Page 75 of The Older Brother
I lock the door behind me, then skip down the stone pathway to where Rowan’s Camaro is rumbling in the street. He rushes out of the driver’s seat and around the front of the car to open my door for me, and his gaze starts somewhere around my ankles and glides up my legs and torso. Rowan looks drunk by the time our eyes meet.
“Well fuck me.”
My lip inches higher on one side as he takes my hand and helps me lower myself into his car. His gaze lingers on my legsfor a few extra seconds, too, his teeth clinging to his lower lip as if he’s fighting not to take a bite out of me right here and now.
“Later,” I promise.
He holds his hand to his chest, over the deep gray button down he’s paired with black jeans, and I must admit that I’m just as hungry for him.
“Gah!” He bites his knuckles before gently shutting my door and skipping back to the passenger side.
“It smells nice in here. I like whatever cologne it is you’re wearing,” I say, the scent bringing me back to the night of my graduation party, to his body behind mine as he touched me so intimately while everyone’s eyes were elsewhere.
“I wanted to make this special. The track wasn’t really a date. This . . . is a date. And I know it’s important to you.” He moves his hand to my leg, rolling it over slowly so his knuckles graze against the inside of my thigh before his finger flexes and awaits my touch.
I slip my fingers between his, and his gentle squeeze lets me know that, however this evening goes, I’m not alone.
It takes us thirty minutes to drive into the northern part of the city to the Coal Mine Music Hall. It’s a big deal that my father’s playing here. Cami and I saw one of my favorite bands here only last month. My dad has wanted to break into trendy places like the Coal Mine for years. He and his band have something special brewing now, and I understand that he sees an opportunity to double down. It’s just the fact that he’s putting a price tag on those years I missed with him that I can’t get past.
“How are you doing?” Rowan lets the car idle as we sit outside the venue. The marquee is lit up with Killer Mongoose’s name, and there’s a line of people waiting to get in. Nothing that will stop traffic, but it’s at least fifty people deep, wrapping around the side of the building.
“Is it possible to feel a lot of things all at once?” A short, pained laugh slips from my mouth.
Rowan leans into me, brushing the back of his hand along my cheek before lifting my chin slightly. His eyes dive deep into mine, his expression serious yet soft.
“It’s possible to feel however the fuck you need to. If you want to go right now, we can leave. If you want to walk in there and walk right back out, we can do that too. We can stay for drinks or dinner after the show or slip out with the crowd, never letting him know we were ever here.”
My head tilts to the side, and a wry smile tugs at my mouth.
“He saved us seats, right up front. I’m pretty sure he’ll notice if we’re in them or not.”
Rowan’s head bobs side to side.
“Meh, maybe. He’s a musician, though, so he might just be all self-absorbed and into his craft so deep that he can’t see beyond the lights.” Rowan squints, and I laugh.
“He’s really good. And I miss him.”
Rowan closes the few inches between our lips and dusts mine with a soft kiss before falling back into his seat.
“I know you do,” he says.
I lean forward, gazing up at the marquee one last time before taking a deep breath and readying myself for the next . . . however long I can stand it.
“I’m ready,” I announce, and Rowan dashes from the driver’s side to my door, taking my hand to help me step up on the curb. I notice the way he strategically shields my body from the crowd gathered outside, too, making sure nobody gets a view of what’s under my dress as I exit the car.
We make our way to the VIP entrance, and I hand over my ID, giving the worker my name. She sighs as she hovers the tip of her pen down a printed list on a clipboard. I’m not sure if she’s annoyed by her job or bothered by me. I feel my age in places likethis, especially when she pulls a blue wristband from the back of the clipboard and proceeds to snap it around my wrist to alert everyone in here that I’m not yet twenty-one.
“I’ll take one too,” Rowan says, holding his wrist up beside mine.
“You won’t be able to drink,” the woman explains.
“Don’t want to,” Rowan responds.
The woman’s gaze shifts from Rowan to me, then back again, before she shrugs and rolls her eyes, mumbling, “Whatever.”
Rowan reaches for my hand as soon as we step inside, and I hug his arm close to my side.
“Thank you,” I say, lifting on my toes to reach his ear.
