Chapter 11 250 vs. 1
Roman
The upscale sushi restaurant was all muted tones and hushed voices, our black marble table reflecting the soft lighting. Across that marble table was Isla, looking at nothing. Actually, she looked around at anything but me, diligently trying to ignore me.
Whatever happened between us in my kitchen was literally tearing up my soul. I didn't mean for any of that to go down, but I also couldn't fucking stop myself.
At first, I did go over to help, but when I saw her on her knees and hands, it was like a door to hell opened in my mind, and I said all the things I did. Did I question her about her sex life? Just out there in the open like that?
I was losing my goddamn fucking mind, and I had zero clue how she felt about me.
Certainly not the way I felt about her. And how did I feel about her?
Well, what's it called when you think of someone every minute of every day and night?
When they bring you genuine joy and happiness, and spending time with them seems to be the only thing that matters?
When you can't concentrate on anything or anyone else because your mind is constantly thinking of them? Obsession? Sure. That's what I was.
Obsessed.
But when I found out about her little job interview, I was rudely awakened from the fantasy I lived in. It had only been ten or so days, but coming home to her was literally the best thing that had happened to me in my whole life.
Seeing her in my home felt like some sort of healing ointment on all the scars on my heart.
Eating meals together, chatting, spending time just us two—we even went for a walk a few times.
Holy fucking shit. That simple stuff put me on top of the world.
I didn't want anything else in life. I just wanted that, with her, forever.
I knew that if she landed a job, her next step would be to get an apartment again.
She was only with me because she had no choice—and I had forgotten that.
She would move out, start her life here, get a boyfriend, go back to med school, and I would be nothing to her.
Only a hazy memory of her painful start here.
But what was I going to do about it? Sabotage her life so she could remain trapped in my apartment?
Yeah, as much as I did awful and shady shit, that wasn’t who I was.
Maybe that's why I went down such an extreme path and confronted her in such a way. I wanted something to happen. What? I didn’t know exactly.
I knew all the answers to the questions I asked.
She hadn’t had a boyfriend in a very long time, and her life had been a complete disaster the past few years with the death of her entire family.
And I was well aware that she deferred med school.
Probably until she had the money and emotional stability to go back.
Most likely, her parents' probate was taking forever, and she couldn't even have access to anything they had left her. Med school was expensive; she must have been waiting for the funds.
"Isla?" I finally got her attention, and her uncertain gaze found mine.
When she changed, she came out in a yellow summer dress, kind of making her look like a fucking Disney princess.
The thin straps settled on her perfect round shoulders, her tan glowed, and the bright color complemented her dark flowing hair and light gray eyes.
I hated to admit that I liked the princess look.
Fuck. I was so distracted by everything she did and who she was.
"In a few weeks, there is an event I must attend. It's a dinner organized by the city council. I want you to come with me." Isla’s gaze traveled over my tattooed hands while I enjoyed her presence in front of me.
"Why would you want me to go to that?" she asked, not looking away from my fingers.
"Because I need a date, and since you're living with me, I thought it would be easier if I took you and not someone else.
Or, do you want me to pick a random chick and then bring her back home and fuck her on my couch while you're there?
" Yeah, I needed to tone it the fuck down, but I literally could not. Somehow, that sentence didn't faze her.
"You can do whatever you want. It's your house. I'm just a temporary guest. As soon as I get a job and a place to live, I’ll move out." She propped up her chin with her palm and looked out the window, having no idea that her words broke my heart.
Ugh. She had zero feelings for me. She was just waiting it out. I momentarily considered it: coming back home with a random woman and fucking her on my couch just to rile up Isla.
"Great. I want to take you."
"I'm not fucking you on your couch after, though,” she added with a smile and took a small sip of her drink. Her lips touched the side of the glass ever so slightly, the alcohol barely making any contact. She was so delicate.
"I don't want to fuck you anyway," I responded with vitriol but almost laughed at myself. I didn't want to fuck her; that part was true, but I wanted to make love to her. I'd never done anything but fuck.
"That's right. Because I'm not your type." And at that, I saw a smidgeon of anger appear in her eyes. I sat there stunned at the realization. She was pissed off that I had said that. Why?! Only reason could be that she wasn't indifferent to me.
"That's right. And I'm not yours. Big tattooed guy with a ton of money and a big dick, not your type.
" Amusement flashed on her face, but there was no way I wasn't going to push it further.
"Who is your type, Isla? A sweet, young boy who comes from a good family that has a golden retriever and plays golf on the weekends? Last name Smith or Baker or...Grant?"
And at that last word, her expression visually changed to alarm. That was her ex-boyfriend's last name. I knew. Obviously.
Lost for words, her bottom lip fell open, but no sound came out of her mouth. God, how I longed to kiss her lips. To taste her. Just gently, just a touch, just to feel the heat of her body, to find out how delicious she was.
"And yours? A tall girl with fake boobs and lips who pretends in bed and is only there to please you? Mm-hmm, you look like someone who only takes."
Ow. That hurt. Somehow, I didn't expect her to say something like that to me. Damn, Isla was a mystery. She seemed so sweet and innocent, but then she delivered a blow like that. She wasn't totally wrong, though, damn it.
"I don't only...take." I tried to justify myself.
"Yes, you do. It's obvious. You like to fuck and discard. And you wouldn't discard if you knew how to give and pleasure someone else besides yourself." She shrugged easily, but I became infuriated at her words. She didn't fucking know me! How could she make such judgments?!
The sushi was served, but neither one of us picked up our chopsticks, both staring at each other as if in a duel.
"You're coming with me." I made the fucking decision and focused on the sushi in front of us, not interested in the food in the slightest.
Isla reached for the soy sauce, and before pouring it into her little bowl…she poured it into mine. It ignited inside me again—that feeling of uncontrollable desire and deep admiration. I was touched that she would do that. She...was taking care...of me.
"Okay, boss. Sounds like I have no choice." Isla spoke in defeat and put a small piece of sushi in her mouth, chewing carefully, deep in thought.
"Isla, how many men have you slept with?" I blurted out the question, all of me in disarray.
Immediately, she choked on her food and began coughing, turning red both from lack of oxygen and embarrassment. I savored the flustered expression on her face. She finally took a sip of water and cleared her throat, still not looking at me.
"Why the fuck are you asking me all these questions today, Roman!? How is it any of your business?!"
She was right, it wasn't any of my business, but at this point, things were going downhill so fast that I didn't fucking care anymore.
"It's a simple question that adults ask each other.
" I shrugged easily. God, please don't tell me that she'd only been with the Grant guy.
Please tell me she was a complete fucking slut or something.
Something had to be off about her because so far, she was literal perfection, and I was dying inside.
Her perfect angel eyes finally looked into mine, defiance spelled out in capital letters, but I held her gaze, dying to find out the answer to my question.
"I really don't know you well enough to share such personal details. You're not my girlfriend who I can discuss my sex life with." She held her ground, and I liked it. I was hoping she was going to put up a fight.
"If I tell you my number, will you tell me yours?
" I moved the conversation along, and she considered it for a brief second.
Without waiting for her to answer, I continued talking.
"I actually don't know how many women I've slept with.
Can you believe that? At some point, I stopped counting.
" I chewed slowly, unable to stop my smile.
Isla looked back at me with such disgust that I shook with laughter.
"You...you don't know how many women you've had sex with? That's insane,” she added, stunned.
"I know! Let's see, I'm thirty-five. I lost my virginity at fourteen, so that's twenty-one years of sex.
Let's conservatively say I slept with one girl a month, so that's twelve girls for twenty-one years, which makes…
" I paused, doing the math in my head. She did the math too because her jaw dropped right before I calculated it.
"Two hundred and fifty? Damn, that's a lot.
" I chuckled at that number. It probably wasn't that much, but it was close.
Looking repulsed, Isla found her voice relatively quickly. "So we can deduce that you've never been in a long-term relationship then?"
I didn't see that question coming. My longest relationship was probably three or four months, and that had probably happened only twice in my life.
"No, I have been," I lied, but she knew that.
"And out of your two hundred and fifty fuck buddies, how many of those women actually had an orgasm while with you? Or were you only concerned with getting what you wanted?” She took another small sip of her drink, looking all sweet and innocent while throwing out such accusations.
"Many! Not all, of course, but I know how to satisfy a woman!" I spoke a little louder than intended, getting heated at her insinuation that I only took and never gave. But fuck, she wasn't completely wrong. I pressed on, asking what I was dying to know. "Now tell me your number."
Isla shook her head, showing me that she didn’t care for this conversation, but my stomach sank at her next words. "One. I've slept with one man."
God. Fucking. Damn it.
There was no way I could sleep with her now. No motherfucking way. Until the last second, I hoped that my guess was wrong.
"Fuck," I whispered, closing my eyes and dropping my head.
Isla would be the end of me. I wanted her more than I ever wanted anything else in life.
It was physically breaking me apart. But I knew we were polar opposites.
I killed people regularly and defrauded the government for hundreds of millions of dollars, and she probably never even stepped on a cockroach.
I couldn’t fuck her—I didn’t want to hurt her.
I couldn't keep a relationship; I knew that. I was addicted to sex or addicted to having no commitments, I wasn’t exactly sure.
And Isla deserved a normal life, with a regular guy who could give her a family.
Especially after everything she had been through.
Inevitably, I was somehow going to hurt her, and I never wanted to do that.
My already nonexistent appetite evaporated in a second, and I just sat at the table, my head in my hands, as Isla watched me crumble to pieces.
"What? Are you okay?"
Concerned, she reached over and placed her hand on my forearm. Waves of pleasure and desire ran through me at her touch, and I almost groaned from the emotional and mental pain I was in.
I needed to get away from Isla as fast as possible, or I was going to ruin her. Logically, I understood that, but in my heart…I knew I wouldn't ever be able to let her go.