23. Roman
ROMAN
T here’s not a lot that truly shakes me.
Not too many moments I can remember where I’m so nervous that I can’t sit still.
This feeling: this can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, can’t-breathe type of nervousness whipping its way through my system is entirely brand new, but it’s all I’ve been feeling since the second I saw Juliette again in Rosebrook Falls. Since she agreed to meet me here at our spot.
Is it weird to think of something as ours when it’s only the second time we’ve been here together?
I got to the secluded cliff in Verona County Park shortly after I was done with that farce of a show for the reporters, where I acted like I want to be there.
My mother texted immediately after it was over. No doubt she was watching the live stream.
Ma:
You were great. I’m proud of you.
My stomach twists, because I think it might be the first time in years that she’s said those words.
Juliette didn’t tell me what time to meet her here, so I’ve been sitting at this picnic table like a pussy, hoping she actually shows.
The sun sank about an hour ago, slipping beneath the horizon and giving way to the moon. I’ve been sketching the entire time. Nothing specific, just random doodles to keep my hands moving and my mind occupied.
There’s a scatter of vibrant stars, and a few dim trail lamps, one of them casting a soft glow behind the old picnic table where I’m sitting.
I sigh, crack my neck, and drop my pencil onto my black book. Then I stand, stretching out the stiffness in my back before walking to the rock— the rock—where I first saw Juliette.
Sitting on the edge, I call Brooklynn while I wait. Partly because I miss her, but mostly to distract myself from the dread seeping in, wondering if Juliette’s going to show at all.
Brooklynn doesn’t pick up, but she’s probably just avoiding me, so I call her again.
And then again.
On the fourth time, there’s a click. Her voice comes over the line, and the tightness in my chest eases.
“You know you’re the literal definition of overbearing, right?” she says instead of hello.
My muscles ease. “I like to think of it as extravagant persistence.”
She sighs. “What do you want, Bear? Or do you only go by Roman now?”
My heart thumps. “Call me whatever you want, as long as you’re acknowledging my existence again.”
She’s quiet for a minute and then, “How is it there… You good?”
I glance out over the cliff, Rosebrook Falls stretched beneath me in the valley. “Depends on your definition of the word, I guess. I just told the world I’m not dead so, above average?”
“I watched it, you know…the press thing.” She pauses. “You looked like him.”
My jaw tics, stomach cramping. “Brooklynn?—”
“It’s whatever,” she says quickly. “What are you doing now?”
“Hanging out at some park.”
“Fascinating,” she drawls.
I rub my neck and then glance up, my heart flipping.
Juliette’s standing there, watching me.
“Hey, I gotta go. If I call you later, will you answer?”
“You bet.” Her voice is sarcastic but I’ll take what I can get.
“Love you, kid.”
“Ditto.”
Click.
“It’s called Upside Down Rock,” Juliette says immediately.
Her voice sends a shiver down my spine.
I can’t help the grin that spreads. “You’re here.”
She quirks a brow. “I said I would be—what do you think I am, a liar?”
Shaking my head, I just stare at her because damn , she’s pretty.
“You made me wait long enough,” I say. “I was about to give up and go home.”
Her head tilts. “And where exactly is home ? Montgomery Manor?”
Standing up and stepping forward, I gaze down at her, my body tripping over itself like it wants to be near her more than I do.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I reply. “I don’t want to think about the fucked-up relationship our families have with each other. When we’re here, I just want us to be…us.”
Her throat bobs. “And what exactly does that entail?”
“Friendly things, I guess.”
“Friendly things,” she repeats, frowning.
“Yeah. I think you’ll find I can be very friendly.” I wag my brows.
She gives me a bemused look and then heads toward the picnic table, sliding onto the bench and placing her notebook down. “Well, come on then, friend , tell me something about you.”
I follow her, slipping into the seat across from her and resting my hands on the table next to my own black book. I jerk my chin toward hers. “What’s that?”
She gives me a chastising look. “I asked you a question first.”
“Okay.” I pick up my pencil and roll it between my fingers.
“I spent years thinking my dad wished I was dead, and now that he wants me here, I don’t know how to act like I’m his son.
His wealth makes me uncomfortable, and if it weren’t for my sister, I’d probably never touch a dime of my trust fund. ”
Her eyes widen.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I run a hand through my hair, my leg bouncing. “That was too heavy, right? You just asked, so I?—”
“No,” she cuts me off. “I just didn’t expect you to be so honest.”
I glance down at the table and then back at her, hoping my gaze conveys the words that I don’t know how to say. “I’ll always be honest with you.”
She snorts.
“From now on,” I amend.
Truthfully, I’ve never been open with anyone like this, and maybe I’m a dumbass for it, but it feels like I can share pieces of myself, and she’ll hold them close and keep them safe.
I’ve never had that before, not since I was a little kid and my mom…
Well, I don’t want to think about my mother. It’s just been a while.
“And this is something you share with your friends?” she asks.
“I’d like to think of us as best friends, honestly. Now you go.” I gesture toward her notebook. “Is that a diary?”
She drums her fingers on the table, and I want to grip them in mine. Instead, I aim for the journal. I’m only planning on tapping the front of it, but the way she rips it out of my reach has my interest piquing.
“Why are you so cagey about it?” My heart thumps faster, and I lean forward. “Is there something about me in there?”
She keeps her face carefully blank. “It’s amazing that after all this time you still think I’m obsessed with you.”
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Feels like something a stalker would do, is all. For all I know, you’ve doodled your first name and my last together a thousand times.”
She scoffs. “You wish.”
“Juliette Montgomery,” I muse, smiling. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
It takes a second to realize what I’ve said, and when I do, my world tips upside down.
When did my subconscious start accepting that I’m a Montgomery again?
The corners of her lips flip up. “This isn’t a diary, but it is where I write.”
I smirk. “And what, I’m just supposed to believe you don’t write dirty stories about me?”
She narrows her gaze. “Okay, first of all, sex isn’t dirty.”
The word sex on her lips makes my dick hard, and I will it to behave, because I’m not trying to embarrass myself out here.
“I assure you,” I murmur, leaning just a little closer, “sex can be absolutely filthy . I’m more than happy to show you, if you’d like.”
She cocks her head. “Wow. How selfless of you. Do you always offer personal demonstrations to your friends?”
I grin. “Only the really special ones.”
“That’s not even the kind of stuff I write.”
“Oh no?” I tap the table, eyes locked on her mouth. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“I don’t .”
Her cheeks bloom that pink, and my pulse stutters.
I point at her. “You’re blushing. That’s proof of your guilt.”
She glares at me.
“You know,” I continue, lowering my voice. “I think you’d better let me read them—that way, I’d know for sure.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on,” I tease, resting my hand on my chin. “It’s only fair. I’ve just bared my soul to you. Not to mention my generous offer of lessons in smut, to further your literary prowess. I’m really putting myself on the line here.”
“No,” she repeats.
“Fine.” I relent, watching her. “Should we have a secret handshake?”
She blinks. “What?”
I lift a shoulder. “Seems like something friends would do. You know, seeing as how we’re strictly platonic and all.”
She scrunches her nose. “We’re not making up a handshake.”
“Why not?” I smirk. “Scared it might be too intimate?”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you ever serious?”
I put my hand over my heart. “I’m seriously promising I won’t be mad when I read about all the ways you want to take advantage of me.”
“Oh my God ,” she groans and covers her mouth, but not before I catch the smile breaking through.
And that right there is why I’m doing what I am. There’s nothing good in my life…except when I make Juliette Calloway smile.
Under the table, I nudge the tip of her shoe with mine. “Relax. I’m just fucking with you.”
She lets the smile land fully now, and the breeze kicks up, catching a piece of her hair and sweeping it across her face. She brushes it behind her ear, and I think watching her is my new favorite pastime.
“I brought it with me because I didn’t know if you’d show up, and I wanted to be able to write somewhere I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder.” She fingers the pages of her notebook. “If I had known you’d be giving me such a hard time about it, I would have left it in my car.”
“Why do you have to look over your shoulder?”
“My family doesn’t—well, they don’t really get the whole writing thing…so I thought if you didn’t show, at least I could find some time to do it in private.”
And just like that, I don’t want to piss her off anymore. In fact, it pisses me off that the people who claim to love her don’t let her do what she enjoys around them.
I nod and tap the top of my black book. “I brought mine, too. You know, just in case. I’m fine with hanging out and spending time together so you can write.”
“You are?” She looks at me from beneath her long lashes.
“Yeah. You’ll probably write better, honestly, since now your muse is sitting right in front of you in the flesh.” I put my arms out to each side.
She picks up her pen and launches it at me, and I laugh, ducking out of the way.
“You totally have main character syndrome,” she says, pointing a finger at me.
“What the hell is main character syndrome?”
“Where you think everything’s always about you.”
My brows hike to my hairline, and I try to look serious. “Sounds terrible.”
“Mmhm, truly. My best friend thinks the bigger your MCS, the smaller your dick size.”
“Is that an official diagnosis?”
She shrugs. “It’s held true so far.”
I nod. “That’s a bold statement. And I’m extremely well-endowed, so I think I’d like a second opinion.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Sorry. Your symptoms are too advanced. I’m afraid it’s terminal.”
“Damn.” My smile drops, feigning disappointment. “Well, if being under -endowed means I get to be the center of your attention, then I’ll take it.”
Juliette quiets and bites the corner of her lip.
My eyes drop to the motion. I want to be the one biting it. Licking it. Sucking it into my mouth and having her taste on my tongue.
I spin the ring on my finger around so I don’t launch over the picnic table and grip her by the neck, demolishing these flimsy “friendship” boundaries we’ve put up.
“You really don’t mind if I write?” she asks.
“Nah. Being around you is enough.”
She beams at me and then pulls the notebook toward her and opens it up, crossing her legs on the bench and placing it in her lap. Immediately, she’s lost in her own world. I pretend I’m doing the same with my drawings, but to be honest, I can’t stop watching her.
She’s…
Well, I think she’s kind of everything.