26. Roman
CHAPTER 26
ROMAN
“Casa d’Amigos. How original.” I exhale and pull into the parking lot of Waverly’s favorite Mexican restaurant. Thank God for Victoria’s frantic message last night. I think she knew she’d fucked up by giving this Connor guy tips. She said I should go in there and ‘claim my girl.’ But that’s not how I operate. I don’t claim anyone. But I can’t just sit at home while she’s out with some other guy. Turning up here feels a lot like a set-up. Like I’m on an episode of Cheaters except she’s not cheating, and I’m the guy who pushed her to go out on a date. What a stupid idea. I’m never drinking again. No good ideas come from alcohol. Or Hendrix. I’m going to kill him later.
I sit on my bike outside the best hidden gem in Venice Beach, watching them like a creeper through the window. I can’t help but think back to seven years ago: the night we met. The night everything changed. Why did I have to point her out to my brother? I practically served up her fate on a silver platter because there was no way he’d even glanced at her before I pointed her out.
History is not going to repeat itself. Like fuck that’s what I’m going to do tonight. Hand her over to another handsome fucking guy? Sure, the dude’s good looking. Good for him. But so am I. And she isn’t into redheaded men. Over the years, she’s made that clear more than once.
I’m not going to risk losing her to someone else for another seven years. Maybe longer, who knows. Damn alcohol. The wind starts to pick up and thunder rolls in the distance, as if Mother Nature can read my thoughts…it’s laughable. I have to laugh. Because if I don’t, I’ll put my fist through that window.
Redheaded Connor just made her giggle. It’s the giggle she gives you when she doesn’t want to laugh but she’s trying to be nice.
“Jesus Christ, what am I doing,” I mutter, almost embarrassed at how psycho I’m being right now. This is not me. I’m not like this. And for her, I shouldn’t be like this.
I deactivate the kill switch on my bike, push the ignition button, and head back to my house.
“I’m borderline obsessed at this point,” I think while I lace up my sneakers. I strap my phone into the case wrapped around my arm, shove my AirPods in my ears, and leave out the back door.
“Of course, it’s starting to fucking rain.” I start into a light jog, making sure I can go the distance. It’s time to shut off my brain. Just me, the sidewalk, my music, and the rain. It’s all very cathartic. No part of me is thinking about what Waverly is doing, or how her date with Connor is going. Not one single part.
Lies .
I pant out with every step. “Stop…feeling…sorry…for yourself, pussy.” Sometimes some tough self-love is exactly what I need. Especially when I’m the one who caused this.
I look back as if I’m running from something. I’m not sure what I’m running from, but I pick up speed—dodging debris from the wind gusts. Aren’t we all running from something? Whether it’s the past, present, or future, we all have moments that chase us. Not me. I’ll outrun whatever is trying to catch me.
Jealousy, insecurities, constantly feeling like I’m not good enough. Like I’ll never measure up.
My feet hit the pavement hard and fast as I finish my run and am back at my house. I’m drenched. An attractive mixture of rain and sweat. Yum.
Salty sweat drips into my eyes and I push my sodden hair away from the mix as I slow down in front of my house.
An older blue Audi sits in my driveway. I know whose car it is. But what’s she doing here? “I must have overexerted myself. I’m hallucinating. The front porch is empty, but everyone knows I go in and out of the back patio when I run so I don’t have to carry a key.
She’s not here. It can’t be her. She’s on a date.
I know she’s not here, but I slowly make my way around the back of the house, like I’m about to be a victim of a jump-scare.
She’s sitting in one of my navy-blue Adirondack chairs. Her loose sweatpants, which I’m pretty sure are actually mine, and tank top are soaked from the rain. But she doesn’t seem to care. Her face remains fixed on the sky above. She didn’t hear me come around from the front.
“Waverly?” I say softly, trying not to scare her.
She blinks away the drops and looks at me. Her mascara running down her face like she’s crying out black tears.
I practically sprint toward her and grab her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
She nods.
“Why are you here?” I wipe my face with my arm, like that will help.
She looks up at me through her wet lashes, causing me to ultimately surrender to the very essence of her being. If that’s what she’s trying for, she’s succeeded. “I know you come out here every night.”
The rain seems to fall harder, but neither of us takes a beat to head inside.
“How was your date,” I ask, with a little too much bite considering it was my idea.
She stands and slowly moves toward me, closing the space between us. “He isn’t you , Rome.” Her lips part before her beautiful greens, beaming like emeralds, fall to my lips.
A full-blown smile blooms on my face. I can’t help it. I stood outside of that restaurant and watched like a stalker, full of doubts, and she still chose me. I grab her hand. “I could kiss you right now, but I’m sweaty.”
She lowers herself to my torso, her eyes never straying from mine. Her tongue slowly slides out of her mouth as she smiles, and her hot breath touches my belly button. She closes her eyes and slowly licks a straight line up my stomach, past my chest, causing me to heave for air. Her tongue finds my throat, and I release a groan I can’t hold back, “Fuck, Waverly. What are you doing? Tell me what you want.”
My nerves are humming, waiting for her to tell me what she wants. In detail.
“I want to spend the night with you, Roman. I want you to ravish me. I want you in every way I couldn’t have you before.” Every movement of her hands is deliberate as her nails tenderly graze down my pecs, over the corded muscles, down to the muscles on my hips. She traces the ‘V’ shape, and her fingers hook onto my shorts.
“What do you say?” Her voice breaks. I won’t let her be insecure about this. I’ve wanted this for seven fucking years.
I sweep my tongue over my lip and bite back a smile. “Are you saying you want me the same way I want you, Waverly Kensington? The way I wanted you since the first time you walked into that bar seven years ago? The way I’ve wanted you for seven painful years?”
Her eyes turn dark and hooded, and she nods. “I’m saying you’re not a rebound. You never were. A huge part of me believes it was always supposed to be you, Roman.”
The air around us seems electrified. I scoop her up, throw her over my shoulder, and she scream-laughs.
“What are you doing?!” Her laughter is contagious, but I don’t laugh. I’m a man on a mission to make this woman in my arms feel like she’s never felt before.
I push through my bedroom door and playfully drop her on my bed. She props herself up with her elbows, looking up at me. “Now what? Lost your mojo, handsome?”
I jump on top of her, catching myself before I land on her, so that I hover inches from her face. She wraps her arms around my neck, staring into my soul. My feelings for her are intensifying by the minute.
“Is this definitely what you want, Waverly? Because I can’t fight this pull between us anymore.” I dip my lips to hers, ghosting over them, trying hard not to kiss her until she begs me. “And I sure as hell won’t be able to stop making every demand you had, and will have, come true once I start.”