And Rowan is nothing if not a complication.
One I can’t afford.
4
Demi
Justin parks his Honda Civic in front of the two-story brick residence I spent my childhood in. After the divorce, Dad considered downsizing, since it was only the two of us, but I begged him not to. There’s something comforting about the knowledge that you can go back to the house you grew up in. Even though my parents are no longer together, and the divorce was hard on all of us, our home was a happy one, and I have a ton of fond memories. Plus, I love the rectangle-shaped pool in the backyard. It’s always nice to pop over in the summer and take a dip after soccer practice.
Justin reaches over and lays his fingers across mine. I wait for a little buzz of sensation. Any indication that will sway me into giving him one last shot. Other than the slight clamminess from his perspiring hand, there’s nothing. “You ready to do this?”
Nope, not at all. Instead of admitting that I’ve made an epic mistake, I nod and hoist my smile.
After he releases my hand and exits the vehicle, I swipe my palm across my thigh before giving myself a quick pep talk and doing the same. As we meet on the sidewalk, I smooth down the navy-colored shorts I’ve paired with a cap sleeved white floral wrap top.
Butterflies wing their way to life within the confines of my belly. The nervousness crashing around inside me is ridiculous. This isn’t the first boy I’ve brought home and introduced to my father. Although, admittedly, it’s been a while. Most of the guys I’ve gone out with get irritated when I’m not available to hang out at their whim. If they are athletes, then their schedule is as jam-packed as mine, and the relationship ends up fizzling out on its own.
Sometimes it feels like a lose-lose situation.
“You look seriously hot,” Justin says, interrupting the whirl of my thoughts.
“Thanks.” I glance at my outfit. What I’m wearing isn’t dressy, it’s just not my usual athletic shorts paired with a T-shirt.
He gives me a wink and a grin before clasping my hand again. I wince as his damp palm comes in contact with my skin and resist the urge to tug it away. Hand in hand, we walk up the brick path to the front door. I rap my knuckles against the wood before pushing it open and stepping inside the entryway. As I glance around, my gaze lands on Dad and Rowan. They’re sitting on the couch, heads bent together as Dad draws out plays on the whiteboard.
I almost roll my eyes. There is never a time when these two aren’t talking football.
Dad glances up. “Hey, honey!” When I raise my brows, a sheepish smile breaks out across his face, and he tosses the dry erase marker onto the coffee table before rising to his feet. “Just squeezing in a little chalk talk.”
And this would be exhibit A as to why Mom walked out five years ago and never looked back. As much as I love my father, I can’t blame her for wanting to be with a man who was capable of leaving his work at the office. Or, in my dad’s case, on the football field.
My father’s gaze slides from mine to the guy at my side before he steps forward and extends a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Justin. Demi’s told me a lot about you.”
Actually, I’ve been very tight-lipped about our relationship. In all honesty, there hasn’t been much to say. And after tonight, there will be even less.
From the corner of my eye, Rowan rises to his feet before making his way over to us.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, sir. Thanks for inviting me to dinner.”
“We’re happy to have you.” Dad lays a hand on Rowan’s shoulder as if he’s the proud papa. “I’m sure you already know who this guy is.”
You would have to live under a rock not to realize who Rowan is, and even then, if you had access to the internet, you’d probably still recognize him. At Western, he’s treated like a celebrity with all the perks that come with his fame. There are huge posters of him plastered everywhere on campus. You can’t go anywhere without seeing his handsome face.
I mean ugly mug.
“Of course.” Justin extends a hand to Rowan. “Good to see you, man.”
The blond football player gives him a chin lift in acknowledgment.
I can’t help but compare the two as they stand next to one another. Even though Justin is four or five inches taller than I am, he’s still a handful of inches shorter than Rowan. And where Rowan has thick, chiseled muscles, Justin is leaner. Almost boyish.
Wait a minute...what the hell am I doing?