37. Liliana
37
LILIANA
I don't know how I make it through the movie.
Roman keeps his arm around me the entire time, seeming to want the physical connection as much as I do, and yet it’s still not enough. I want to look at him, run my hands over him, convince myself he’s really here . I glance at him more times than I can count during the movie. But it’s okay, because he’s doing the same thing. And every time our eyes meet, he cups my cheek and kisses me.
Thank God, the movie is only an hour and a half. It’s good enough that I can tell I’d be really into it if not for…everything, but it’s not enough to make me pay attention beyond a few gasps at the gore and laughs at the comedy. I’m mostly just counting down to the moment the credits start rolling.
When they do, it takes everything in me not to jump up and pull Roman back to the sunshine, back to reality where we can really talk. Instead, I force myself to stay in my seat and turn to Roman so I can ask cheerfully, “So…what’d you think?”
His eyes lock on mine, heat flowing through them. “I think we’re probably going to have to rewatch that at home another time.”
A heavy breath whooshes from me. “Oh thank God, I thought it was just me. Can we leave now?”
Chuckling, he pulls me to him for another kiss. “Yeah, Doc, we can leave.”
I smile at the reminder of his nickname for me. “Mmm…I missed that,” I whisper.
He kisses me again, seemingly unable to stop. “Me, too,” he whispers back. “More than you know.” But then he’s reaching for his crutches and pushing to his feet, getting his bearings before extending a hand to me. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
We’re both quiet as we walk out of the theater. It’s so bizarre to think about how much has changed since I left the clinic, how three hours ago, I was merely existing, and now… now I get to see and experience and be with Roman in a whole new way.
“So…I don’t want to assume,” Roman starts as we slow in the parking lot. “But I’m hoping if I invite you back to my house, you’ll let me make you dinner.” He pulls me in front of him and cups my cheek. “And we can talk,” he says softly. “I want to hear all about your trip with your family. And whatever other insane adventures you’ve had since then.”
The simplicity of the suggestion, combined with the knowledge that I finally get my time with Roman back, has love blooming in my heart like a flower. I press up on my toes to plant a quick kiss on Roman’s lips, noticing our new height difference for the first time.
“Then let’s go,” I say, my smile feeling like it’s going to crack my face. “I want to hear about yours, too.”
The drive back to Roman’s house is a different kind of quiet from the theater. Back there, I was in shock. Here, I’m in awe.
It’s not just the sight of him driving—though the casual way he’s reclined in the seat, his right hand switching from the hand controls beside the steering wheel to taking a possessive hold of my hand, definitely does something to me. It’s more the sight of him being so confident. In the six months that I worked with him, I never saw him this comfortable in his body, this devoid of the hatred he’s always had for it.
My amazement only grows when we reach his house and he kisses the back of my hand before telling me to wait for a moment. And then he pulls his crutches from the back seat, gets out of the car, and walks around the hood of it to open my car door.
I don’t bother trying to hide the smile from my face as I step out. “Such a gentleman,” I say happily.
“It’s a new quality I’m trying out,” he says with a smile. Before he starts toward the front door, he takes my lips in another quick kiss, and I wonder if the excessive amount of kisses are his way of keeping our physical connection since he can’t hold my hand as he walks.
I follow behind him as he walks down the path, taking the opportunity to admire his legs, his gait—and his overall mouth-watering physique. While his clothes don’t look as tight as they did that one night at the restaurant, they’re still tight enough to show off his increasingly muscular body. Not to mention…Roman Ward has a delectable butt.
I’m trying to hide my grin at the observation when Roman lets us into the house, but he catches it anyway.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks as he sets his crutches against the wall and walks stiffly into the kitchen.
Leaning against the counter, I chew on my lip for a second before going for the honest approach. “I was admiring your butt.”
He shoots me a smirk as he opens the fridge and pulls out a few ingredients. “Oh yeah? Does that mean I get free rein to do the same?” Heat flashes in his eyes as his gaze drops over my body. “Give me a turn, Doc.”
Feeling suddenly self-conscious about the fact that I am absolutely not dressed for a date—I left the clinic in jeans and an oversized hoodie—I make a quick, awkward turn. And yet when I face forward again, meeting Roman’s gaze, all I see is…awe.
“Beautiful,” he breathes out.
Blushing, I look down to hide my smile.
When he starts back on dinner prep, I look over at the ingredients.
“What are you making?” I ask curiously.
“I don’t know if it’s going to be anything like your grandmother’s, but…I’ve been playing around with the classic Hungarian meals lately.” He glances up at me, his hesitation obvious. “I was going to make us goulash.”
My chest warms with affection knowing he chose that recipe specifically for me. “That’s a great recipe,” I say tell him.
The tension in his shoulders disappears. “Okay, good.” His smile twitching with amusement, he jerks his head toward the rest of his house. “Go ahead, look around. I can tell you’re itching to.”
I let out a laugh and push off the counter. “You know me too well.”
As I stroll over to the living room, I take in how clean and neat everything is. There are books everywhere. I spot a journal on the couch and pick it up. I don’t open it, but I’m too curious not to pick it up and hold it for Roman to see. “You started journaling?”
He looks up from the carrots he’s started chopping. “Yeah. My therapist recommended it.” He huffs a laugh. “Who knew she’d be right.”
I’m sure my delight is obvious, but even still, I wave at the stacks of books. “And the books?”
He straightens and locks our gazes. “For school,” he says. Simply. As if that isn’t a huge deal.
“Did you start already?” I ask him, putting the journal back down and drifting back toward the kitchen.
He nods and goes back to chopping. “About a month ago. I enrolled in community college so I could get started quickly and get my GenEd classes out of the way.”
“And how is it?”
His movements slow as he mulls over the question. “It’s…new. Different. I haven’t been in school for over a decade, so it’s going to take some getting used to. But I kind of like it.” He glances up at me. “I’m glad I enrolled.”
Distantly, I wonder if a person can explode from too much pride and happiness.
Especially when he goes back to chopping with a small smile on his face, saying, “I have this one class that I think I’m really going to like. It’s history, obviously, and only a GenEd class, but the professor is awesome. He’s really well-traveled and he’s done a bunch of insanely cool expeditions, so sometimes I’ll stay after class to talk to him about it.” His expression oozes giddiness. “He actually told me about this adaptive scuba diving program that he was involved with. They work mostly with veterans, but he said I’d fit in perfectly. I was thinking of signing up.”
“Are you serious?” I squeak. “Roman, that’s amazing. You’ll have to tell me the organization. I’ll check if they offer dive buddy certifications.”
Eyes lit up, he nods before focusing back on the cutting board, then starts animatedly telling me about the program.
I’m mesmerized as I watch Roman. I can’t believe this is the same man who, on bad days, wouldn’t let himself attempt even the simplest task because he didn’t want to deal with the reality of his injury. I always knew he was capable of this kind of healing, but to see it is…
My desire to love him becomes suddenly overwhelming. I don’t question the urge, I just round the counter to gently take the knife from Roman and set it down. He gives me a questioning look at first, but once he meets my eyes, there’s no more question.
I cup his face in my hands, and then I kiss him.
He melts into it. With a stuttered exhale, his arms come around me, clutching me to him in a way that tells me he needs me just as much as I need him. One arm stays around my waist and the other comes up to cradle the back of my head. We can’t get enough of each other, can’t even pause long enough to take a much-needed breath, and because of it, the passion grows.
And then it ignites. When Roman angles my head to deepen the kiss, I moan and feel myself go weak in his arms.
The sound must break the spell because, in the next moment, he pulls back, breathing heavily. For a moment, his gaze travels over my face, cataloguing every inch of it, but then he takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen.
In the time it takes to reach Roman’s bedroom, I’ve managed to calm myself just enough that I don’t jump him as soon as we’re in the vicinity of a bed. I want to go at Roman’s pace, for both of our sakes.
I let him pull me to him, let him lead us in the sweetest kiss. It almost feels like he’s pausing the heat for just long enough to stamp this as a moment to remember.
But then he’s reaching for the bottom of my sweatshirt, his kiss developing teeth and sharp edges, and suddenly there’s nothing sweet about us anymore.