Page 32 of The Cheerleader is Off Limits

For the past three days, Sloane and I have talked constantly. In the morning, I usually text her sometime after ten since I’ve learned she’s really not a morning person.She claims she usually gets up around eight thirty, but I’ve yet to see her even come close to that,and we spend the rest of the day talking on and off until one of us falls asleep. Now it’s Thursday, which means our date is later tonight. I’m not nervous or anxious, but something feels different. I’m not thinking anything crazy like I’ve fallen in love with her after one high conversation, some sexual tension, and a few days of texting, but I’ll admit I haven’t thought about a woman like this in a long time. There isn’t an hour that’s gone by that she hasn’t crossed my mind at least once, and I’ve even allowed myself to think about what it would be like to travel somewhere with her.

Okay, so she’s seventeen years younger than me.

Sure, that’s young, but is it that young?

Rowan is nineteen years older than Ellie.

So, if this becomes a thing long-term, it won’t seem so crazy in a few years.

I stare at myself in the mirror because thisiswild. I can’t possibly be thinking about this girl in the long-term sense.

Me:

Can’t wait for tonight.

I text her and kind of wish I could take it back becausedid that come off too clingy?I grab the razor to finish touching up my beard when my phone vibrates, and her name pops up on my screen.

Sloane:

Me too. Been thinking about it all day.

At least it seems we are on the same page. My house is extra tidy due to a last-minute visit from my housekeeper, but I do another once-over, vacuuming a few rooms and making my bed in case we wind up back here.

My phone beeps again, and I’m already wondering what sassy or flirty text I’m going to get from Sloane when I see it’s not from her.

Unknown number:

You coming by tonight? It’s been a while, and I’m off at 10.

I have an idea who this is, but I scroll up through our conversation to be sure, and it is, in fact, a bartender from The Dugout, a bar I frequent. I have slept with her, so I’m guessing that she might be interested in coming over later.

A part of me thinks about ignoring the text, but I don’t want to be rude when she hasn’t done anything wrong.

Me:

Hey, I can’t tonight, but maybe this weekend.

Unknown number:

Sounds good. Hope you’re doing well. X

Another text comes through, but this one’s from Ellie.

Ellie:

Can’t wait to hear all the details about tonight!

I was actually surprised that Ellie hadn’t given me too hard a time about Sloane’s age when I told her. Maybe because she could tell I kind of liked her after just one conversation. I thumbs-up her text because I didn’t have time for the thousand questions that would inevitably arise like where we’re going and what I’m wearing.

I leave my house early, which is another sign I like herand might also be a little nervousbecause I’m notoriously always running five minutes behind.

I arrive at the restaurant in just under an hour, which is almost unheard of at this time of day during the week, but traffic was lighter than usual. I find parking and make it inside, and I’m shocked to see Sloane already there waiting. She looks gorgeous in a short white dress that makes her shapely legs look sexy as hell with a brown leather jacket. Her blond hair spills around her shoulders in loose curls that I want to run my fingers through. Her lips are painted a bright red, and I already know I’ll be struggling to keep my eyes off them.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d beat me here,” I tell her as I pull her in for a hug.

“I was raised on ‘if you’re on time, you’re late.’” She chuckles. “But I haven’t been here long at all.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” I tell her as I guide her to the hostess stand. “You look gorgeous, by the way.”