13. Roman
CHAPTER 13
ROMAN
Another bucket list item is about to be checked off Waverly’s list. I’m picking her up on my motorcycle early tomorrow morning and taking her to the airport. I had one of the guys who works for my company pick up her luggage ahead of time and drop it off at the jet. My father insisted on us taking our family plane so we could have a more relaxing time instead of ‘shoving into a commercial flight like sardines’. His words, not mine. Since the boat is docked off the coast of Italy half of the year, my parents are barely around. Always floating somewhere away from the states.
“Bro. You going to fuck the cougar?” Hendrix elbows me.
I put my beer down on the bar with a little more force than intended. “Would you stop calling her that?” He’s starting to piss me off. That first night was a mishap. He shouldn’t have said what he said, but we squashed it. But bringing it up again, it’s not cool.
“I’m sorry, but you’re twenty-four, Hux. Nothing wrong with mixing business and pleasure.” He shrugs and takes a swig of his beer.
“It’s different with her.” For some reason, my brain thinks it’s okay to open up to this animal.
“How so?” His head swivels to me, willing to listen.
I shake my head. “Imagine you’re out at a bar with your brother and you see this woman. She’s glowing. She has a smile that would brighten even the darkest of days. A laugh that’s contagious, and you don’t even know what she’s saying because you’re too far away to hear.”
Hendrix nods, following. It’s probably easier because, like me, Hendrix is the youngest sibling.
“Now imagine telling your brother you’re going to talk to that girl after you take a piss. You point her out to him. He agrees you made a good choice because she’s ‘stunning.’”
I can tell Hendrix knows where this is going, but he still says nothing as he goes to chug the rest of his beer.
“So after you get out of the bathroom, he’s the one chatting her up at the bar. She’s tapping her number into his phone. But instead of being a dick and saying, ‘I saw her first,’ you give her up to him because the last time he was with a woman, she fucked him over so bad, he was majorly depressed.” After that info dump, I inhale a deep breath.
“Age is nothing but a number.” I keep going. “Waverly’s beautiful. So what if she has a few crinkles around her eyes when she smiles, or random gray hairs in her blonde ponytail? There was something about her that made me want to give it all up. I didn’t even fucking know her.” I aggressively rake my hands through my hair.
Hendrix drops his head and slowly swings it back and forth. “I can’t believe he did that to you.”
I knock on the bar in defeat. “Shit happens. Who knows, maybe back then I would’ve fucked it up, you know? Maybe there was a reason it all had to happen this way.”
My friend slaps my shoulder. “Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe Patrick was just a dick. I don’t want to sit here and speak ill of the unliving, but your brother never really seemed interested in having a girlfriend—I mean, that’s the vibe I got from him the few times we went out.”
I laugh, remembering Patrick’s twenty-fifth birthday when Mom and Dad asked him if he was gay. They insisted they’d love him no matter what. I was nine, confused as to why they thought that since he had a stack of magazines full of naked women under his bed. A month later he brought home his first girlfriend. She was perfect for him: an introvert, chem major at Stanford. She was not a woman who ignited a room when she walked into it. She didn’t get the attention of everyone around her, not because of her looks, but because of her vibe. She blended in with others just like he did.
“Whatever, man.” I digress. “ She’s here. He’s gone. And no, I’m not going to sleep with her. She’s still Patrick’s woman.” I think. I signal for another brew from the bartender.
Hendrix turns on the stool, straightens up, and his lips fall into a straight line. “What he did wasn’t right. No matter what you say, ‘meant to be’ and all that shit. But Hux…Patrick is gone.” He enunciates the last part, but so low I barely hear him. “She isn’t your brother’s.” His palms fly in front of him. Hendrix was always one to speak with his hands. “And I’m not saying right now, but maybe, eventually, this is your chance. Maybe, just maybe, it happened the way it did so the two of you could build a foundation on friendship and trust.” A laugh slides out of him as the bartender slides us our new drinks. “Hell, you should never meet a girl at a bar. Nothing good can come of a relationship like that unless you develop a deep friendship first.”
“What the hell did you do with my immature best friend?” I cock my brow and slurp down the cold Corona sitting in front of me. I toy with the lime between my fingers.
“I can be mature sometimes.” He holds his bottle to mine. “But don’t get used to it. And don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation with the ladies,” he jokes.
He’s right, though…maybe this is how it was supposed to be.