11. Roman
ROMAN
T he timing of that fucking knock is the most inconvenient thing that’s ever happened to me.
Whoever is at the door knocks again.
“Just ignore it,” I say, keeping my gaze on hers.
Her eyes glance toward the noise and then come back.
She hesitates, but then she nods.
Her taste is still on my tongue, hot and musky and a little bit sweet, and my dick jerks at the memory of how perfectly her cunt squeezed my fingers. The thought of feeling that same tight grip around my cock as I sink all the way into her?
Diabolical.
Another rap on the door, and this time, she sighs. “Maybe this is fate telling us we should stop.”
“Ry, I know you’re in there!” My mother’s voice filters through from outside.
My hands fly from her body like they’re on fire. I mutter a frustrated, “ Fuck .”
Her eyes widen, maybe from hearing my nickname—although Amanda said it in front of her before—or maybe because she hears another woman’s voice at the door and is making assumptions.
She shakes her head and pushes away from me, shooting to a stand, pulling her clothes back in place, and making her way to the door. I chase after her, because the only thing worse than her leaving would be her running into my mother face to face.
I grip her arm and move her softly to the side when we reach the door, opening it a crack so my frame fills the width and my mom can’t see in fully. I stare down at her with a blank look.
Mom isn’t actively crying, but there are black mascara tears drying on her cheeks, and she’s wringing her hands together, a panicked look on her face.
“Ma,” I say, anxiety prickling my skin. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She sniffs and then steps forward like she’s trying to come inside.
I keep the door closed tightly, and it forces her back.
“You’re not gonna let me in?” she questions.
“Now’s not a good time.”
It’s possible Ma would know who the woman standing next to me is.
I don’t know why it bothers me that my mom could be the reason I learn her name—or worse, how she could learn the truth about mine.
Ma scoffs, water bubbling up and lining her lower lids, and guilt breaks apart my resistance.
It’s not like this thing between me and my mystery girl is going anywhere past today anyway, so what does it really matter in the end? I don’t know her, and even though I have a complicated relationship with my mother, she’s still my mom. I still love her and don’t want to see her sad.
Sighing, I’m about to open the door a little wider to let her in and get this inevitable reveal over with. Suddenly, Ma shifts, her fingers scratching over her long sleeves, and I look at her closer.
Pinprick pupils.
Not just watery eyes, but a glossy gaze, and every couple of seconds, her head lolls the tiniest amount, like she’s trying to appear more alert but keeps fading.
Sadness rips through my middle.
She’s high. Because of course she is.
“I’m busy,” I tell her, my walls firming back up.
She sniffs again and glances down the street. “You used to never be too busy for me.”
Sighing again, I run a hand over my face. “Ma…”
“I’m here to pick up the money for Brooke’s meds. You have time for that ?”
My brows shoot to my hairline. The fuck she is.
“What are you doing anyway, are you—?” She stops suddenly, her eyes narrowing, a spark of something sharp cutting through her foggy gaze. “Do you have someone in there?”
She peers around the door like she’s trying to get a good angle to see.
I block her view, even though my little rose shifts closer, like she wants to see my mother, too.
“Just go wait for me down the street at the coffee shop, okay? Where you were supposed to meet me earlier.”
I give her a pointed look.
Little Rose is so close to my side now that the heat of her spreads across my shoulder blades.
“Oh my God, is it a girl?” my mom screeches.
My mouth ticks up, because that sounded like Ma , not the drugs. “Christ, you’re nosy. Mind your business.”
Her expression shifts, her eyes cutting to the door, then back to me, like she’s happy at the possibility of me actually having a girl here.
There’s a warm hand on my back, and electricity fires along my spine.
“It’s fine, Ry .”
Little Rose puts emphasis on my nickname, and I let go of my death grip on the handle, angling myself to face her.
It’s not fine, for a multitude of reasons, but I can’t tell her that. I can’t even explain my tumultuous emotions about her right now, because they don’t make any sense.
At least she doesn’t look at me like she’s three seconds away from killing me anymore.
She smiles and bites that lower lip, and then her hand covers the one of mine on the doorknob, and she swings it open the rest of the way, coming face to face with my mother.
The anxiety that was simmering explodes into panic, my stomach revolting until it feels like I might throw up, but I stand stoic.
I watch them both carefully, waiting for a spark of recognition to flare on either of their faces.
“Hi,” Little Rose says with a grin, reaching out her hand. “I’m?—”
“Honey, I really don’t care.”
My mom cuts her off without blinking.
Shit.
“Oh.” Little Rose’s palm drops. “Okay.”
She turns to me and gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and I’m torn between stopping her from leaving and letting her get away while she can.
Instead, I do nothing. Because clearly, I’m an idiot.
She moves to slide past me, smiling softly again at my mother, who ignores her entirely, and pushes by her, knocking her shoulder. Hard.
That propels me into motion, and I glare. “Jesus, Ma, watch out.”
She shrugs and moves into my apartment, making herself at home on my couch. And maybe it’s my imagination—wishful thinking from that naive boy—but I could swear when her back is turned, I catch the faintest twitch of her mouth.
Like she’s secretly happy for me.
Jerking forward, I step outside, shutting the door behind me.
“Are you all right?” I ask, squinting from the sun blazing directly into my eyes.
Slowly, she spins to face me. “Yeah. You know, this is all probably for the best anyway.”
“It probably is,” I agree slowly.
I’m not sure if I mean that.
She purses her lips and then nods before turning to walk away again, and this uncontrollable urge to stop her rushes through me.
“Hey, wait up a second.” I jog after her.
She whirls back, her black hair whipping around her shoulder, defiance flashing across her gaze.
My chest pulls.
“Don’t do that,” I say.
Her brows jump high. “Do what?”
I point at her face. “Be mad at me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“This is for the best, you know? I’m fucked up.”
She grins a little. “Nobody’s arguing that fact.”
I take a step closer.
She moves back, narrowing her eyes.
“You just said this was for the best.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t supposed to agree with me,” she snaps.
I throw my hands in the air. “Well, what the fuck do I look like, a mind reader?”
My outburst makes her pause, and her lips twitch before she starts to laugh; a giant, bent-over, arm-across-her-stomach, tears-streaming-down-her-face kind of laughter.
It’s infectious enough that it makes me laugh, too.
“God, this was a terrible idea,” she says, pressing her hand to her head. “We argue like a married couple.”
I smirk, even though my chest is tight. “You say that like you don’t start all the fights.”
She groans. “You’re infuriating .”
“Don’t regret this,” I demand. “Don’t regret us.”
Her gaze softens. “How can I regret someone I don’t know and something that never happened?”
She’s right, and I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make the disappointment any smaller.
I kick at the gravel with the tip of my shoe. “Didn’t feel like something that never happened when you were coming around my fingers and moaning.”
Her breath falters and she lifts her chin.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” I ask, because it’s what I always ask her.
She bites her lip. “Doubtful.”
I don’t know why the word feels heavier this time around, but it does. It feels like…a door closing. I press my lips together, feeling a little sick at the reminder of who she might be and where she’s from.
Still, I can’t stop myself.
“You never know,” I say, trying to keep it light. “Might make a special trip, just for you.”
She huffs. “Be serious.”
“Okay.” I slip my hands into my pockets. “So I guess we’ll leave it to fate, then.”
She grins softly. “What, like chance?”
“It’s worked out for us so far.”
She nods. “All right.”
“And if it happens, I promise I won’t try to fuck you again,” I lie.
A smile breaks across her face, and my heart trips at the sight. “Pretty sure I was the one trying to fuck you .”
“You’re hot when you talk dirty.”
She rolls her eyes like I’m being ridiculous, but I know we both feel it. This ache of whatever it is we’re not saying right now.
Something that feels a hell of a lot like goodbye.
“Well,” she says, resting her hands on her hips and rocking back on her heels. “See ya if I see ya, I guess.”
My stomach tugs forward like it’s attached to her by a string.
“Ryder,” I whisper.
My heart slams against my chest, annoyed because I want to tell her my real name but I gave her this one instead.
“What’s that?” Her head tilts.
“My name’s Ryder.”
A myriad of emotions crosses her face before it’s wiped blank, and she smiles.
“Ryder,” she repeats.
I hate how good it sounds rolling off her tongue, and I hate knowing that Roman would sound even better. She slips her hands in her back pockets, and I wait for her to return the favor. For her to confirm what I already know. That she’s Juliette Calloway.
But she doesn’t.
She just bites the corner of her lip and says, “Well…it would have been nice getting to know you, Ryder.”
She turns around, and walks away.
Again.
Like she’s always doing when it comes to me.