6. Roman
ROMAN
H er cheeks flush as she walks away, and I can’t help but watch her. Her spine is stiff, and her shoulders are tense, like she’s trying to ignore something. Or someone.
I should let her go. Keep things simple. But my mind is still whirling with the realization that she’s here of all places, and even though I’ve only met her one other time, she’s been the only thing that’s made me feel something other than the heaviness of my life in years.
She disappears into the crowd, and for a second, I lose her.
“Ryder,” Amanda snips.
I look at her and frown. “You could have been a little nicer.”
“And you could have acted like I was part of the conversation,” she hits back.
I wince, knowing she’s right, but it’s not like I came here with her. She’s not a date, she’s just a friend who showed up for extra credit. She doesn’t even know this is my art on the walls.
“Yeah,” I say, but my eyes aren’t on her. They’re grazing over the crowd, searching. “Listen, I’ll be right back.”
And then I chase after my mystery girl.
I catch sight of her right before she pivots toward the glowing red exit sign at the back of the warehouse, and I’m after her without a second thought.
The moment I push through the door, the nighttime chill breaks over my skin like a fine mist, and the noise of the gallery fades behind me.
It’s cooler out here, the air thick with smog and the faint rot of nearby dumpsters. A few stars blink dimly, buried like secrets the city doesn’t want anyone to find.
She’s already leaning against the brick wall in the alley, head tipped back toward the sky.
“Everything okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
Her shoulders stiffen and then relax like she already knew it was me. She cracks one eye open, just enough to look.
“God, you’re like a lost puppy,” she mutters.
My lips curve up, attraction flaring to life in my chest. Damn , she’s fun to rile up. She’s so wound tight and ready to snap.
“Does that mean you’ll pet me if I’m a good boy?”
She doesn’t answer, but her cheeks flush again, visible even under the alley light.
I pull out a hand-rolled joint, press it to my lips, and light it. Her eyes zero in immediately.
She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s legal here.”
“It is,” I reply, exhaling slowly, and hold it up between us. “Does it bother you?”
She leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “Not really. Just further proves my ‘you’re a degenerate’ theory.”
I chuckle, but there’s a twinge in my chest that tightens at the word degenerate . That’s probably what she’d think if she saw where I came from. Saw my mother strung out on the couch, a forgotten sketch in her lap.
“That’s quite the privileged take, Princess…thinking everyone who lights up is a degenerate. Must be nice, seeing the world in black and white.”
She doesn’t reply, but there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes.
“How’s the boyfriend?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light even though I feel anything but.
“What boyfriend?”
Satisfaction and a hint of hope curls through me and sparks like an ember. “Couldn’t take the ice bitch persona or what?”
“I’m perfectly nice.”
“Right.” I smirk, taking another drag, letting the smoke twist between us.
“I don’t see how it’s your business, anyway,” she snaps.
Her tone doesn’t piss me off, but it does make me think of how badly I want to fuck the attitude right out of her. How easy it would be to press her up against the wall and give her mouth something to wrap around besides the cutting words she loves to throw.
I crush the joint against the brick, and then I’m moving across the alley.
She startles, and backs up until her spine hits the wall, like she needs the stability. I close the space between us until I can feel the heat of her body flaring against mine.
Her breath hitches.
“I could make it my business,” I coax, letting my eyes drop to her mouth.
And goddamn , I want to taste her. Every single inch of her. I want to drag my hands down her sides, bury my face between her thighs, and let her claw at my hair while I fuck her with my tongue.
In fact, this chemistry between us is almost too intense. I’ve never felt anything like it, and part of me wants to run away while I still have my wits.
But I don’t run. I don’t kiss her, either.
Her eyes flare, and we’re so close to touching that the warmth of her words blanket my lips.
“I hate you,” she says.
I lean in and pinch her chin between my fingers, cataloguing every feature on her face and committing it to memory. “No, you don’t.”
Then I step back, settle against the opposite wall with my foot propped against the brick, and grin, hoping it comes across as casual and not like my heart’s about to beat right out of my chest.
“She’s not, for the record,” I say.
“What?”
“Amanda. She’s not my girlfriend.”
Her eyes narrow. “Does she know that?”
“She does. We’re just friends.”
“Friends like… just friends, or friends like you save her from dying and then flirt until she starts naming your hypothetical children?”
Amusement curls in my chest, and I wonder if that’s something she’s been doing. The idea thrills me, to be honest. I like imagining that she’s as obsessed with me as I seem to be with her.
I smirk and she flushes that perfect shade of pink.
“Friends,” I repeat, slower this time. “Acquaintances, even.”
She hums like she doesn’t buy it, tearing her eyes away from me.
I follow her gaze, seeing some art tagged on the dented trash bin.
“You don’t like graffiti,” I guess.
“I don’t feel any type of way about it, really.”
“Then why are you here?”
She hesitates, her teeth sinking into that luscious bottom lip.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “That art inside? I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, you’ve been to Rosebrook, you know how it is there. I never thought something that looks like that”—she points to the blocky letters on the garbage—“could be in the same class as what’s hanging in there.”
I glance toward the gallery, a hit of pride suffusing me because she likes my work. “How do you know they’re not done by the same person?”
She laughs like I’m joking.
I’m not.
“You’re serious.”
“Art is art,” I say. “Only difference is one gets framed. The other gets you arrested.”
“And skill level,” she shoots back.
I lick my lips to try and douse the fire she’s making rage inside of me. “Didn’t realize you were such a harsh critic.”
She straightens, clearly bristling. “And what are you, then? Some tortured art savant?”
I spin the ring on my finger once. “I’ve been known to draw a thing or two.”
Her breath catches. “Oh.”
“Don’t act so surprised.” I tease.
“What do you like to draw?” she asks, softer now.
“All kinds of things.” I pause, then add, “Right now? I’d like to draw you.”
I’m not sure if I mean it. Mainly, I want to see what she’ll say. If she’ll react in that fiery, defensive way she does. The way that makes my cock hard and my heart flip.
She stares at me. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I say, moving across the alley again until my knuckles brush her cheek.
She shivers, and my jaw flexes from the feel of her skin. It’s soft. Buttery. Fucking perfect.
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You could say yes.”
She laughs, but it comes across a little too breathless and a little too loud. “I don’t, um…no. That’s… That feels personal. I don’t even know your name. And I don’t like you.”
“Do you want to know my name?” I ask.
Right now, I think I would tell her anything.
“Sure, after you tell me what you were doing in Rosebrook Falls all those years ago.”
And there it is.
The energy shifts, flashes of my deadbeat father surging to the forefront of my brain until the heavy sinks back in. No matter how much I try to outrun it, I am who I am. Even when I don’t want to be.
If I let myself think too hard about it, I could probably guess exactly who she is, too.
I pull back, running a hand through my hair. “Pass.”
“Why not?” she pushes. “You’re the one who wants us to be friends, right?”
“I never said that.”
Her smile goes flat. “Well, this has been just as frustrating as the first time I met you, so I’m gonna go.”
Panic crashes over me. I don’t want her to go yet. “Wait.”
She ignores me, hurrying to the door.
“Hold up a minute,” I beg, chasing after her.
I step in behind her, lowering my voice. “Don’t go.”
She turns, her spine pressed to the door, and my stomach catapults into my throat and then down to my feet. Every time I look at this girl, it feels like I’m on a rollercoaster. I wonder if she feels it, too. This pull.
She has to.
“I think you do like me,” I say.
She lifts her chin. “Well, that just proves what a terrible judge of character you are.”
My lips brush her ear. “I have excellent taste.”
She swallows hard. “Tell me your name, Ry .”
I hesitate. Then rock back on my heels. I want to tell her, I do, but her calling me Ry reminds me of all the reasons why I can’t.
“Nah. I’m good.”
“You’re…good?”
“Yeah.” I smirk, slipping my hands in my pockets so I don’t do something stupid like reach out and touch her. “Feels like this is our thing now.”
Her eyes squint. “We do not have a thing.”
“Pretty sure we do.”
She laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “Oh my God, you’re so annoying .”
And this type of flirtation with her is palatable. Easy. This , I can handle. “So I’ve heard.”
The door bursts open, jostling my mystery girl. Her body hits mine and everything else disappears. Her hands land on my chest, her curves press into me, and the feel of her in my arms floods every rational thought.
I go still, my fingers twitching with the urge to pull her closer. Grip her tighter.
A woman comes out of the door, her eyes watery and makeup smeared, and the moment shatters.
“There you are,” she chokes out.
My mystery girl straightens, pushing off me, instantly concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Her friend sees me, falters, but tries to gather herself. “Nothing. I just want to go, can we go?”
I don’t want her to go.
Her friend gives me a second glance before saying, “No rush.”
“We were just talking,” my girl replies. “Go tell Dimitri we’re ready.”
She nods, then disappears, leaving the door swinging shut behind her.
“Who’s Dimitri?” I ask, a hit of unfounded jealousy surging through me.
“My driver.” She doesn’t look at me. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” I offer. Light. Hopeful.
“Doubtful.”
So she does remember the first time we met the same as me.
A slow grin blooms on my face. “I can wait.”
She grabs the door handle, glancing at me from over her shoulder. “You’ll be waiting a while.”
And then, just like the first time we met, she’s gone.