Campus Player

Guess that idea has been shot to hell.

As I slam the fridge closed, the front door opens. Which is...odd. There’s no way Dad is home. He shouldn’t return until late Sunday evening, and if, by chance, his plans changed, he would have called or texted to let me know.

My muscles tense as I cautiously move to the middle of the room, giving me clear sightlines to the entryway. A puff of air escapes from my lungs when I find Rowan. As our gazes lock and hold, something pings unwantedly at the bottom of my belly. For so many years, I ignored the physical attraction, doing my best to convince myself it didn’t exist. His confession last night makes that impossible. The floodgates have been opened, and there’s no chance of resurrecting them again.

Only now do I realize how disappointed I was to find him missing this morning.

His lips quirk into a lopsided smile as he holds up a paper bag with a familiar logo stamped across the front. “I ran out for bagels and coffee.”

Fresh bagels are my absolute favorite. Before his admission last night, I would have assumed it was nothing more than a coincidence. Now, I know differently. It only proves that Rowan has always been there, hovering at the edges, paying attention to the details. It’s such an insignificant gesture, and yet, it means so much. No other guy has ever bothered to run out and grab breakfast in the morning.

My heart lurches, and it takes effort to clear away the emotion struggling to take root deep inside. I’m not ready for that yet. Instead, I clear my throat and lift my lips into a smile. “I thought you took off.”

“Nope.”

Warmth blooms inside me as I drag a hand through my disheveled hair. Unsure what to do or say, I shift my weight and point toward the patio. He makes me feel emotions I’m not entirely comfortable with. “Want to eat outside?”

“Sure.”

His easy response makes the tension vibrating in the air dissipate. Needing a moment to collect my scattered thoughts, I turn away, grabbing napkins and plates before carrying them out through the slider to the stamped cement patio that surrounds the pool. We settle at the iron table beneath an over-sized navy-colored umbrella. Rowan sets an extra-large travel container of coffee in front of me before opening the bag. As soon as he does, I catch a whiff of fresh bagels.

Yum!

In silence, we arrange our breakfast on our plates. A burst of nerves explodes in my belly, and my gaze skitters across the backyard. Rowan’s confession last night has changed everything. Nerves hum beneath my skin as I focus on slathering cream cheese onto my bagel.

When he clears his throat, I nearly jump out of my chair.

“What are your plans for the day?”

“Umm...” My brain blanks. Plans? Oh...right. “I have a couple of assignments to finish up,” I glance at him, “otherwise chill out.”

There’s a brief pause before he asks, “Mind if I hang with you?”

A thrill shoots through me, and it takes effort to tamp down my excitement at the notion of spending more time together. “Not at all.”

The edges of his lips curl before he reaches out and snags my fingers, pulling me to my feet and onto his lap. His arms wrap around me, anchoring me securely in place. Barely am I able to find my bearings before his mouth slants over mine. My brain clicks off as my arms wind around his neck. Much like last night, it’s a slow exploration of lips, teeth, and tongues. Most of the guys I’ve been with are in a hurry to reach the finish line, which is apparently in my pants. This couldn’t be more different. As his wide palms stroke over my back, his fingers leave an explosion of delicate shivers in their wake. When I whimper, he swallows down the sound as if starving for it.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growls, the low vibration rumbling in his chest.

Before I realize what’s happening, Rowan rises to his feet. His arms are locked around me, securing me in place as he turns and sets me down on the chair he had been occupying. I blink as his fingers go to the hem of his Navy T-shirt, yanking it up his body and over his head before tossing it to the concrete.

Holy cow...

From a distance, I’ve seen Rowan without a shirt dozens of times. Just last night, I caught a glimpse of his chest, but this is different. It’s broad daylight. Up close and personal. With the bright light beaming down on him, he looks very much like a Greek god. Which is corny as hell but nonetheless true.

We’re talking sun-kissed flesh and ripped muscles.

At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m drooling.

When my eyes finally meander to his, a knowing light fills them. “Like what you see?”