Page 5 of Rowan's Renewal
Grinning, I nod, “And generous.”
The hint of a blush dusts his sharp cheekbones before he clears his throat. “I like helping people.”
“That goes hand-in-hand with the doctor thing, I guess.” Tilting my head, I ask, “What kind of doctor are you?”
“Nothing specialized. I guess I’m what you’d call a general practitioner. I work in the emergency department of my local hospital, though, so I see a lot of interesting cases.”
I snort. “How many of them are ‘I was naked, and I accidentally sat on the phallic shaped object’ cases?”
He groans, giving his head a shake. “Waymore than there should be.” I snicker as he follows up with: “What about you?”
“I don’t deal with inappropriately used household items, no.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. The sound lights me up from the inside, and the emergence of a dimple in his left cheek makes my stomach flip. “That’s not what I meant.” He cocks his head. “What do you do for work?”
“I work for a lifestyle magazine,” I shrug, as though my role isn’t that important. I’m the EIC, so I’m responsible for the entire publication, and I report solely to the publisher.
Since we began transitioning to digital, with print copies dropping in sales over the past decade, my job has focused more on keeping up with trends and encouraging the editorial team to find niche content than it has on anything else.
However, I still insist on doing a final proofread and edit of most of our content before it goes live. It’s my ass on the line ifwe release anything subpar. While I’m on vacation, that job falls on my deputy’s shoulders. Jonathan is even stricter than I am, so woe betide any of the content writers if they think my vacation means they can slack off.
“Oh,” Aaron sounds genuinely fascinated, “are you going to use this trip as inspiration for an article?”
It’s a fair question, but it’s been a long time since I’ve written any content for our publications. I shake my head. “Nah, this is a work-free zone.”
“Amen to that.” He offers his fist for a fist bump and then starts to back out of the room, gesturing to my suitcase. “I’ll let you unpack and get settled. Just treat this room as you would have your own private booking. Come and go as you please, feel free to bring up any, uh,new friendsyou make.” He winks.
My cheeks burn. “You, um, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not…” I sigh. “I can’t do hookups. But, obviously, don’t let me being in your spare room stop you from bringing anyone up, either.”
Frown lines develop in his forehead, but he doesn’t press me on the issue. “Okay, well, if you need to get in touch with me, I’ll give you my number, too. I was lazy and decided to just pay for international roaming.”
“Me too,” I nod and pull my phone from my pocket. I haven’t checked it in a while, and I can see a text from Bianca on the screen, telling me to enjoy myself.
I’ll reply to her later.
We exchange numbers and then Aaron leaves me to do my thing.
While I unpack, cringing at the trash I still need to take out, I sigh again and mull over our conversation.
I wish I could be normal. I wish I could hook up with hot guys whenever the urge strikes. But that means needing to warn guys about my various issues and I find that really difficult to do withstrangers. Hell, I can’t even do it with close friends, and I’m not trying to sleep with them.
Alex was probably right. I’m too high maintenance.
I should just give up on fantasizing completely and acknowledge that my future is probably going to be one of singledom. And, honestly, there’s nothing wrong with being single. I love the independence and freedom of making all my own choices. But sometimes that gets exhausting, and I do get lonely.
That’s what I have friends for, I remind myself, grabbing my phone to reply to Bianca’s text.Friends and sex toys. What more could a man really need?
Chapter Four
“Hey,” I tap lightly on the doorframe to Rowan’s room, offering him a smile when he looks up from his reclined position on the bed. I interrupted him texting someone, but he sets the phone down on the mattress beside him and looks at me expectantly. Throwing my thumb over my shoulder, I say, “I’m going to go check out the resort. Want to come with?”
He scrunches his nose in contemplation, and I can’t help but think it’s a cute expression. He’s older and broader than me, but he doesn’t carry himself with the kind of confidence (or arrogance) most men who look like him do. Instead, he seems to withdraw into himself, hunching those broad shoulders as if he’s trying to shrink and fade into the background.
“I think I’ll pass,” he replies, and I try not to feel too disappointed at the rejection. “I’m kind of wiped, so I might take a nap. But,” his teeth sink into his lower lip, “if you want to join me for dinner later, I’d like that. My treat. For, y’know” —he gestures around the room— “this.”
The Daddy in me wants to argue with him about who will be paying, but just because my instincts are screaming that this big, attractive man is submissive, it doesn’t mean I can automatically slide into that role with him. So, I smile and tell him, “Sure. I’d like that, too.” Glancing at my watch, I say, “I’ll probably be back in a few hours, so…dinner around seven?”
His shoulders relax. “Perfect.”
