10. Waverly
CHAPTER 10
WAVERLY
Fortunate:I’m not as lonely now as I have been for the past year.
Unfortunate:My plant was sent back to me, unable to be rehabilitated. I now run a plant hospice.
“I can’t believe I agreed to this. I’m nearly forty. I shouldn’t be line dancing, I should be…” I let my hands fall to my sides in defeat, looking at my outfit in the mirror. An outfit that isn’t mine. These black jeans are painted on, and I feel like a fool in these cowboy boots. The tank, however, is adorable: light brown suede with fringe at the bottom. It’s hot.
Victoria comes up from behind. “You should be, what ? Crocheting a blanket? Knitting a sweater next to some cats? No. You’re only almost forty. Life has just begun. I promise.” She smiles and fixes herself in the mirror. She may be the only woman with curly hair who can pull off bangs.
I turn to her so she knows I’m serious. “If I hate it, can we leave?”
“I promise you won’t, but yes, if you hate it, we can leave.” She pops her lips after she applies a layer of bright red lipstick. “You know, Roman likes you.”
“Well, of course, he likes me, Victoria. I was his brother’s fiancée. It kind of comes with the territory.”
“No, Waverly…he like -likes you. I can tell.”
“Oh, please. He’s a child. He doesn’t know what he likes” I scoff.
“Whatever you need to believe, but I can still see it.”
“You’ve spent all of five seconds with us, you can’t see anything. Besides, I’m old enough I could be his mom,” I walk away from the mirror trying to hide the blush that’s now creeped up my neck.
“Yeah, if you got knocked up at fourteen. Who the hell cares, Waverly?” She rolls her eyes.
I grab a gray cardigan out of my closet before Victoria snatches it from my hand. “What the hell are you doing?”
I grab it back. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” I raise one eyebrow.
“You aren’t wearing a cardigan over that top. It’s hot and here you are wanting to nun-ify it.” She grabs it, tosses it in the shower, turns it on, and soaks it before turning off the water. “I’m doing this for you . You need to meet—” I cut her off.
“I’m not into meeting anyone right now, Victoria. I’m okay. Really. Just let me do this at my own pace. Whatever that looks like.”
Her shoulders fall and a look of pity crosses her face. “You know what? You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She rubs at the bridge of her nose, her beautiful brown eyes pinched shut. “I wasn’t thinking.” She bends over and picks up my dripping cardigan. “I can dry this real quick,” she says with remorse.
I smile a genuine smile at her act. “I know you’re coming from a place of love. It’s a little aggressive at times… but out of love.” After a dramatic exhale, I continue, “I do find it funny how extra you are sometimes. And a little na?ve because I have that same cardigan in two other drab colors.” I wrap my arms around myself and spin around. “And they are pretty sexy, if I may say so,” I joke.
She laughs and tosses a dirty sock from the floor to my face. “You’re a clown.” Her smile turns faint. “I missed you,” she whispers and brings me into a tight hug. I have been missing. I haven’t been myself in such a long time, I don’t know how to exist as anyone other than the me in this moment right now.
I suddenly realize that when Victoria is around, usually all is right with my world. But I can’t help but feel like someone is missing lately, aside from the old me. And it’s not Patrick.
We finally make it to Two Balls and A Bull. What an unfortunate name for a country bar.
The music is cranked and there is a bouncer at the door. We flash him our IDs, but he lets us in without even a second glance. I guess that’s part of getting older. Not being carded. Ouch. I guess it is one less thing to worry about. I no longer have to worry about shoving my ID in my bra if I don’t feel like carrying a purse.
“Hey! There he is,” Victoria shouts over the music, pointing out Roman and his friend. Our hands link through the crowd, and she drags me behind her, parting the gyrating bodies like the Red Sea. I double take at a few couples on the dance floor, feeling like Baby in Dirty Dancing . Two Balls and A Bull is known for country line dancing, not grinding, but who am I to judge? Let’s face it, I’d give two balls and a bull to grind on something right about now.
Like always, Roman brings me into a hug, but tonight’s hug feels different. He nuzzles his face in my hair. I must admit, we are the perfect height fit for hugs. “I’m not going to lie, I thought you wouldn’t come,” he states as he pulls away before I have a chance to say anything.
“I always come for you, Rome.” I hear the words escape before I have the chance to stop them.
“To be determined, pretty lady,” he says with a faux country accent while tipping his imaginary cowboy hat. I’m embarrassed how much his statement turns me on.
He takes the time to introduce us to his friend, Henry Bryson. Harry Bryson? Let’s call him Henry. I can’t hear anything with the music this loud.
Henry takes my hand in his and kisses the back of it. That gesture would normally make me feel like chivalry hasn’t completely fallen off the map if he didn’t end it with a stupid smirk like he’s going to get some from me at the end of the night.
“So, what do you do, Waverly?” he asks with hooded lids, not hiding the fact that his eyes have taken a hard landing on my chest. Isn’t this supposed to be Roman’s friend? I mean, he still could be. Maybe Roman is trying to set me up, which would be awkward given Victoria’s hunch he’s into me…I mean, I thought there may have been a moment with us in the bed of his truck.
“I run an animal shelter outside of Venice. Just taking some time off for now…for a while. But I have a good team, so the animals are in good hands,” I overshare. I’m not sure why I told him anything. I owe him nothing, and quite frankly, I just felt the mood shift from a five to a one.
Victoria, the savior she is, appears with four glasses of whiskey and four shots of tequila.
“Dos Amigos, your favorite,” she says through a smile, handing me my shot first, before passing out the others.
Roman raises his glass. “To line dancing.”
I counter, “To special moments.” I eye him, wondering if he’ll read between the lines.
The five of us make small talk for a while: Victoria, Henry, Roman, me, and the alcohol. It shares more than I normally would now that it’s in my system. Will I ever be who I used to be? Happy. Outgoing. In high school, I was recognized as the ‘Most Chatty’, both with and without alcohol. And I silently wonder if I’ll ever get that version of myself back.
Victoria slams her last shot down, grabs Henry’s hand, and drags him out onto the dance floor as a song starts playing. I watch my best friend dance like she hasn’t a care in the world. She’s five years older than I am and lives like she’s still in her twenties, just with the wisdom of a mature adult. It’s ideal if you think about it. She has the ability to live life as it comes at her. If it goes wrong, she handles it and moves on.
I love her for it.
I envy her for it.
“What do you say? You came here to dance, right?” Roman extends his hand out to mine. “Unless you’re scared.”
Pshh. If there is anything I’m scared of, it’s not dancing. I look at Roman’s glass, which has a couple of sips of whiskey left in it, before I grab it and gulp it back. “I’m not scared. But you should be, Huxley.” I smirk, feeling a little lighter than I have been.
Nelly and Florida Georgia Line’s “‘ Lil Bit” bleeds through the speakers as Roman gently takes my hand and leads me out onto the dance floor. He pauses briefly, as if steeling himself for something, before his arms gently encircle me, his hand coming to rest on my lower back. His touch is light. Am I really that repulsive to him? Victoria's hunch must have been way off… I swallow the thought and start feeling the music before he spins me. And for the first time in forever, I feel free.
Victoria shouts a “ Wahoo !” next to me at the sight, while she dances with Henry.
Roman and I both laugh before we dance around each other in circles, and the song slows just as I feel his hand around my slender neck. His other one slides down to my hand, and when the bass drops, he swirls me under his arm. His tan face is tinged in pink. It could very well be from the temperature in the room. Or it could be that his hands are roaming my body. To outsiders it’s dancing. To us, it’s as if this dance is unspoken words and silent promises, of a lifetime of being who the other needs.
Roman whips me out beside him, stirring me out of my thoughts, holding me by my wrist. I get spun back into his chest before he holds me close with his hand wrapped tightly around me. Our noses touch and our breathing has become erratic. “It’s the dancing,” I repeat in my head. In this moment, it’s just us. Feeling the music. Letting it take over while we move our hips in sync to the beat. Everyone around us has blended into the background. Everywhere he’s touched me feels like it’s been branded. My eyes find his, and it has become a game of chicken. Who will look away first? One misstep and our lips will be touching. And in this moment, the way I’m feeling right now, it wouldn’t be the worst thing.
I can’t allow myself to dive deeper into that thought before he spins me out to his side again. When he pulls me back in, his hand lands on the sides of my neck.
We lock eyes and I feel myself lowering to the floor. Roman’s hand around my thin neck is sturdy. Tight. It doesn’t hurt, but instead causes an aching in my core. He steps over my legs and holds me under him before leaning his face down to mine. His eyes drop to my lips, which subconsciously part, releasing a lustful, and completely inappropriate breath before he pulls me up. BY. MY. NECK. I can’t help but smile when my face reaches his. I don’t want to allow this to continue, but he’s wearing a sexy grin, while his eyes are dark. Much darker than usual, and I can barely help myself.
I’ve never danced like this before. And I’ve never had a man's hand around my neck. So possessive. Not like that. Not ever. We stop moving for a moment, and before we can continue, Victoria pulls me away.
“What was that ?” she shouts, but only so I can hear. “Don’t worry, you were too busy to grab a picture, so I snapped one for you. And it is hot !” I turn back to Roman, not knowing how to answer. What was that? There’s a change in his eyes: pupils dilated like saucers.
Henry taps Roman on the shoulder and laughs. Roman, though? His eyes don’t leave mine. His thumb swipes over his bottom lip, eyes holding mine hostage, and I’m locked in. That lip is bitable. It could’ve been if Victoria hadn’t saved me. Am I even ready to kiss someone new? I don’t know. More importantly, am I ready to kiss Patrick’s little brother? Not even a little bit.
I’m a liar.
Victoria gently squeezes my arm, bringing me out of my head.
“I’m not sure, but…” I liked it. I’m ashamed to say that I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being touched. Being desired.
I allow Victoria to lead me over to the brown wooden bar where she turns to me. “Are you okay?” She beckons the bartender over, “Do you want to leave?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t. But I think I’m done with dancing, though.” My fingers skirt over my neck where the feeling of Roman’s fingers branding me still ghosts over my skin.
We order our drinks and bring them over to a table next to where the guys remain on the dance floor. They don’t see us. Clearly, they don’t, because I hear Henry say a little too loudly, “...Then you can tick ‘fucking a cougar’ off your list.”
Is he talking about me ? A cougar? The thought of being called such a name disgusts me. So, I turn forty in a couple of weeks, and Roman’s twenty-four—almost twenty-five. Technically that would qualify me as a cougar, but I don’t feel like one. With Patrick, we were close in age. No title. No trope to label it. Just a relationship. But this isn’t about Patrick. This is about Roman: someone whom I thought was my friend. Someone I thought had my best interests at heart.
“You know, I’m right here. And I’m not fucking either of you.” Victoria stares at me, her mouth agape, as I slam my drink down on the table. “ Now I’m ready to go,” I snap in her direction, never taking my narrowed eyes from Roman.
Roman Huxley. Sweet talker. Bad boy. Too sexy and smooth for his own good. And mine, too. I grab my keys and push past him.
“Waverly, wait! Hendrix is drunk, he didn’t mean—” Roman steps out to grab me.
Hendrix! That’s his name. Not that I neither care nor need to remember it after tonight.
I hold my hand up to his chest, being sure not to touch him with more than just my fingertips.
“Roman, no. We both know this friendship is one-sided. I’m just the poor widow whom your brother left you to deal with…” The realization hits me, and I slap my hand on my forehead. “I’m not even technically a widow. I’m just a woman who had a questionable relationship, if you can even call it that, with a man who’s dead.”
Voicing it out loud, finally, gives me pause. That’s all I am. That’s all I was. Was what we had even real? Or was it more like a pseudo-relationship with a roommate?
I don’t allow myself to think on it another minute as I storm out of Two Balls and A Bull and leave those two guys alone.