Chapter 10
HOW TO START A LOVE STORY
ROMAN
This woman is stubborn, Roman thinks to himself as he watches her look at the drink with cautious eyes. It’s charming. I’m charmed.
“It’s unopened,” he says, waving the bottle of water in her face.
She continues to stare at it, like he just offered to spit in her mouth or something.
He sighs, rubbing his chin. “Look, I don’t feel comfortable leaving until I know you’re okay. So, the faster you drink, the quicker I’m gone.”
Her eyes turn to slits. “I said I’m fine.”
“Jahlani. You fell like a damsel in distress. Those are sure signs of someone who is not fine.”
Pursing her lips, she reaches for it. Her fingertips brush his, and he prays she doesn’t notice how sharply he inhales as he watches her drink the entire bottle.
“Happy?” she says, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth.
He offers a closed-lipped smile. “Very.” He takes the empty bottle from her, throwing it in a nearby recycle bin. “How do you feel now?”
“Better,” she mutters, staring down at her sneakers. Looking up through dark lashes, she gives a low “thank you.” Roman folds his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels as silence settles between them.
“What are—” he says just as she says, “Are you—”
Their eyes hold onto each other, and her lips part. He gestures for her to speak, a wide grin stretching over his mouth.
“Are you stalking me? Plotting your revenge murder because I didn’t want to go out with you?”
He nods. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. ‘Florida Man Stalks and Kills Woman, Feeds Her to Undergraduate Students.’ It sounds pretty catchy, no?”
She locks her gaze onto his face. “I bet you think you’re so funny.”
“Hilarious, actually,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “I’m surprised you didn’t see the flyers around campus. My comedy show is this Friday. Be sure to check it out.”
He bites back a laugh as she rolls her eyes, locking her arms across her chest.
He turns away, suppressing the urge to ask for her number. Again. He runs a hand through his hair before clearing his throat.
“Are you sure you’re okay to walk?” He trails off, gesturing toward campus. “The clinic is right there. I can go get someone.”
“No!” she blurts out, her voice sharp against the thinning campus. “I said I’m fine.” Her gaze flickers down to her watch, the harsh glow of its face cutting through the deepening twilight.
“Look, thanks again for this,” she says, standing up and shifting her weight to grip her bag. “I need to catch the bus.”
She takes a step, her shoes tapping lightly on the pavement, already too eager to leave. To leave him.
And that spurs him into action.
He falls into step beside her, the sound of his stride almost too loud in the quiet of the evening.
Because he’s eager too, apparently. Embarrassingly so.
“Let me give you a ride,” he says, his tone insistent.
You’re pushing it.
She must feel it too because she stops abruptly, the echo of her shoes fading into the night.
He halts beside her, his gaze focused on her.
Under the glow, he observes a slight flush to her cheeks, a lack of energy in her face.
He pictures Lucy and, almost instinctively, the back of his palm presses to Jahlani’s forehead. She’s warm.
Stepping forward, he grabs her elbow to hold her steady.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good.” He says, applying more pressure to her skin, before moving to her neck. His fingers raise as she swallows before she pushes his hand away.
“I’m fine,” she rasps, touching her own skin. “I just need to get home and sleep.”
He places them in his pockets as a precaution this time. He wonders how they must look to people passing by. Does he look as desperate as he feels?
“So, how about that ride?” He asks, his eyebrows raised.
Her pupils travel the length of the sharp scar across his forehead that Danica gave him, down the edge of his nose, to his throat, before going back up. He rubs his palms against his jeans.
“No.” Her response is curt, the word almost swallowed by the hum of the campus.
“Why?” he says, stepping forward, voice low. “Are you afraid?”
“Afraid?”
He shrugs, dragging in an exaggerated breath. “That you’ll fall for me.”
And maybe he expects an eye roll. A middle finger, perhaps. Even for her to walk off. Instead, she lets out a weak puff of air, shaking her head toward the ground. “You have the wrong woman.”
She resumes walking, her pace not as fast now. Deliberately slower, he thinks—he hopes—as he falls into step beside her. The lamposts overhead, casting brief shadows that stretch on the pavement.
“According to my ex, I’m not capable,” she says in a low voice.
His smile drops, and his brows draw in. “What?”
She exhales deeply. “Apparently, I don’t know how to relax.
I’m incredibly uptight. Let’s see, what else?
I don’t know how to have fun. I make everyone around me feel like shit because I like to work.
Oh, I whine too much about being a Black woman in a male-dominated field, and if I ever do make it, it won’t be because I’m not competent or actually good at what I do.
It’ll be because I’m a diversity hire.” She lets out a weak chuckle. “So, I can assure you, wrong woman.”
He stops walking, the crunch of rocks ceasing beneath his shoes, and to his surprise, she does too. He scratches his forehead, his mouth downturned.
“You don’t actually believe any of that, right?”
She glances toward him before looking back down.
Shit.
“Jahlani,” he says, his tone full of skepticism. “You can’t—”
“Yeah, no,” she says, touching the chain of her necklace. “I mean, maybe? I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said all that. I don’t need a ride, okay?”
She turns back along the path, flanked by empty, looming buildings that feel as if they’re watching. He quickens his step to match hers, closer than before because their shoulders brush. She cuts him a sidelong glance, her eyes sharp in the dim light.
He shrugs. “ I can at least walk with you to the bus stop. It’s dark out here.”
She sighs, spinning to face him with a furrowed brow. “What? No. I’m fine. The parking garage is in the opposite direction, and I don’t need a bodyguard. A white knight. Whatever it is that you’re trying to be here. I’m fi—”
“Fine, yes, I know,” he says, interrupting while adjusting the velcro of his bag in a quiet, defeated gesture.
The breeze rustles the trees, the sound too soft to mask the tension in the air.
“Look, I have a young da—” He pauses. “Danica. My sister’s name is Danica,” he corrects himself, gripping the strap tighter.
“And I would hate for someone to leave her alone at night on campus. I’m not trying to be anything. ”
“Okay, okay,” she says, raising her hand. “Save your spiel for the debate team.” Her words linger in the evening air, hanging like smoke between them, before she quickens her pace once more, her silhouette shrinking into the darkness ahead.
He shakes his head, smiling before doubling his strides to catch up with her.
“I’m sorry,” he says after several beats of silence.
When she doesn’t say anything, he clears his throat, continuing, “About your ex. Those are some really … shitty things he said.” His lip curls, thinking that if he were to ever cross paths with him, he wouldn’t think twice about hurting him in the worst kind of way.
“Not your fault,” she says, keeping her gaze ahead.
“And for that guy in class the first day,” he says, rubbing his arm.
Her shoulders drop through a sigh. “Yeah, that’s pretty normal.”
“It’s pretty fucked. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
At this, she does meet his eyes. “No. You can’t.”
He wets his lips, sending a small, hopefully sympathetic smile her way and her gaze falls to his mouth before she blinks, turning away.
“So, how was your Fourth of July?” he says, trying to defuse the tension.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yup.”
“You’re not going to ask about mine?”
“Nope.”
“Ouch.”
They round the corner where only one bus remains, but he knows they’re too far to catch it. She must too because she slows her pace until she stops altogether.
“Was that your bus?” he asks.
She pivots to him, pointing an accusing finger. “This is your fault.”
His eyebrow arches. “Mine?”
“Yes,” she hisses. “If you hadn’t—”
He takes a step closer. “Hadn’t what? Caught you before you ate dirt and forced you to hydrate yourself?”
“I—” She blows out a breath, starting to walk down the row of benches. “What, no snippy comeback?” he asks, his laughter loud.
“Whatever,” she calls over her shoulder. “Go write about it in your diary.”
“Oh, I will,” he says, and feigns writing into a notebook. “Dear Diary … today was a great day. I, the charming, sweet …” his eyes flit to hers and watch as she rolls her own, “devilishly handsome, Roman Hayes rendered the indomitable Jahlani Jones speechless.”
Jahlani sighs, falling onto the rusted bench. “You forgot to add egotistical and arrogant to your description.”
He laughs, folding his arms over his chest as he sinks down next to her. “True, but you didn’t oppose the others, so that’s a win in my book.”
“What are you doing?” she asks through wide eyes.
He blinks. “Making sure you get on safely?”
He should leave. She clearly didn’t want him around, but for some reason, he settles his bag in between his legs, patting his knees.
A breathless laugh escapes her. “Why?” she asks.
He turns to face her, the warmth of her knee brushing his, the cool wind whipping his hair. “Because it’s dark out here and I’d hate to see your name on Channel Six News tomorrow morning.”
She hums, turning away from him. “That’s dramatic.”
“It happens more often than you’d think,” he says, his tone flat. “Trust me.”