11. Roman
CHAPTER 11
ROMAN
Hendrix can have such a big mouth sometimes. Am I attracted to Waverly? Fuck yeah, I am. Have I been since Patrick introduced us? Also, fuck yeah. But I’d never act on it. For one, she’d never go for it; she’s aware of my reputation even though it’s been blown completely out of proportion. Not to mention, “She’s Patrick’s girl, you asshole,” I say out loud as I grip the steering wheel a little tighter and push the gas a little harder.
Even if I did act on it, which I won’t, it wouldn’t just be because she’s older and I could have the honor of saying I was with an older woman. She doesn’t act older. She barely looks older. She’s fucking gorgeous. So much so that it’s painful to see her sometimes.
I’m on my way to her apartment now to smooth things over. I ditched Hendrix and left him with our tab. My logical self is telling me it would be best to let Waverly cool down since she just up and left the bar twenty minutes ago, but I refuse to let her simmer. Calling her phone would be pointless. I know for a fact that she never has the ringer on. Not sure why she even has a phone. I never see her check it, although it’s always on her. For a generation that used to buy ringtones, they are dead set on keeping their phones on silent these days.
I pull into the parking lot of her complex and see her living room light on. That’s a good sign. Now if I could just find the right thing to say. Probably should’ve practiced, but instead, I’d apparently rather chatter internally about phones.
Taking two steps at a time brings me to her door, wasting no time. I raise my hand to knock but the door opens before my fist hits the wood.
“Roman,” Waverly whispers. “Come in.”
I must look like a deer caught in headlights because she takes my hand and leads me in the door before I return to my senses.I take my coat off and rest it on the back of the chair.
“Look…” I say at the same time as she says, “I’m sorry.”
Her lips curl up at the ends. A beautiful sight. “Go ahead.”
This woman has me tongue-tied in the best way. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing my shirt. It’s my Shamrock 5K shirt. It says Huxley on the back. It makes sense why she thinks it’s his. When they were away in the Philippines, Patrick let me stay here so my drive to work wouldn’t be as long. Not sure he told her about it. He was a man who lived by the motto, “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” I’d made sure my mess was cleaned up before I left. But I must’ve missed that shirt. And my assumption was correct; he mustn’t have told her.
“I, umm…I never thought…I don’t want to sleep with you. I mean, you aren’t a cougar to me.”
This all sounds terrible. Her brows fall like she’s mad. “What Hendrix said was wrong. Despite what you may think about my…sex life, I don’t have sex with women just to ‘tick them off my list.’”
“Are you done?” She smirks. I rub my neck, clearly flustered.
“Yes,” I try saying confidently. She takes a step closer to me, close enough that I could reach out and grab her. If I wanted to. If she wanted me to. I can smell the remnants of her perfume. A scent that brings me to my knees. Causes me to lose my mind and prevents me from forming coherent sentences.
Her eyes fall to the floor. “You never looked at me like a cougar.” I nod in agreement. “But you’ve also never looked at me the way you did when we were dancing tonight. After you…” Her fingers graze her neck, her lips part and her eyes find mine. “Before I walked away.”
She’s right. She saw right through me. At that moment I wanted her; I was feral for her. The way she smelled of coconut—like a relaxing day at the beach. The way she allowed my hands to glide around her body as she turned, over and over. The way she smiled when my hand was around her neck. Like she wanted more. More of something I did. I made her feel something.
She takes another step toward me, and I grin in response.
Her hand rests on my chest. She doesn’t look at me, but at where she’s touching me.
“I liked it,” she whispers, barely audible.
I did make her feel something.
Me!
Not Patrick, but me .
Fuck my brother!
I gently take her hand from my chest and back away. Her face falls and she looks away from me.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking!” She shakes her head, still not meeting my gaze, but now leaning against the kitchen sink, looking out the window.
“No. No…You didn’t do anything,” I insist, but she’s still turned away from me. I take a few steps toward her and stop at arm's length.
“I was thinking it, too, Kensi. Trust me,” I grab the roots of my hair. “It’s just you’re my brother’s woman, and I know you’re hurting. I don’t want to add any more stress to an already delicate situation.”
She turns, finally, with unshed tears coating her green eyes.
“You don’t have to explain. It was the alcohol. I know something serious would never happen between us, I’m old enough to be your mom.” She laughs as a single tear slides down her cheek. “See? I am delicate. So…you’re not wrong there.”
“Damnit, Waverly,” I growl before I pull her into a tight hug and I feel her body shake. “I don’t mean that you’re delicate. It’s just that this situation is delicate.” She doesn’t say anything, and I suddenly feel like I need to tell her everything I’m feeling. Because if my parents taught me anything, it’s to always be honest.
“You’re so strong. Not many people could have handled what happened…what you saw…how you saw Patrick get swept up with the water.” She sniffs and a quiet sob escapes her as she lays against my chest. “I don’t want to be a rebound, Kensi. I’m not saying anything will happen between us in the future, but I’d also be lying if I told you I feel nothing toward you.” She stops moving.
“And you aren’t old enough to be my mom, I mean, I guess, biologically speaking, yes, but you aren’t. The Waverly I met all those years ago…you were living life like you were young. Everyone wanted to be around you. Hell, I wanted to be around you, but I would never do that. To you or Patrick.”
She pulls away, eyeing the wet spot she left on my chest. “Oh, that’s embarrassing. Let me get you something to clean that off.” I watch her as she pads away. Her shorts leave little to the imagination as they show her toned legs. Seeing my last name on her, knowing it’s my shirt, makes my dick twitch.
“I just keep embarrassing myself. I can’t catch a break,” I hear her voice come, low enough from the bathroom, she probably didn’t want me to hear.
It’s hard to wrap my head around what’s happened tonight. This is not the way I thought this talk would go. I thought I’d apologize and that’d be the end of it. Either she’d forgive me for what my ass-hat friend said, or she wouldn’t. But instead…
A vibration in my pocket snaps me out of my thoughts and I check the caller ID before hitting “Accept” and raising my phone to my ear. My mom’s voice drifts out of the handset, right as Waverly walks back from the bathroom and begins slowly dabbing at my shirt.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” I know she’s answering me, but I’m having a hard time concentrating. A set of green eyes penetrate my soul as she wipes her shed tears off my shirt. Her tongue darts out and slowly licks her pink lips like she’s solving a puzzle.
“Did you hear me?” my mom shouts in my ear.
“No. What did you say?” I’m trying not to focus on Waverly’s touch, or the fact that her other hand is resting gently on my hip as if the light touch could hold me in place.
My phone starts ringing next as a FaceTime call. Great.
“Yeah, Mom.” I should have just waited until I got in the car to answer. This just proves I’m not mature enough for the woman in front of me. My mother calls me, and I answer, allowing it to interrupt what was an intimate moment.
“I thought I’d FaceTime you and see what, or who, is distracting you.” I glance at the green eyes staring at me wide-eyed and turn away.
“Stop it, will you? What do you need?” This woman. If she hadn’t birthed me, I’d hang up on her.
“Oh. I see. Hi, Waverly.” My mom waves.
Waverly comes up next to me and sticks her head in the screen. “Hi, Mrs. Huxley. How are you?”
My mom smiles from ear to ear. “I’m glad you’re with Roman. I know your birthday is coming up and we were planning on doing all of this a little differently before…” She goes silent, and we hear my dad muffled in the background. “Well, anyway…we have a trip planned down the Amalfi Coast and we thought it would be nice if it was for your birthday. Roman was going to be the one sailing the boat. And I’d understand if you didn’t want to do it, but we did pay–”
“Don’t guilt her into it, Mom.”
Waverly stays quiet next to me.
“I’m not guilting anyone into anything, it’s two weeks away. I’m simply—oops, Aunt Dolly is calling. Bye, Waverly.”
I press the red button and tuck the phone away, regretting even answering it.
“I’m sorry about that. I know she can be a lot,” I say, trying to do some damage control.
She walks away with the cloth and disappears into the bathroom. This time she closes the door, leaving me in the kitchen alone. And she takes the crackling tension with her.