Groupie (Juked Book 2) Page 6

  Rowen nods and looks back out over the railing. We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sounds of the party muffled through the glass.

  “Why’d you come back?” I finally ask him.

  He looks at every part of my face. My lips, my cheeks, my eyes. “I came to talk to you.”

  “You mean to lecture me about my choices?”

  “No, not that I agree with some of them.” He tugs the beanie down over his ears. “I’ve thought a lot about you since we met. I think you’re really interesting.”

  “Me? Interesting?” I would be lying if I said that didn’t make my heart swoon. No one has ever called me interesting before. Beautiful, yes. Smart, even. But not interesting. I find Rowen interesting, too. But after what he witnessed earlier, I thought for sure I’d never see him again. Instead, he came back so we could get to know each other better. And damn if that doesn’t make me question some of my choices.

  “Well, yeah. A sports producer for a TV station? That’s got to be a really cool job.”

  I narrow my eyes at him playfully. “Rowen Flanigan. Have you been asking around about me?”

  “Maybe a little. Daniel says you’re the reason the team gets as much publicity as it does.”

  “I didn’t realize Daniel spoke so highly of me.”

  “He’s got lots of respect for you.”

  “Respect for the job anyway.”

  He looks me straight in the eye. “Doesn’t matter what he thinks about anything else. Doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about the other stuff.”

  I nod and lean back in my lounger, silently praying Sasha wants to party for a while longer. I’m not ready to leave anymore.

  We watch the water ebb and flow. It’s peaceful. Not like my normal, everyday life. A life filled with reporters talking and multiple monitors blaring and frantic edits. A life filled with booze and music and parties. But this is… restful. Quiet. Invigorating.

  I never realized how loud my life has become until this moment.

  I turn to face him and rest my head on my arm. “Tell me what it was like,” I say quietly. “Growing up in Europe and traveling all the time.”

  He looks at me in surprise. “I see you’ve figured me out. Been doing some digging of your own?”

  “I’ve never met anyone as, well, gentlemanly as you. I was curious where it came from.”

  “You know who my parents are, I guess.”

  “I write sports stories for a living. Researching the players is second nature to me.”

  He mimics my position. “It was really beautiful. That’s what I remember the most. Everywhere we went there was amazing architecture and different terrain. My dad would be busy with team stuff, so when we weren’t at a game, Mam always made sure we toured the city. She would always find some way to make it educational. We visited museums and learned about art, toured historical ruins and talked about what life was like hundreds of years ago, and visited the ocean and talked about sea life.”

  “She home-schooled you?”

  “No. I still went to school during the year. She just felt really strongly that there was a whole world of opportunity and experiences out there to explore and wanted to make sure I didn’t miss any of it.”

  “Sounds like it was an amazing childhood.”

  “It really was,” he says wistfully, staring off into space as he remembers. “My favorite trips were when my da played in Dublin. We always took an extra few days to visit my grandparents.” He shifts his big body, getting more comfortable. “Grandmother still lives in this little village called Athlone, in the county of Westmeath. She has a little cottage outside the village. Back when grandfather was alive, they had this goat named Molly that hated my da. Hated him. Whenever we showed up, she’d bleat really loud and try to ram him in the leg.” He laughs. “My Maimeó always said she knew we’d arrived when my da started cussing out that damn goat.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Maim… I don’t know how to pronounce it.”

  He smiles at my half-ass attempt of imitation. “Maimeó. My grandmother. Sorry. Sometimes I forget not everyone knows those words.”

  “You speak Irish? You don’t have the brogue.”

  “Gaelic, and I know a little, mostly cusswords from my da.” He chuckles. “I do have a brogue sometimes. When I get tired or upset, it bleeds through.”

  I bite my lip as he continues to tell stories of the little village his grandparents live in and walking to the quaint shops with his grandmother to shop for groceries. Exploring an old castle with the neighbor kids. Watching boats drive up and down the river that flows right through the village with his grandfather. It sounds like a fairy tale to me, especially because I’ve never been out of the US.

  “So only your grandmother is still alive?” I ask. They sound like wonderful people. His whole family sounds wonderful.

  “My granddad died a few years ago.” I feel a twinge of sadness even though I’ve never met him. The look on Rowen’s face says it still makes him sad, too. “He was in his eighties, and he was really sick. But yes, my grandmother is still alive and kicking. Still walks to the village for groceries. Still feeding the neighbor children. And still has a goat that hates my dad.”

  “What? Molly?”

  “Nope. One of her great-great-grandkids. The attitude gene apparently got passed down, though.” He smiles at me as I laugh. “He still gets rammed in the leg every single time we visit.”

  “You have an amazing family.”

  “I do. I really do.”

  “How did you end up back in the States?”

  “My mom was from Detroit. She and Da met when she was backpacking through Europe with friends the summer after graduating from college.”

  “How cool.”

  “When I was nine, he decided to retire. Mam really missed her family at that point, so we moved to Detroit.”

  He takes off his beanie and runs a hand through his bright red hair. Even the dark can’t hide that color.

  “I don’t mean to monopolize the conversation. Where did you grow up? Parents? Siblings? What?”

  I roll onto my back, an arm over my head as I look up at the stars. Because of light pollution, they aren’t very bright.

  “It was just me and my mom. My dad ditched us when I was really young, so I don’t remember him.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It does, but looking back, it doesn’t seem abnormal. It was just the way it was. She had a lot of guy friends, and that’s probably why I’m more comfortable around men than women.”

  “Like she had a lot of boyfriends?”

  “Oh god, no.” I sit up and turn to face him, crossing my legs and stretching my back. Lounge chairs are great until the pain starts. “My mom is a huge sports nut. She always ended up making friends with the guys in the office, and we would get invited to their houses to watch major sporting events. There were always kids around to play with—when I wasn’t glued to the game. Some of my mom’s best friends are the wives of those guys.”

  “I guess that’s how you got into sports producing.”

  “Yep.” I pull the tie out of my hair, releasing the ponytail so I can redo it. Rowan’s eyes darken, and his jaw clenches. There’s nothing sensual about what I’m doing and his reaction takes me by surprise. “I, um, yeah. When I went to college, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. But one day it hit me. What better career was there than watching sports all day for a living? I wasn’t going to make it as a professional soccer player, so why not major in the next best thing?”

  “You played soccer in college?”

  “Yep. Goalie. Played all the way through my junior year.”

  “Why not your senior year?”

  I stretch my leg out and point to the faint scars. “Tibia fracture the summer before.” He winces. Every soccer player dreads tibia fractures. They hurt like a son of a bitch and take forever to heal. “I spent most of the first part of the season laid
up. I was hoping to get back in for the last part, but once the cast came off, I realized my leg wasn’t going to be the same. I mean, it’s fine normally, but too much running makes it ache really bad. After a few days of practice and games, it would hurt so much I couldn’t even walk.”

  “Did you tell your ortho about it? Surely there was something they could do.”

  “I told him. Apparently the way the break was, it was going to take time to build it up again to alleviate the pain. But by then, I would have graduated. I focused on my internship at the TV station instead, and here we are.”

  Rowen opens his mouth to say something, but before he can speak, the door slides open with a bang.

  “Hey, hooker!” Sasha stumbles out and falls down next to me on the lounger, giggling. “I’m drunk.”

  I snort. “You think?”

  She lies back, head hanging over the side, arms spread. “The whole world is spinning. I think I need to go home now.”

  Rowen furrows his brow. “Is she gonna be okay?”

  I wave him off. “This is par for the course for her. And she has this amazing constitution, so she won’t even be hungover in the morning. It’s really unfair.”

  “You guys need a ride or something?” he asks.

  “We’ll grab a cab.” I unfold my legs and stand. “Neither of us lives far from here.”

  He stands up, too, shoving his hands in his front pockets. “Um, Tiffany,” he says, looking sheepish. “If you don’t mind, can you keep my, uh, family relations to yourself?”

  “You mean, don’t tell the rest of the team who your dad is?”

  “Basically, yeah. They’ll find out eventually, but I’d rather prove myself first.”

  “Of course. If anyone understands how bad preconceived notions can be, it’s me.” I lean over and swat Sasha on the leg. “Get up, Sash. It’s time to go.” She pops up like she hadn’t been dozing and takes off to the door.

  “Race ya to the lobby!” she yells, almost running into another party goer.

  “You sure you don’t need help getting to the cab?” Rowen asks with a grin.

  I laugh. “That’s the other weird thing about drunk Sasha. She never loses her ability to keep her balance.”

  He’s trying to figure out how to end the night. Finally, he speaks. “I had a really nice time getting to know you, Tiffany.”

  “Me, too,” I say.

  He leans in slowly, and I hold my breath. Part of me wants to kiss him really badly. The other part wants him to walk away. This time with him has been damn near perfect and I don’t want it ruined by a kiss that could be interrupted at any time by the drunkards inside. I know, I just know, once I start kissing him, I won’t want to stop.

  He veers to the left at the last moment, and his lips make contact with my cheek. “Goodnight, Tiffany,” he says in my ear, making me shiver.

  “Goodnight, Rowen.” I turn and walk away.

  I was wrong. The way he kissed me… that was damn near perfect.

  We’re exhausted, sweaty, and we all stink, but for the first time, I don’t feel like I have one foot in the grave after practice. My body must have finally pushed past that plateau I’ve been struggling with.

  I trail into the locker room behind my teammates, throwing my jersey in the giant laundry cart on the way. I can’t imagine being the person who does laundry around here. Practice clothes are disgusting. If it was me, I’d be tempted to set the whole cart on fire on a daily basis.

  The room is loud. When a few dozen sweaty athletes start throwing gear around, the noise level definitely goes up a few notches. I almost don’t hear Christian over it all.

  “Did you ask her out?”

  “What?” I strip off my cleats. “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “I seem to remember a conversation we had a couple weeks ago about a certain sports producer who had caught your eye. Did you ask her out?”

  “Um….” I scrub my hands through my hair, trying to figure out some way of telling him to shut the fuck up without actually saying “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Did he ask who out?” Daniel asks as he walks up, throwing his shin guards in his locker. He’s seemed a little off the past week or so. I suspect it has something to do with Quincy, but I’m not asking.

  “Tiffany,” Christian says before I can try to deflect the conversation.

  “Look guys, can we not talk about it here?” I plead. They both give me a quizzical look. “I try to keep my private life separate from my work life. It’s better that way for me.”

  Daniel squints at me and then grins. “Are you embarrassed that you like her?”

  Christian laughs and pokes me in the ribs, which I hate because I’m ticklish. “Should we sing about Rowen and Tiffany sitting in a tree?”

  “Quit it, guys,” I say, batting Christian’s hands away, but he keeps coming at me. “I mean it. I don’t want to talk about it here.”

  “You don’t want to talk about liking a girl?” Daniel sing-songs while I poke back at Christian.

  “Kick his ass, Sanchez!” someone yells from the other side of the room. The two of us keep at it until we’re wrestling, jabbing at each other and trying to pin each other to the ground. The jeers get louder as teammates come over to watch the commotion. Finally, I get Christian in a really good headlock.

  “I give!” he yells through a laugh. “I give. You win. We don’t have to talk about it here.”

  “Talk about what?” Nate asks as he walks by.

  “Talk about him liking Tiffany,” Daniel replies with a wink in my direction. I groan.

  “Tiffany? Party girl Tiffany?” Nate stops and walks backward to look at me.

  This is not the conversation I wanted to have with my teammates. Daniel and Christian, fine. They’ve turned out to be really good guys. They’ve taken me under their wing and haven’t ever done anything to make me question them or their loyalty to the team. But I can’t say the same for everyone else, and that makes me uncomfortable.

  Unfortunately, neither one seems to notice my discomfort.

  “One and the same,” Christian answers. “It seems our newest member has taken a liking to her.”

  Nate looks at Christian blankly and then laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”

  My hackles rise. “Why would he be kidding?” I ask, glaring at him.

  Nate puts his hands on his hips and looks at me like I just asked a stupid question. “She’s a whore, Rookie.”

  I raise to my full height, which is a few inches taller than him. “She’s not a whore, Funderling. She’s a woman. A smart, interesting, beautiful woman.”

  He snickers. “If you want to go after her, go for it. It’s not gonna bother me. But don’t forget, Rookie, I tapped that first.”

  “And I had his sloppy seconds,” someone yells.

  There are more laughs and snickers as several other people add their comments:

  “I had her, too.”

  “Who hasn’t had her?”

  “At least she can break the rookie in.”

  I clench my jaw. “You do realize she calls you guys her friends, right? Maybe you should stop being dicks about her behind her back.”

  “We’re just having some fun,” Shivel chimes in. “She’s a cool girl. Go for it. You have our blessing.”

  I glare at him. I don’t need his blessing for anything. And I’m not stupid. I know he’s full of shit anyway. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, it’s only a matter of time before he uses my feelings for her against me.

  “Dude, I’m sorry,” Christian says quietly as everyone gets back to their own business. “I wasn’t thinking about how these douchebags would react.”

  I don’t look at him, afraid I’ll lose my cool. I’m just the rookie. I can’t afford to be seen as a troublemaker, no matter how much of an ass he is. I wrap a towel around my waist and go to the showers.

  Even with the hot water pounding my muscles, I can’t relax. Just knowing what these guys think of Tiffany, the way
they talk about her behind her back, it’s enough to make me want to beat the shit out of them. But that would be seen as a major screw-up. Until I’ve proven my worth, I have to watch myself.

  When I return to my locker, I see not that many people are still here. Most have already left, including Nate and Shivel. They’re the worst at getting people riled up.

  A hand drops on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about what they say,” Daniel says, shoving his wallet in a back pocket. “She’s a nice girl, and there’s no shame in connecting with her. If you’re interested, ask her out. To hell with everyone else.”

  He walks away, and my phone buzzes with an incoming text message from Daniel. I open it, and it’s a phone number.

  Here’s her digits. Use them.

  He’s right. To hell with everyone else.

  “How do you make a strawberry shake?”

  I look up and smile. I’m totally engrossed in looking up stats of some of the contenders for this year’s Football Hall of Fame, but that little voice is always able to tear me away from the most interesting research. And this isn’t interesting at all. “I don’t know. How do you make a strawberry shake?”,

  “Put it in the freezer!” Ashley covers her mouth and laughs at her own joke.

  “That’s a good one,” I say. “So what’s our category?”

  “Fruit jokes. Your turn.”

  I pretend to think really hard before answering. “Got one,” I say with a snap of my fingers. “What is a vampire’s favorite fruit?”

  She narrows her eyes momentarily before surprising me with the answer. “A neck-tarine.”

  “How did you know that?” I ask, fake shock on my face. I rarely know a joke she hasn’t already heard, which means she always wins our battles. But she thinks it’s fun to beat me, so who am I to take away her fun?

  “My friend, Taylor, told me last year. In second grade.” She emphasizes the “second,” like that’s so passé.

  “Can I try again?”

  She huffs. “I guess.”

  “I’ve got a good one.” Her eyebrow quirks up, like she’ll believe it when she hears it. “Why was the tomato blushing?”