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Bryce
Ifeel like I might never function the same way again. At least, not while wrapped in Rowan’s arms as her fingers gently caress my back.
We are both flushed and out of breath, sucking in air like it’s water, but Rowan is smiling and so am I. I can’t keep my eyes off her face; painted red cheeks alive with color, vivid pastel red lips, and dark red curls that frame her stunning features. I want to paint a picture of her, a photo that will last through the ages. She’s a queen.
She’s my queen.
Hand in hand, we leave the bathroom together, ignoring the stabbing stares of annoyed patrons around us. I don’t care, and I don’t think Rowan does, either. Fuck them all. Nothing else matters right now, nothing but this very woman in front of me.
“Let’s get out of here,” Rowan says, and I love the excited glint in her eyes. I toss some money onto the table for the server and follow Rowan out the door without a single look back.
It’s colder now, dark outside, but the streetlights cast a glow over the quiet campus district. Rowan leans into me, fingers curled tightly around mine, and it’s the best feeling I’ve experienced in a long time.
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, just us, the only two people on earth right now, it seems. Rowan has her head on my shoulder, a content smile on her face. Finally, after a few more minutes of silence, she speaks.
“I hope you don’t think badly of me, Bryce.”
Startled, I slow my pace, but we keep walking so Rowan can speak.
“Why would I think badly of you?”
“I don’t know.” Rowan shrugs a bit and clears her throat, but I can tell something is bothering her. I nudge her softly, hoping she knows she can openly talk to me about anything she wants. She sighs and continues. “Please don’t think I’m some slut, or something. I’m not known for sleeping with guys on the first date. I swear.”
I laugh, relieved it’s not something heavier. For some reason, I don’t want her to feel bad. Not even a little bit. I like her confidence, her happiness.
“Don’t be silly. It takes two to tango.”
“Sure,” says Rowan with a small shrug. “But nobody calls a man a slut when he gets laid on the first date. It’s only the woman who is blamed, like the guy has absolutely nothing to do with it. I mean, he practically gets a pat on the back, doesn’t he?”
I can’t even say much to this, because I know she’s right.
“Listen.” I pull Rowan to a stop and put my hands on either side of her arms, smiling. Rowan meets my eyes, a small smirk sneaking onto her lips. “I don’t blame you for anything. I enjoyed tonight, and I hope you did, too. If it’s possible, I’m even more crazy about you than I thought I was.”
Rowan flushes red at this, and after a moment she pulls herself into me, head against my chest, arms wrapped tightly around me. With one hand I stroke her hair, resting my chin on the top of her head. After a few more blissful seconds like this, we continue to walk, still hand-in-hand.
“I feel like I don’t know hardly enough about you,” says Rowan as we walk. “What’s your major? What do you like to do for fun?”
“I’m an art major,” I tell her, and I’m surprised to feel an itch of embarrassment under my shirt collar, but when I sneak a glance at Rowan, her eyes seem to be glowing even brighter.
“I should have known,” she says with a giggle. “You’re damn good at it, too.”
“Yeah, well, lots of people hate it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s art,” I say with a shrug. “It’s probably not going to pay me in the way a different career choice would have. Everyone told me that growing up … friends, teachers, school counselors. They told me I should focus on something important, like law. But I just … I don’t know, I just couldn’t do it. Not for them, and especially not for me.”
“Good for you,” Rowan says, and I’m kind of caught off guard by her words.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” She slows down and pulls me to a stop at a bench that borders the campus quad. We sit down together, one of Rowan’s legs flipped carefree over my own. “What is life if we can’t do what makes us happy?” she asks. “We weren’t born to live for someone else, we were born to live for ourselves.”
Her words are profound, and for a few minutes we sit in silence, pondering this.
“What about you?” I ask her. “What’s your major?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Nursing.”
