. He’s sat in the desk chair, not commenting on the piles of random crap loaded up on the desk.

“She’s at a party.” I pull my hair down from the bun I’ve had since practice and grab the brush off my nightstand, ready to wage my nightly war on it.

“You didn’t want to go?”

I shrug. “I don’t really know the host.”

He raises a brow and I know I’m in for one of his probing questions. “I thought you and your friend were close, the way you talk about her…”

“We are close.” I frown.

“You couldn’t have gone with her?”

“I could have. I didn’t want to.”

“Okay.” He takes another bite, dropping the subject. I eye him warily. In the whole time I’ve known him, he’s never asked a random question, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what he’s thinking. Does he think that Georgie ditched me? She told me that I could go with her, I just felt like a night at home.

I redouble my efforts to detangle my hair. I need to figure out a better way of keeping it up under the mascot head because whatever I’m doing now isn’t working. Somehow, every day, it ends up more snarled and matted than the last.

On the screen, a group of men in suspenders are doing a terrible job at keeping their house clean.

“You seriously like this?” I wince as the bristles catch on another knot.

“It’s a classic!”

“It’s boring.”

“You just have no taste.” Rowan looks over at me, frowning as he takes in the scene. “You good?” he asks as I almost rip out a chunk of my scalp.

“Fine.”

His eyebrow quirks, but he doesn’t comment.

I try to focus back on the movie. From what I can tell, a group of brothers ran into a town and kidnapped a bunch of women, but the women are cool with it because they could get a barn built in record time? I think? And there are dance numbers.

When Rowan said he wanted to show me a movie, this was not what I was expecting, but the songs are pretty fun.

“I miss when men tap danced,” I say wistfully.

“Yeah? You’re into that?”

“Apparently.” I try to keep a straight face, but the corner of my mouth edges up.

“I’m sure you can find a tap-dancing-barn-raising man in suspenders out there somewhere.”

“Maybe without the kidnapping though. That whole thing’s kinda old at this point.”

“You just wanna meet your man the old-fashioned way?”

“Someday, my prince will come,” I sigh. It feels strange to be talking about the idea of dating other men with Rowan, but somehow, it doesn’t feel forced. I’m not performing, trying to pretend to be over what happened. It’s just like how things always have, that easy banter.

It’s only when he turns toward the TV again that I see the red tip of his ear poking out.

“You think I could pull off a shaved head?” I ask after ten minutes, no closer to taming the mess.

“Jesus Christ,” Rowan huffs, setting his plate down. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What are you-oh!” I exclaim as he flops down on the bed behind me, his weight causing me to bounce.

He pulls the brush out of my hand. I’m about to protest, but he’s facing me forward, one hand on each side of my head as he positions me where he wants me. His grip is gentle but leaves no room for argument.

“Rowan-”

He shushes me. “Just let me.”

“You don’t have to,” I say weakly as he gathers my hair behind me.

“It looked like it hurt,” he says by way of explanation.

“It gets tangled under the costume.”

He hums an acknowledgment as he gets to work. He starts at the ends, every stroke gentle as he works his way through. It’s like a direct line to my nervous system. Each time he hits a snag, he coaxes it apart, softly running the brush down it over and over until it yields.

I have to bite my lip to stop a moan from escaping at how good it feels. Does he know what he’s doing to me? He’s never struck me as a cruel man, but this right here is something akin to torture. How does he expect me to get over my attraction when he does shit like this?

“You should braid it.” His voice is low and full of something I can’t name.

“I can’t.”

“Seriously?”

“Never figured it out. I can do them on other people but not on myself.” I spent months of my childhood watching video tutorials on how to French braid, desperate to have them like the other girls in my class. I could never twist my fingers into the right shape to make it happen, and my mom was always too busy to help.

He grumbles something I don’t hear, the sound lost over the pounding of blood in my ears. I have to fist my hands to stop myself from gripping the sheets. The brush is running through smoothly now, it has been for a while, but he makes no move to stop. I’m certainly not going to interrupt him, not when the sensation of the brush against my spine is shooting delicious tingles up my neck. Is this what people mean when they talk about ASMR?

When he finally sets the brush down, I say nothing, not wanting to shatter the moment. I startle as his fingers touch my scalp, a gasp escaping me as they graze the shell of my ear. His hands run through my hair once, twice, three times, checking to make sure he got everything untangled. I think he’s going to stop, that he’s going to move and go back to watching the movie, leaving me a panting mess.

But he doesn’t. Before I know what’s happening, I feel him split the hair into three sections, adding more as he makes his way down. He isn’t… Right?

“You got a hair tie?”

I point toward the nightstand, not trusting my voice to speak. He finds one among the clutter and secures the end of the braid. I don’t have to look, I know it’s perfect.

“How do you know how to do that?” I ask. There’s a creeping little monster in the back of my mind, wondering if he learned for another girl, and I have to remind myself I have no right to ask. Just friends, remember? Even if I want to climb him like a tree, he’s made it very clear that he’s not interested.

“I used to babysit my neighbor’s kid. She was very particular about her princess hair.”

Okay, maybe I take back what I said about Rowan not being cruel, because how can he say something like that and expect me not to completely melt? The picture of this burly, scowly man doing French braids and playing princesses with a little girl is doing ungodly things to my insides.

He stands from the bed. “I can teach you some time, if you want?”

“I think I’m beyond help.”

He shrugs, picking up his bag and tossing it over one shoulder. “Then I guess I’ll just do them for you.”

I clench my jaw, not letting it drop open. Does he really not see what he’s saying?

He’s almost at the door when I clock his exit. He’s going? Seriously? The sudden shift is giving me whiplash and I must be making a face because he replies without my asking. “You keep rubbing your eyes. You need to go to sleep.”

I go to deny it, but my hand is already halfway to my face, ready to prove his point.

“Maybe they’re just irritated,” I say petulantly, hating how easily he susses me out.

“Yeah, by sleep deprivation.” He’s sliding on his jacket, and I don’t know what I can say to make him stay. I don’t know why I’m desperate to come up with a reason to keep him here.

In the end, reason wins out. I need to put some distance in if I’m going to move on, and late-night pseudo-erotic hair brushing probably isn’t helping matters.

“See you around.”

“Get some rest. I’ll let myself out.”

He taps the doorframe as he goes, not pausing to look back.

This man’s going to kill me.