Chapter 9 #2
By the time I’m buckled in, he opens the driver’s side door and settles behind the wheel, his tree-trunk legs folding up.
He combs his hands through his long hair then brushes his palms down his arms, wiping the droplets from his skin, and I’m once again entranced by the art covering him.
He leans his right elbow on the console between us as he shuts off his four-ways and drives to the end of the block.
“Which way am I going?”
I shoot my gaze up to the windshield from where I’d been admiring the interlocking skulls with the snake coiled in and around them. “Uh, left at the stop sign. I’m on Chestnut.”
He nods and makes the turn before glancing my way. “Warm enough?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
It takes three minutes to arrive at my apartment building, and I can’t help but nudge him. “Told you it wasn’t that far.”
He sends me a flat look, and I giggle. The corners of his mouth dip farther down, and I poke the bear. “So tough. So mean.”
“Most people are intimidated by me,” he says, his left hand still on the steering wheel, while the other hangs off the side of the console, his fingertips barely touching my knee.
I lean into him, wanting that big hand on my leg, the heat of his palm smoothing up the inside of my thigh. More fodder for my fantasy when I power on my vibrator.
“I’m not most people.”
His mouth quirks. “I know.”
And I should look into an exorcism or something because the words are out before I even think them. “You want to go to a wedding with me and pretend to be my boyfriend?”
Surprise streaks across his face, and I wave my hands between us. “Never mind. That was dumb.”
He clamps both of my hands in one of his. “You always say whatever you’re thinking? Or not thinking?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. That’s… My family’s always, like, you’re so dumb, Eloise.”
His fingers grip mine harder. “What do they say?”
I’m babbling now. No way to stop it. “I try not to do it, but sometimes my mind goes one hundred miles an hour, and I can’t.
I really can’t stop it. One thought leads to another, and things just come out, I guess.
” I wiggle my hands out from between his to toy with my necklace.
The pendant is a small cylinder with different divots, specifically made to be a nondescript sensory item. “My mom hates—”
“Fuck your mom,” he spits, and I cough out a laugh.
“I dare you to say that to her face.”
He shrugs. “Okay. When’s this wedding?”
“I’m kidding. I don’t really need you to come to the wedding.”
“Eloise, when?”
I’m like his trained pet. “October 16th.”
He tips his head to the side, studying me for a second. “You asked me about that date before.”
“I did?” I have no recollection. My brain’s Swiss cheese. “When?”
“The day we met in your bakery.”
“Really?”
He nods, his gaze sweeping over my face, and somehow I know he’s remembering that day. When he carried my bag of flour inside for me.
“You were thinking about this then?”
“No.” Yes.
“I say random shit all the time.” I flail my hands out. “Like asking you to pretend to be my pretend boyfriend. Forget I said anything, all right?”
I make for the door, but he stops me. “I like you, Eloise.”
I force a giggle. “Stop.”
He shakes his head.
“You can’t say random stuff like that to me. I’ll believe it.”
He stares at me. As if I should believe him.
“You can’t come to the wedding with me,” I say, thinking of him next to me, all tatted and mean-looking. My mother would flip.
My mother would flip!
“Okay, so, don’t forget I asked for you to be my pretend boyfriend? But maybe take the night and think about it. Only one of us can blurt out stuff in this relationship.”
“I like that you blurt stuff.”
“See? Don’t say that. Makes it too real.” I hike my thumb over my shoulder. “Can you open the trunk so I can get my bike?”
Of course he doesn’t answer. Only steps out of the car like it isn’t fourteen feet off the ground. Then again, he has no problem reaching it with his redwood legs. I hop down to the pavement and scamper to the back, holding my hand over my head as if that’ll keep the rain away.
“I’ll take it for you,” he says, referring to my bike, and when he stalks off to the entrance, I dutifully follow.
Might as well put a collar on me.
“I appreciate it,” I tell him once we’re on the sidewalk. I use my keycard to unlock the door and take hold of my bike to walk inside.
Roman stands, watching like a soldier, hands at his sides, eyes ahead. It’s when the door’s about to close that he calls out, “Hey.” When I turn to look over my shoulder, he tells me, “I don’t do anything by accident, and I say what I mean.”
I gulp. He’s serious.
The beautiful refrigerator likes me?
The beautiful refrigerator likes me.
“Just think about it, okay? We can talk tomorrow,” I suggest, but he shakes his head.
“I won’t be working tomorrow.”
“Sunday, I have to go to my cousin’s shower.” Two days without seeing him suddenly feels like two years.
“So we’ll see each other Monday,” he says, all cool and calm.
“Okay,” I blurt, like it’s a date. “We’ll talk Monday.”