Wes stood there, hoodie in hand as Rowyn hurried away. He tried to pluck enough pieces of that conversation so he could assemble them into anything remotely rational.
Keaton blinked. “I think it’s fair to say my date was better. What was that about?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, bro.”
The two stood in silence for a moment while the absurdity of what happened sank in.
“She can’t date you, ‘cause you’re a musician?”
“That’s what she said.”
“That’s the first time I’ve seen that be a disadvantage. I thought girls loved musicians.”
Wes scratched his head. “Yeah. Me too.”
“So?”
“So?”
Keaton smiled. “Are you going to let her get away with that? I thought you really liked this girl.”
“I do. She’s hot. She’s sweet. She’s smart.”
“She owes you some kind of explanation,” he said.
Keaton was right. If she was going to rip away his hope for something amazing, it was only fair that he expected her to have a damned good reason for doing it.
Wes smiled at his brother. “You know, for being younger you dish out decent advice.” He handed the hoodie over to Keaton and as it passed his face he realized it smelled like girl. Like flowers. Like her. A scented reminder of what he could no longer have. “Be right back.”
The door to her apartment was open a crack and Rowyn sat in dim light, practically folded in half on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, a blanket draped around her shoulders. The TV was on, and she was obviously using TiVo to pause, rewind and re-watch him. That’s how she found out and she was now simply grinding salt into fresh wounds.
Wes cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said. “Can we talk?”
She wordlessly pointed the remote to the television and paused it at a close up of Drew’s tattooed forearm strumming the guitar and although she didn’t utter the word ‘yes,’ he took her actions as enough of a sign that she’d at least listen to what he had to say.
Wes moved to the couch and sat down beside her. “In the interest of being honest,” he said. “I gotta tell you I am so confused right now.”
She was silent and brought the corner of her blanket up to swipe at her red-rimmed eyes.
“Today was probably the best time I’ve had on a date. Ever,” he said.
She nodded. “Me too.”
This was going from highly confusing to completely bewildering in record time.
Wes set his hand on her knee and looked at her. “Then what does it matter what I do for a living?”
She wiped her eyes again and rose to her feet before she disappeared down the hallway. She returned with a frame in her hands and offered it to him. It was a CD, pressed between two plates of glass. He knew what it was immediately. An award; recognition for a platinum album—the kind given by record labels when their artists achieved that level of success.
She spun around and pulled something off the mantel on the fireplace and handed that to him too.
Holy crap. “This is a Grammy.”
Rowyn flopped beside him. “One of many. I swear you could take it if you wanted to. My father wouldn’t even know it was gone.”
He squinted to make out the writing on the plaque in the dim light of the room. It was too difficult though, so he set both pieces on the coffee table. “Who is your father?”
“Jeffery Riley,” she said.
“Your dad is Jeff Riley?”
“Yep.”
“The Jeff Riley.”
“If you mean the one who is too busy touring the world to remember that I exist, yeah, that’s him.”
Wes’s body tensed as he closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. After a lengthy pause he managed, “you’re Rowyn Riley?”
She nodded.
“You weren’t exactly forthcoming either, were you given that you’re like rock royalty? You failed to mention that little detail. Can’t we call it even? I really like you.”
“I like you too but your failure to disclose is worse than mine. I don’t leave,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You do and don’t get me wrong, Wes, I get it, I really do; it’s an occupational requirement but unfortunately being—as you put it—rock royalty has soured me to the glamour of it all. He’s never here. Never. You know how I spent my birthday? Ordering Chinese take-out with my best friend Sydney. Last Christmas? I was at Syd’s and while her mom fixed her dad’s tie and he kissed her on the forehead, I had this horrible realization that I couldn’t remember the last time my life was like that. Since my mom died, I am alone. Always alone. I swore one day I’d be able to have something normal.”
“So because I happen to make music, I’m automatically dealt into the same category as your dad?”
She shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” he echoed.
“I’m sorry that this entire thing is crap and I’m sorry it’s so unfair. I really like you. A lot. We could have had something great.”
His hand brushed down her shoulder, prompting a shiver. “Rowyn, listen to me. We can have something great, you just need to be willing to let it happen.”
“Willing to get my heart broken every single time you have to say goodbye? Thanks but no thanks,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Wes, we can’t.”
“We can’t because you’re setting limits on something that doesn’t even exist yet. Because you’re scared.”
He was right.
One hundred percent.
“What happened to the girl who was never going to be afraid to take that step into the water?”
“I don’t swim with sharks,” she said flatly.
He gave a heavy sigh. “So that’s it then?”
“That’s it,” she said. “I’m really sorry.”
Wes scowled and rose to his feet. “Yeah. Me too.”
She locked the door behind him and pressed her forehead to the cool wood panel. Through the peephole, she watched as he stalked away, his entire posture stiff, like his bones were infused with steel. It was better to say goodbye now. It hurt less this way.
She placed the Grammy back on the mantel and rehung her father’s platinum award on the wall. What she really wanted to do was wing it from the top floor and watch it shatter into a million little pieces.
She didn’t bother to get her blanket out that night. There was no point. She was wide-awake, the same nagging thought circling through her head on repeat: she needed to be more careful; more guarded before falling into like with someone again.
It only led to disappointment.
He stormed into the apartment ready to break something. Keaton’s door was closed. His eyes darted to the clock on the stove. It was almost midnight and Keaton was an early riser so he was probably asleep. Wes considered waking him. Misery did love company and there was no question—he was miserable.
He called Drew. The phone didn’t even ring before voicemail answered.
“It’s Drew,” the recording said. “I’m MIA for the week and so is my phone. If this is an emergency, Wes knows where I am.”
Pissed off, Wes hit the end button. Yeah, he knew where to physically locate Drew but he wasn’t up for driving for an hour just to have a heart to heart, at least not now.
What the hell was he going to do?
He’d been friend-zoned by a girl as rare and fleeting as a shooting star.
Her father was Jeff freaking Riley.
The odds of that happening had to be what? 1 in 38 million. Out of the entire population of California, he became enamored with the most unattainable person. Rowyn Riley who was not charmed by celebrity but repelled by it.
He headed to his room to change into clothes he could work out in. Lifting weights always cleared his mind and if he was going to catch a shooting star, he was going to need a plan.
Keaton’s door was still closed the next morning but there was once again a note on the counter saying he’d gone out with Sophie. Was Sophie Keaton’s date yesterday? God. Wes hadn’t even asked or expressed any interest. He’d been too caught up with Rowyn. He made a mental note to ask Keaton later.
Juice was out of the question. It would only remind him of her and unlike Rowyn and her TiVo, he had no desire to replay the events of yesterday. Instead he grabbed an apple and sat at the table to eat it, scrolling through the news headlines when there was a knock at the door.
He opened it to reveal Rowyn leaning against the outside wall in the hallway dressed in jeans and a black sleeveless top. Her hair was braided to one side and there wasn’t an ounce of make up hiding her face.
“I came to see you,” she said.
Wes stepped back to let her in. “I’m glad you did. Do you want something?”
He hoped her reply would be ‘you’ but instead she shook her head. “Just to talk.”
He marched to his place at the table and sat down. “What up?”
Rowyn followed, wringing her hands nervously. “I think I overreacted last night.”
“Mmm,” he said. “I noticed.”
“The thing is, I do want to spend time with you.”
Now they were on the same page. Wes smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” she said, “As friends.”
There goes the same page. She tore that thing out from the book in a flash. He couldn’t understand it. There was a perfect, beautiful chemistry that existed between them and she wanted to deny it. Even so, he wasn’t about to push her to feel something that she didn’t think she could. Denial couldn’t last forever.
Wes slouched in his chair and for what felt like an eternity, he didn't utter a single word. The silence stretched in the air, filling the space with tension in a situation that was already so strained, she wasn't sure she'd be able to breathe again.
"Okay," he finally said. "We can be friends."
"Really?"
"Sure.”
She shifted her chair closer to his. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"I said it. It's good.”
"There's just one more thing," she said.
He stood and walked to the garbage to deposit the apple core. "What's that?"
"I made a list."
"You made a list?"
Ugh. What was he going to think? "Yes," she confirmed. "A list."
"A shopping list? A bucket list? A to-do list? What list did you make?" Wes asked.
This was it. She took a deep breath before she spilled the truth. "A list of ground rules."
“Ground rules for…”
“To spend time with each other.”
He flashed the wide, dimple creating, knee weakening grin. She amused him. “Ground rules to spend time with each other? You can't be ser—” he stopped when he noticed her deadpan expression. “You made a friendship rule book?”
She nodded. “This way it’s better for anyone involved. And it’s not a book,” she added quickly. “Only a few minor things.”
"Can I see the list?”
She reached into the back pocket of her jeans, retrieved a piece of folded paper and held it out to him. He took it, settled back into the chair and unfolded it. “Rowyn’s rules, huh?”
"There's only like four of them," she said, as if that would make it okay.
His eyes scanned the paper, his features set in stone until an eyebrow arched skyward. "Rule number one. No flirting."
"No flirting."
"Would you like me to stop breathing too? That's unreasonable. Sorry baby, no can do."
She crossed her arms over chest. "Read number two."
He sighed. "No pet names."
"Exactly."
"Like buttercup or pookie?"
"Like baby, Wes."
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Wow. You want me to surrender my guy card, too?"
"No."
"Admit it, you want to shred my man passport."
"I do not. Keep reading."
"Number three. Always be honest with each other."
"Yes," she said.
"For the record," he said. "I'll be honest with you whether we are friends or more than friends."
"It basically means don't lie to spare my feelings," she said. "Especially when you find a girl…you know, don't hide it from me and start acting all weird.” The idea of him with another girl was excruciating but she was giving up her right to jealousy. “Go on.”
"Number four. No touching."
"No touching," she said. "That's the most important one."
"I'm afraid you'll have to define that one. Being friends with you is like a job. I need clarification."
"It's perfectly clear," she said. "You can't touch me, I can't touch you."
"At all?"
"At all."
"Okay, referring back to rule three, I'm going to be brutally honest. Rule number four is stupid."
"No it's not."
"Yes," he said. "It is. Friends touch. People touch. It's basic human instinct. What if I wanted to hug you?"
"Resist the urge and don't do it."
He rolled his eyes and groaned. "Jesus Rowyn, you're makin' this way harder than it needs to be."
"I'm not making it harder," she argued. "Trust me, it's for the best. Please Wes, I really gave this some thought. Yesterday was amazing, and if I can't have, have you, I at least want you in my life. I want to be able to call you a friend and in order for that to be possible, we need to stick to these," she nodded to the paper, “at least for me.”
"You're making this so impossible," he said. “And let me remind you, you can have, have me, you’re choosing not to.”
"Will you try?" she asked, hopefully. "Please."
"I can try," he said.
"Okay. That's fair."
"Rowyn?"
"Yeah?"
"Since I'm by the book now, I had better tell you something that reverts back to the honesty rule again.”
"Okay."
"I’m terrible for breaking rules."