This Is Falling (23 page)

“Did you seriously get a limo?” Ty asks from
the hallway as he makes his way through our open door.

“Yes. I told you, I’m not messin’ around.
Prom is serious shit, and when you throw a prom, you do it right.
Now come fix my damn tie,” I say back, untying my fourteenth
attempt at the bow.

“How are you my brother? I mean…seriously,
I’m starting to think we need to give up on all the Barbie shit in
our room, because you’re making estrogen. You’ve become an estrogen
factory, like women should come visit you for donations for hormone
replacement. Wait, show me your legs.” Ty is loving this, and as he
reaches down to grab my pant leg to roll up the material, I kick at
him.

“Dude, don’t touch my leg. What are you
doing?” I say.

“Just checking to see if you’ve started
shaving your legs. Your razors aren’t pink, are they?” he
snickers.

“No, jack-ass. And this is just important, so
cut the crap,” I say, shoving the ends of my tie in his face so he
can help me.

“To whom? To Rowe? Because I was in that room
an hour ago, and she was not a happy camper having Paige’s hands
all over her face and head,” he says, tugging and pulling on the
tie until it’s finally even on both sides.

“I know, but that’s just her style. She
doesn’t like the attention and the fuss. But she likes the
experience, and everyone needs to have a prom to remember. She
missed out on hers,” I say, slipping my jacket on and dusting the
sleeves.

“I don’t know, bro. I didn’t have a prom
experience, and I turned out fine,” Ty says, winking as he turns
away and reaches for the remote to flip on the TV.

“That’s because you left prom—and your prom
date—after fifteen minutes, to sleep with some college chick
waitress you met during the dinner,” I fire back.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he laughs. “Ahhhhh
prom. A’right, go make your own memories.”

“Shithead,” I say as I tuck my wallet into my
jacket. Ty blows me a kiss when I leave.

It was so much like prom—the knocking on the
door, and standing in the hallway, feeling like an asshole while I
listen to the girls giggle on the other side. I was actually
sweating, I was so nervous. That all stopped the second Cass opened
the door though and Rowe walked around the corner.

Her dress was white—innocent and delicate and
incredibly girly. It fell down the side of one of her shoulders and
soft layers of fabric hugged her body, but then ended in a blunt
cut along the top of her legs. It was the shortest thing I have
seen her in, and I know her legs are the only things anyone who
comes in contact with us tonight are going to see. I can’t take my
eyes off of them right now.

“Daaaaamn,” Rowe says, putting her fingers in
her mouth to whistle. My tomboy, always trying to beat me to the
punch line, steps back and holds her hand to her chin admiring me,
like I’m the one out of the two of us worth admiring. “You wore a
tux,” she says, and a genuine smile curves on her lips.

“All part of the
Nate Preeter Prom
Experience
, babe,” I say, holding my arm out to escort her.

“Ewww, don’t call me babe. It feels so…I
don’t know…
Goodfellas
!” she says, reaching for my arm and
letting me guide her through the door and down the hall.

“Got it, babe,” I say with a wink, just to be
an ass.

“You have her home by morning, you hear
Preeter?” Cass yells down the hall after us. I just hold my hand up
with an
okay
.

When we reach the elevator, I hold the door
with my back as she steps in, and that’s when I see how far down
the material scoops on her back.
Ohhhhhh fuck me!
The silk
sways along her lower back with every shake of her hips, and I find
myself rooting for it to sway just a little more, because I swear
if it does I’m going to see her bare ass.

Two more guys get in the elevator with us
along with a few girls, and I notice everyone looking at the back
of that dress—at Rowe’s bare back. Most guys would get all kinds of
protective from this and want to cover their woman up, but not me.
I know what it means to Rowe to be out in something like this, to
show parts of herself she normally keeps hidden. And I never want
her to feel ashamed again. Rowe is hot as hell, and I want everyone
to get a good look at the girl that will be with me all night, and
the rest of the weekend, and the rest of the semester and…well,
pretty much as long as she’ll have me.

“You seriously rented a limo,” she says when
we walk up to the parking lot curb where the driver is waiting for
us.

“Damn straight I did,” I say, opening the
door for her to step inside. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” I reach
into my pocket and pull out the small yellow wrist corsage I picked
up from the town florist. It was a last-minute order, so she didn’t
have time to make me anything fancy—but seeing the way it makes
Rowe’s face light up when she lets me slide it over her hand, and
she smells it along her wrist, makes me think this simple flower
was the perfect choice.

Putting together a prom night wasn’t easy,
and there really wasn’t a way I could get her to a formal dance, so
I did the next best thing and put together all of the silly things
that go along with the prom. Our first stop was the Olive Garden,
because that’s the kind of place you think is a fancy restaurant
when you’re in high school. Two pasta bowls and two basketfuls of
breadsticks later, Rowe and I left to climb back into the limo,
sleepy from the carb overload.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. That was pretty fun,”
she says, crossing her long legs in the car and completely putting
me in a trance. “So, what’s next?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah…” I shake my head.

“You were gawking,” she says, pulling the
edge of her skirt up a little higher on her thigh just to tease
me.

“Don’t start something you don’t intend to
finish, Rowe. I can put up that privacy glass anytime I want,” I
say, my eyes moving quickly from hers back to the newly exposed
flesh on her leg.

“Well, isn’t that part of the
Nate Preeter
Prom Experience
, too?” she teases. I slide my arm around her to
tug her close to my body, and I spend the rest of the short drive
torturing her while I kiss her neck and slide my fingertips along
the temptingly high hem of her dress.

I knew the next stop would get to her. I had
to come up with something that would serve as a
prom
, so
when I saw the Friday-night square-dancing notice posted at Sally’s
this week, I jumped all over it.

“Uh, Preeter? I’m pretty sure this is not
what a high school prom is like,” she says as I hold her hand and
help her from the car to the curb.

“Really? ‘Cause I was trying to be authentic
to Arizona, and that’s how y’all dance there pretty much, ain’t
it?” She slaps at my side with her small handbag, and I swing my
arms around her and lift her into me, spinning her around until she
giggles. God I love that sound.

“Wow, you really did your research on my home
state. I suppose after this we’re going to meet up for a shootout,
and then take our horses down to the waterin’ hole?”

“Don’t be silly,” I say, opening the door to
lead her inside. “Everybody knows shootouts only happen at
dawn.”

I never would have expected it, but the
square-dancing nights at Sally’s are actually pretty happening.
Granted, Rowe and I are the youngest people in the building by
about forty years, but everyone thinks we are so sweet that they
teach us new formations, buy us drinks and appetizers, and even
make a special crown for Rowe to be named queen. We leave after two
full hours of dancing, and I actually worked up enough of a sweat
to have to lose the jacket and undo the tie.

Rowe kicks her shoes off in the car, and I
pull her feet onto my lap to rub them. It’s all I can do to keep my
hands from running completely up her leg to the small, white
panties I keep catching a glimpse of, and if she weren’t looking at
me with those eyes, making that face, I probably would.

“Thank you,” she says softly, letting her
face fall to the side along the headrest of the car.

“For what?” I say, my fingers pressing into
the arch of her feet.

“For caring about me so much,” she says, and
her words cut into my heart completely.

“Rowe,” I say, carefully setting her feet
down on the floor and sliding myself closer to her so I can touch
her face. “I would do…anything.”

She leaves her eyes on mine for a long time,
and I just keep stroking the side of her face as we pull back onto
the main road to campus. “Anything?” she says, finally.

“Name it.”

“Hold me again tonight?”

“Done.”

Chapter
21

Rowe

Nate’s dad came through with the ticket
hook-up, and when I called his business associate, the man turned
out to be a huge McConnell baseball fan, and he gave me the pair of
third-row seats for free.

When I gave them to Nate after our
prom
experience, he was thrilled. There isn’t much in the
way of professional sports in Oklahoma, and the Thunder has a huge
fan base, so good seats are tough to come by. Now, I just need to
work up the mental stamina to be able to sit in a full arena for
three hours—without having a panic attack. And I have six more
hours to do it before tipoff.

“Hey, he’s talking to you,” a voice behind me
whispers and jolts me back to attention.

“Huh, oh…sorry,” I say, startled to have
someone talk to me during art history, or in any class. My circle
of friends hasn’t really expanded beyond my dorm floor, and I
haven’t really made an effort to be social in class. I look up to
see the professor tapping his pen on the side of his podium,
waiting for me. Crap! I have no idea what the question was, and
judging from the look on his face, he’s been waiting for my answer
for a while. I swallow hard and shift my posture in my seat,
pretending to work to get a better look at the slide showing on the
screen.

“He wants to know why yellow was the dominant
color,” the voice behind me whispers. I owe that voice!

“The artist was trying to depict the ugliness
in human nature. He used yellow to signify greed and arrogance. And
the lone figure, painted in blue, is there for hope—that humans can
redeem themselves,” I say, my voice coming through a little
unsurely. I read this chapter last night, knowing I zoned out
during the last lecture. I just hope I remembered things
correctly—and I hope like hell that’s really what the professor
asked. If not, then the voice behind me might just be trying to
make me look stupid.

“Perfection,” Professor Gooding says,
flipping to the next slide and picking on someone else now. I sink
down into my seat, relieved.

“You’re welcome,” the voice whispers
again.

“Thanks, I owe you!” I whisper back. Just
then, an arm leans over my shoulder and shows me thumbs up, which
makes me laugh silently and smile big.

As soon as class is over, I slide my notebook
and textbook into my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder before
heading to the main exit.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m a big Diet
Coke drinker. Forty-four-ouncer sounds mighty nice right about
now.” It’s the voice, the one from behind me. I was so much less
intimidated when I thought it belonged to the thin, awkward, geeky
guy who usually sits there. I’ve seen this guy before, because,
well, I’m not blind. He’s not Nate, but he’s pretty damn good
looking. Blond hair, broad shoulders, and now I know he has green
eyes to go along with the complete package. He always wears tight
T-shirts, and I’m pretty sure he does nothing but lift
weights—because I can see every ab muscle through the cotton of his
shirt.

“You don’t really
have
to buy me a
drink, you know. I was happy to help,” he says, leaning in toward
me with a wink. His eyes run down my body once, but quickly. I
don’t think he wanted me to notice, but I did, and it makes me feel
a mixture of heat and uneasiness all at once.

“Well, I was just heading home, but if you
don’t mind stopping at the snack stand on my way, I’d love to
treat,” I say, instantly wondering if this is flirting. I don’t
want to flirt. But he’s cute, and he did something nice for me, and
I am pretty sure I seem like I’m flirting.
This is not
flirting!

He smiles at me sideways while we walk toward
the center of campus, squinting slightly when the sun cuts through
the line of trees on either side of us. “All right, I’ll take you
up on it,” he says, the unmistakable grin on his face confirming
that yes, this is in fact flirting.

We stop at the small snack bar near the
library, and I order us both large sodas. I give him his,
carefully, so our hands don’t touch during the exchange. Why am I
even thinking about this? Worrying about things like hands
brushing, and smiles, and the fact that he’s looking at me like
that again?

“I’m Tucker,” he says, reaching his hand in
front of us while we start to walk again. Shit, I’m going to
have
to touch him.

“Hi. I’m Rowe.” I take his hand quickly and
regroup my focus on my drink—also trying not to freak out over the
fact that I’m pretty sure Tucker is now walking me home.

“Rowe. That’s a cool name,” he says, once
again glancing at me sideways, this time holding the straw in his
perfect, white teeth while he smiles. He’s cute. No, scratch
that—he’s McConnell frat-boy-calendar hot. And a different me, a
version without any issues, a me without a boy that I am pretty
sure I want to love for a really long time, if not forever, would
revel in the fact that hot-man-on-campus Tucker is obviously
interested in me…
in that way.
But instead, all I keep
thinking about is how I can lose him before we make it all the way
to my building.