Page 105 of Fighting Spirit

I don’t do more than awkwardly pull off the head, unable to get to my phone until I’ve found somebody to help me get the gloves off.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter as I waddle back out into the corridor. The cheerleaders' locker room is a few doors down from me, and I poke my head in. I’m able to wave over one of the rookies and she quickly unstraps me. I hadn’t realized how cold my hands were until the damp foam comes off and I can puff warm air over them. I quickly thank the girl who’s name I can’t place and head back over, scrambling to unlock my phone.

ROWAN

Aren’t frogs meant to be waterproof? You’re not making a very convincing amphibian.

I grin down at the screen. The rest of the costume apparently forgotten, I sit on the bench and tap out a reply.

Ruth

I’m a toad, jackass

ROWAN

Come tell me to my face.

*location pin dropped*

I’m out of the costume and into dry clothes in record time, the duffel bag thumping against my leg as I jog into the parking lot. I check the location on my phone and see that he’s only about fifty meters away. I break into a run, practically skipping by the time I get to him. Rowan pushes away from his truck in one lazymovement, his arms opening. The force I crash into him with should take us both to the ground, but this is a man used to absorbing tackles. He rocks backward, taking a large step to keep us steady. The air escapes him in an “oof” that has me grinning into his sweater.

“Hey there,” he says fondly.

“What are you doing here?” I peel back and look up at him. “And why are you dressed like the Unabomber?”

His ears flush pink and for a minute, he’s looking anywhere but at me. “Didn’t want to get clocked by a home crowd,” he eventually says with a small smile. “Don’t want them thinking I’m up to some kind of espionage.”

“I think the outfit makes you look more suspicious, if anything,” I say as I playfully tug down the brim of his cap. He scowls and pulls it off entirely, its departure giving him enough space to drop a hard kiss to the top of my head. I melt against him.

“Can I take you to dinner, please?” he murmurs against my hair. My heart sings at his sweet question, his little ‘please’ like I’d be making his day.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I literally could not care less,” he answers. “Just come.”

I flop my head forward with a groan as I realize where I’m supposed to be tonight. “I can’t. I have that film thing.”

“Marshall’s thing?” I don’t miss the thread of tension in his voice.

“Yeah, I promised I’d go.”

Rowan’s huff is kind of adorable. This big, stoic man is acting like a grumpy child. “Do you want me to drive you?”

I gesture down to myself. “Like this?”

“You look fine.”

“I look like a drowned rat.”

“Yeah, kinda.” He smirks. “But in a cute way.”

“Jesus, Ro,” I chuckle. “Get in the car. If you’re here you might as well make yourself useful and take me home.”

He knows he’s digging himself into a hole because he slides my bag off my shoulder and throws it into the backseat. I let him open the passenger-side door and help me in, but when he gets into the driver’s side, he pauses with his hands on the wheel.

“Rowan?”

“Are you sure you want to go?”

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