Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 39

Emersyn

I'm sprawled on the couch, lost in the pages of my fantasy novel. The world around me fades away as I dive into a realm of fae politics. Fowler is lying between my legs, his face pressed against my thigh, as he flips through the channels on the TV.

"Hey Emmie, you want anything from the kitchen? I'm getting up for a snack," Fowler asks, disrupting my focus on the book.

I look up and smile, marking my place with a finger. "No, I'm good, thanks. We literally just ate lunch."

Fowler grins at me, his eyes twinkling. "I always have room for a sweet snack." He winks, and I can't help but chuckle. The comment is both flirty and true—Fowler is always snacking, especially on sweet things.

He gets up, stretching as he does, and heads to the kitchen. I take the opportunity to dive back into my book, but my mind keeps drifting. Last night's dinner with Marx lingers in my thoughts, leaving me both excited and confused. What did it mean? Does he feel the same pull that I do?

I told myself I was going to stop this fixation on Marx, but here I am again, letting him take up space in every thought I have.

Fowler returns from the kitchen, a bowl of ice cream in his hands. "Sure you don't want some?" he offers again, taking a big spoonful.

"I'm sure," I reply, smiling. "But thanks for asking."

Fowler resumes his previous position, snuggling against my thigh as he enjoys his ice cream. I try to focus on my book, but my thoughts are elsewhere.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table, pulling me from my musings. It's a message from Valarie, asking how my day is going. I quickly type a reply, telling her it's a quiet afternoon, leaving out the emotional whirlwind that's been my last 24 hours.

"Who's that?" Fowler asks, glancing at my phone.

I find it cute and enduring that he's acting like a curious boyfriend. But I know he's asking out of genuine curiosity and not jealousy. It's a relief after the way Lyle treated me when we were together.

"Just Valarie. She's checking in," I say.

Fowler nods. "You should invite her over more. I really like when she's here," he says offhandedly before turning his attention back on his ice cream and the TV.

I put my phone down and try once again to lose myself in my book. But it's no use. My mind is a tangled web of emotions, and I can't seem to focus.

Finally, I close the book and set it aside. "What are you watching?" I ask Fowler, trying to divert my thoughts.

"Some action movie. Want to watch it with me?" he offers.

"Sure," I say, sliding my finger into his hair, rubbing his scalp. He lets out a contented cat-like noise and snuggles into my thigh.

As we watch the movie, my mind keeps wandering back to Marx. His invitation to dinner, the way he looked at me, the unspoken words that hung between us. I wonder what he's doing now, whether he's thinking of me too.

The movie ends, and Fowler gets up to put his empty ice cream bowl in the kitchen. "Another snack?" I tease as he walks away.

He laughs. "Not this time. Just cleaning up."

I pick up my book, considering whether to give it another try. But then I decide against it. My mind is too cluttered to focus on reading. Instead, I get up and head to the kitchen where Fowler is washing his bowl. "Need any help?" I ask, leaning against the counter.

"Nope, I got it. Thanks, though," he replies with a smile, drying his hands on a towel.

He glances at the plants above the sink, then turns to me. "Hey, do you know what happened to these plants? They look a lot better."