Chapter 7 #2
The shopkeeper has seen me rocking the messy ponytail and sweatpants regularly, and doesn’t blink at my harried milk purchasing, popping my coins into the till before handing back my change.
She snaps her gum and blinks at me as I mumble a thanks.
Her face breaks into a huge grin, and I furrow my brow. I’ve never seen her smile.
It takes me a moment to realise it’s not me she’s grinning at. Turning, I spot Roman in one of the three aisles, perusing the ready meals.
Oh God.
I do not need him to see me in my bobbly old sweatpants.
Grabbing the milk to my chest, I dodge him, turning away as he heads up the aisle towards the counter.
From the glimpse of him, he, of course, looks ready to walk a bloody sportswear catwalk.
The tight vest clings to his muscles, and a light layer of sweat still clings to his tan skin.
Paired with shorts and trainers, I assume he’s on his way back from the gym.
God, I look like a red-faced, puffing, wild-haired loser on the rare occasion I work out, yet he saunters around like a bloody Greek god.
It’s just rude to be that hot.
I make it to the door without being spotted, glancing through the window to see the shopkeeper flirting hard with Roman at the counter.
You don’t stand a chance, I think to myself.
Not because I’ve claimed him or anything, but because he doesn’t sleep with people who know who he is. Something I think women see as a challenge. They want to be the one so desired that they break his supposed celibacy. The one so irresistible that her magical pussy can tame the beast.
Little do they know, they could probably shag him if only they pretended not to know him.
Taking the stairs at speed, I make it to my door without him behind me. Switching the milk carton to my other hand, I reach into the pocket for my keys.
My empty pocket.
I check the other pocket… nothing.
A clear image of the keys thrown onto the slim hall table flashes into my head.
No.
Oh shit, no.
I recheck my pockets, hoping that the universe somehow arranges for the keys to teleport into them.
Footsteps come from the stairwell.
Fucking hell. I push down the handle, hoping that the latch is magically stuck open. But of course, it’s not.
Then, for a double whammy of idiocy, I realise I also didn’t pick up my phone.
I groan, closing my eyes and gripping the door handle as if staying very still will stop Roman spotting me.
With each footstep growing louder, embarrassment heats my cheeks an extra degree.
Could I dash to the top floor and hide out until he gets into his apartment?
Turning to make a break for the stairs, I stand face to face with my future kidnappee.
‘You okay?’ Roman asks, one dark brow lifting in an arch.
‘Um, yeah,’ I answer, caught between fleeing and hoping the ground might stretch out its mouth and swallow me down.
I press myself back against the wall, giving him a wide berth to pass me, but he stands at the last step, leaning against the wall in that casual sexy way that sets my pulse hammering.
‘Are you locked out?’
‘No. Well, yes. Kind of.’ I stammer, caught beneath his intimidating gaze. It’s one thing to hide in his closet, and another entirely to be inflicted with his full attention.
‘Have you called the building manager? He’s got extra keys and can usually get here within the hour.’
‘My phone’s still inside.’
Roman’s lips quirked into a deeply disturbing smile. Disturbing not because of the smile itself, but the way it made my knees weaken.
You’re not supposed to get the hots for him, Maggie. He’s just a pawn.
‘Here,’ Roman says, pulling his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and handing it over.
I cradle the phone like it’s a ticking time bomb.
What secrets did it hold beyond what I already had access to?
What I’d give for an hour to indulge in its depths.
Knowledge is power, and I’ll need every bit of power I can get my grubby paws on to blackmail all six foot odd of him to bend to my will.
Your will to climb him like a tree.
No. Not that. To have him behave like a perfect gentleman while under duress.
‘Sorry,’ he says, taking the phone back and flicking through it. ‘Here’s the number you need.’
As he places the phone back into my hand, his skin grazes mine, the singular touch zapping any sense from my brain.
My breath catches as I meet his gaze, lost in a fantasy of him grabbing me by the neck and kissing me with all the intensity I’d seen him kiss others with.
A moment of sheer stupid, senseless want.
It’s just your hormones, I tell myself. You’re probably ovulating, your body falling back to baser urges at the sight of a muscly, sweat-slicked man. This hypocritical bag of man meat isn’t what you want.
Clearing my throat, I call the building manager. After two minutes of grumbling, he agrees to come out on his way home from the pub.
I hand back Roman’s phone and take a seat on the lower step of the upward staircase, settling in to wait.
‘Do you want to come in to wait?’ Roman asks.
‘No, it’s okay. You’ve been helpful already.’ I don’t need him to be kind to me. It’ll only make it harder to do what I need to.
‘Come on. No point sitting out in the cold.’ Roman reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet.
My cheeks flush thoroughly as I follow him into his apartment, wrapping my thick coat around me as I perch on the edge of a sofa cushion. Being surrounded by his pristine bachelor pad had been bad enough when I sneaked in, but in front of him, my square peg status stands out.
The women who usually frequent his home are polished and put together, and here I am like a little slob dirtying up the place. All messy hair and baggy old clothes.
Roman’s eyes linger on me too long, and I shift uncomfortably beneath his stare. Is he worried I’ll leave a mark on his immaculate sofa or something?
‘I’m just going to jump in the shower, the remote’s there if you want to watch something while you wait.’
Within minutes, I sit absolutely not watching the rerun on the TV while listening to the patter of the shower from the other room. How am I supposed to focus on anything while Roman is naked, only one door away from me? The very idea has me as flustered as a chicken in a fox’s den.
Would the water make little rivers down the abs I’d so often seen on his socials? God, I’d drink from them if I could.
Dammit.
Dammit.
Dammit.
He’s an asshole. A hypocrite spouting stupid shit online while dipping his dick into women left, right and centre.
You’re being blinded by his outer goods, ignoring the inner twat that he is. You’re better than that.
When he walks out wrapped in a towel, those abs and pecs eradicating any sense, a dusting of water droplets coating the expanse of his tanned skin, I’m a goner.
Dear heavens above. What I’d give for thirty minutes of time on that ride. I’d have to gag his lying mouth, but it would be worth it.
Flicking my eyes to the TV, I try very hard not to stare as he goes to the kitchen and grabs two bottles of water, passing one to me.
The thanks I try to mumble comes out as gibberish. My inner monologue tuts at my reaction to him. A disgrace.
You weren’t saying that while we were fantasising about bouncing on him like a pogo stick while grinding the pillow last night.
When he disappears into his bedroom, glugging his water while looking like the Diet Coke guy, I inwardly turn into a nuclear explosion.
I need to get out of here.
A knocking startles me a few minutes later, and I jump to my feet. Roman pulls on a T-shirt, giving me another sordid peek at his glorious stomach before opening the door.
Tim, the building manager, stands there, a face like I’d kicked him in the shins.
‘Come on then, let’s get your door open,’ he grumbles.
‘Thanks,’ I say to Roman as I pass him. ‘I’m getting some takeout later, let me grab you something to say thank you?’
‘I like Thai,’ he answers, much to my surprise. And delight. Because I haven’t forgotten that I still need that selfie for my sister…