Page 51 of Back to Square One

Rowan might have slept, she wasn’t sure.

Not much. Not more than an hour or so. An hour and change. She mostly lay there in her bed, gaze on the windows, watching the night morph slowly, colorfully, into morning.

Her body felt different. Weak, like a wet dishrag, the way it always did after a night of good sex. Her legs were a little sore. Her shorts were still damp. Her throat was dry, and she could still smell and taste Evie on her lips, around her mouth, on her fingers. She’d thought about getting up an hour or two ago and washing up, but she wanted to hold on to the memories for just a little longer.

She shifted her legs beneath the covers and blew out a long, slow breath. She was going to have to get up eventually. She was going to have to face Evie and what they’d done. She was going to have to face Claire and Claire’s knowledge of what they’d done.

Maybe I can just stay in this room until the end of time.

She scratched at her scalp as the thought bounced around in her skull. Who would she miss? Her mom, of course. Stevie, no question. And then Kevin’s furry gray face appeared in her mind, reminding her that her mother didn’t really love cats, and that sealed it. Okay. Can’t stay here forever because I have a cat. Damn it.

The sun began to peek over the horizon, sending shards of deep orange across the glass of her windows, painting some of the wall’s edge. She lay there for a while longer, not sleeping, but also not moving. She wondered if Evie had stayed on the couch, if she’d had it out with Claire, if Claire was back across the hall, if whoever was up now could feel the residual tension that she imagined still floated around in the living room like the lingering smell of burnt popcorn.

Rolling onto her back, she reached her arms over her head and stretched her muscles, inhaling a deep breath.

Coffee.

She could smell it brewing, which told her that somebody else was likely up. The sun had brightened the world, and she was going to have to face it all eventually…although maybe she wasn’t. They couldn’t force her to talk, right? What had happened between her and Evie was wonderful and terrible and sexy and awkward, but it was also nobody’s business.

“Fuck it.” She threw off the covers and headed for the bathroom. Maybe a quick shower would help her feel at least slightly more human.

Twenty minutes later, she was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, hair still wet and twisted into a braid down her back. She quietly opened her door. The bedroom door across the hall was also open. She tiptoed closer, peeked in from the doorway. Nobody was there. She could see a mess of a bed, clothes strewn about, a large number of orange pill bottles on the dresser, and several random shoes. Evie was a fairly neat person, so this disorganization had to be Claire’s. Rowan shook her head with a sigh and headed downstairs…

…and felt like she’d walked into a lion’s den.

Evie was still on the couch, her rumpled blankets and dented pillow making it clear to anybody who looked that she’d slept there. Claire was pacing, arms folded across her chest, brow furrowed. Stevie and Sara were both in the dining room setting the table for breakfast, but Stevie’s eyes held worry, and when she glanced up at Rowan, there were too many questions there. She couldn’t begin to take them all in, so she looked away quickly. Justine was around the corner in the kitchen, and when Rowan leaned to get a look at her, her face was etched with the same amount of concern that Stevie’s held.

What the hell was going on?

She wanted to know, but she also didn’t. Avoiding looking at Evie at all—which Stevie noticed—she moved into the kitchen and got herself a mug out of the cupboard.

Just pouring myself some coffee. Nothing to see here.

She held the mug in both hands, letting the warmth seep through the ceramic and into her skin as she leaned back against the counter and watched as Justine picked up a handful of forks and handed them to her just as Lizzie came in from the deck.

“Take these out to the table?” she asked, and when their fingers touched, Justine met her eyes with so many questions on her face that Rowan had to physically keep herself from fleeing.

“Sure.” She took the forks out to the dining room and handed them to Stevie, who looked from Evie to Rowan and back, making it clear to Rowan that she knew something was amiss. Then she swallowed.

The air on the entire first floor was thick with tension, so thick you could feel it, like you were walking through fog, gathering its moisture on your skin. It was Sara who couldn’t take it any longer.

“All right. That’s it.” She stood with her hands on her hips, like the mom who’d reached the end of her rope with her misbehaving children. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing,” both Evie and Rowan said at the same time, and Claire scoffed loudly from across the room.

“Bullshit,” she said, shooting daggers at Evie. For her part, Evie glanced down at her hands.

“It’s nobody’s business,” Rowan said, her voice soft, her eyes on Evie. She cleared her throat as Evie looked up at her, gratitude on her face.

“Except it is.” It was Claire’s turn to park her hands on her hips. “These are your friends.”

Evie’s head whipped around, and Rowan couldn’t see her face as she stared down Claire, who—to her credit—didn’t wither. They just held gazes as if they were having a staring contest.

Sara broke in. “Rowan and Evie had sex. Am I right?”

Rowan’s tiny gasp of surprise left her lips before she could catch it, and she snapped her mouth closed.

Sara rolled her eyes. “Please. I came up to grab a Gatorade, and you guys weren’t exactly quiet.”