Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Fran sidles up next to me on this barstool where I sit away from our group. It’s larger than I thought it would be. Zev, Callum, the girls, but also Lucca and his date.
Her shoulder brushes mine. “We’re going to get Rosalie kissed tonight. Are you in?”
“Umm …” I peer at the bartender. “One Coke,” I say. “Fully leaded.”
The man behind the bar pauses with my request.
“She doesn’t want diet,” Fran explains. Then, turning back to me, she asks, “Are you in? It’s time.”
“I don’t quite understand.”
She peeks behind us to where Roman, Rosalie, Zev, Callum, Lucca, and Kelli are playing pool.
At least, I think Lucca’s date is named Kelli—he didn’t sound certain when he told Roman.
“She and Zev have been slowly”—she groans, deflating with the noise—“painfully slowly seeing one another. But Rose was burned—”
“Right. Not by the vampire,” I say, remembering how she referred to Rosalie’s ex.
“Yes. Robert Pattinson. The engineer. That guy did her so wrong,” she huffs, smacking one hand to the bar top. “Anyway, Zev’s all in. He’s a complete sweetheart. Plus, he’s crazy about her. Rosalie feels the same. But she isn’t quite ready to admit it. She needs a shove.”
“A shove?” I pick up my cola and take one swig—I’m going to need it tonight.
“A shove.” She nibbles on her lip, thinking. “Possibly a heave.”
“We’re heaving Rosalie?”
“We’re heaving her into a kiss with Zev. It’s going to be fun.” With both hands on my arm, she shakes me.
“Who’s kissing who?” a voice says just behind us.
Lucca Cruz.
He’s got a coy grin on his face. Fran just grins right back.
“We might be scheming to get Rosalie kissed tonight. But it’s a secret, Lucca.”
“I can keep a secret. And,” he says, looking right at me, “I think a little kissing scheming is a great idea.”
“Just follow my lead. Okay?” Fran turns on her stool, hopping up before I can answer her back though.
“Um, okay,” I say, watching her walk away and not completely sure at what it is I’ve just agreed to.
“This is going to be fun, eh, Stella?” Lucca says.
“I honestly don’t know,” I tell him. I twist, looking behind us to where Fran has disappeared, rejoining our group.
Roman peers over at us, eyeing my Coke. He leans his pool stick against the table and skips over to the bar. “Lucca, I think Kelli’s wondering where you are.” He smacks his friend on the back.
“We can’t have that,” Lucca says, brows bouncing, before he skips back to the group.
“He’s a whole lot of talk,” Roman says, leaning against the bar, his eyes glued to mine.
“Sounds like something a friend would say.” I lift one brow, waiting for his response.
Roman only smirks. “Maybe.” He moves one hand to my back. “Excuse me, sir,” he says with a quick wave to the bartender. “I’m going to need this Coke split into two tulip glasses. Please add the glass to my bill as well.”
The man doesn’t question. He simply pulls two beautifully stemmed glasses with rounded bowl tops out from beneath the bar. He splits my Coke into both and slides them toward us. “I’ll adjust your tab.”
“Are you ready?” Roman says, a grin on his handsome face.
“Maybe. I’m not sure what this entails. I seem to be getting myself into a lot of sticky situations tonight.”
Roman beams, reaching for my hand and lacing each of his fingers through mine. My stomach flips watching his face light up with mischief. And every section of my skin sparks where his brushes mine.
Something is happening.
I stopped lying, started acknowledging feelings I have, and my body decided to turn into a live wire.
With both of my Cokes in his hands, he leads the way, past tables and stools. We walk by the pool tables, and he nods to the other Red Tails. “We’ll be right back.”
“Stella!” Fran barks, giving me a knowing glare. We are in cahoots with Lucca, that glare reminds me. Whatever it is I’ve agreed to, she won’t be letting me out of it.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell my new friend. “Promise!”
Roman and I slip out a back door and into an alley, a large green dumpster at our right, empty crates at our left. It’s not exactly a postcard view.
“Okay, we’re moving on,” Roman says, handing me one of the pretty tulip glasses. “What’s the first thing you’re getting over, Stella Everly?”
“Um.” I think. There are just so many to choose from … “Okay, losing my job.”
“That’s right. Your job, your house, and your award.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That last one is a little tough to get over.”
“You’ll make something else. Something better. You don’t need a committee to tell you you’re talented.”
“I might need a committee to tell me—”
“Nope.” Roman shakes his head, shutting me up. “Hold that glass up. Repeat after me.”
A shaky breath falls from my chest. Why does this feel so scary? Why is saying goodbye to my failures so hard?
Roman is staring unflinchingly at me. So, I follow orders. I hold up my glass of cola and give Roman the smallest of nods.
“I lost my house, my job, my award,” he says.
I cringe.
“Just say it. It’s okay. A lot of people need second chances. You aren’t the first to lose these things.”
“All in the same day?” My stomach rolls—it’s not a pleasant memory.
“Come on!” he cheers.
“Fine.” I puff out a breath and bounce on my heels. “I lost my house, my job, the best piece I’ve ever created, and my award,” I say.
Roman nods, lifting his own glass with mine. “But I refuse to carry those losses with me anymore,” he says, motioning for me to repeat him.
I shut my eyes and attempt to believe what he’s saying. “I refuse to carry those losses with me anymore.”
“My mistakes don’t define me.” He nods for me to continue, to keep vowing along with him. And I’ve come this far.
“My mistakes don’t define me,” I say, and my voice is stronger, like maybe I even believe those words.
“Good,” he says. “Take a sip and smash that glass.”
With wide eyes, I glare at him. Yes, he told me his plan, but at the time, I had no idea it involved a beautiful, delicate, tulip glass.
He stares unapologetically back.
So, I breathe, sip, and smash my glass to the alley floor. Coke and glass shoot out like a shockwave explosion.
Bolting, Roman swoops one arm around me, moving himself behind me, blocking me from shards and glass. “Okay—there’s some built-up tension there.” He exhales pent-up air from his chest. “Good job. Way to get it out. This time, maybe toss that glass a little farther away.”
My chest heaves. “Now what?”
“One more,” he says, holding up the remaining tulip glass of Coke. “What else do you need to let go of?” Roman’s blue eyes bore into me—there is a right answer to this test. But he’s not spelling out the answer for me this time. I have to take this one—all by myself.
I press my lips together and slide my gaze from Roman’s face to the dark liquid of my cola.
Then, taking it from his hand, I hold it into the air.
I lick my lips and swallow. Heart pounding in my chest, I open my mouth.
“My parents don’t understand my career path.
They worry over my survival constantly. But I can’t stop that.
I can’t control that. My actions do not equal their pain,” I say, and just like the last, I smash the glass to the alleyway ground.