“I can see that. Who’s your favorite player? I’m a Janelle stan.”
Her eyes go wide. “Me, too! Best player in BB history.”
“Iconic. Always sidelined by some ridiculous guy alliance.”
She nods wisely. “You want to play video games?”
“Sure!” I haven’t played video games in several years but I used to be pretty good. “I have to warn you—I’ll probably smoke your butt.”
She’s amused by my certainty. Ten minutes later, it’s clear my confidence is severely misplaced as I fail to make my way around the racetrack even once in the latest adventures of Crash Bandicoot.
“That was a lot easier in my day,” I say, after my vehicle bursts into a ball of flame. Again.
“When? In the eighties?”
I point the controller at her. “I’m not an eighties kid. I’m barely a nineties kid. The nerve!”
She grins and I grin back at her. Such a sweet kid.
“Hey, anyone here?” Oh dear. I had really hoped Chiara would return first.
“We’re in here, Dad.”
Roman walks into the den, all alpha-daddy swagger (it’s a thing!) and my breath leaves my body because he’s … him. That’s it. I can’t deny the attraction. It looks like I’m destined to turn to goop in this man’s presence, so maybe I should just learn how to manage the craving.
“Hey, Lieutenant.”
His brows pinch together. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, didn’t Chiara call you? She asked me to pick up Lena.” Lena’s moved on to a community version of the game where she can be challenged appropriately by her peers who are half my age.
“No, she didn’t.” He sounds annoyed to be out of the loop or more likely that I’ve been co-opted into childcare duty. I’m definitely getting anyone-but-you vibes.
“She had an important meeting. I’m just around the corner, so it was no bother.”
He nods toward my arm. “Sure about that?” I have three new tattoos—a pink pony, a purple robot, and a blue dragon. Or maybe it’s a dinosaur.
“Best tattoo parlor in Chicago.” I stand up, wiping crumbs from my thighs from the cookie Lena made me eat. Where “made me” means “offered-and-was-gone-in-three-seconds.” “I should go.”
“Stay for dinner,” Lena says, barely looking up from her game. “Dad’s making the spicy-ah-meatballs-ah.”
“Oh, no, I can’t. I have … something else on.”
Lena is disappointed enough to pause the game, and I get how hard it must be to look at a kid who wants things.
“See you around, Lena.”
“Okay.” She pouts but I won’t be swayed. Besides I have no choice; I can’t be in the same room as Roman.
Wait a second, that’s not true. Yes, I can. I am a fucking professional, but I do have something on. Roman follows me to the door, where I stop, “Well, have—”
“What’s happening to—”
We blink at talking over each other, then grin ruefully. This shouldn’t be so awkward.
“What’s happening tonight?” he finishes. “A date?”
“Yes, actually. Well, a drink at a bar but not until later.”
“Mr. D-Bag of the unsolicited ab shots, is it?”
“Connor the connoisseur of abs and Kurosawa, I think you mean.” He mouths an ah that makes me chuckle. “Yeah, we’re finally going to meet in person.”
“The abs have worked their magic at last.” He rubs his mouth. “Thanks for walking Lena home today and hanging with her. That was really nice of you.”
“I’m not sure why Chiara called me.”
“I think we both know why.”
Now it’s my turn to mouth an ah in agreement. “What makes her think that’s a good idea?”
He leans against the wall, his head near a picture of the three of them—Chiara, Roman, and Lena—in a candid pose. “She picked up on a vibe between us.”
“Were we that obvious?”
“Only to my sister who’s looking to matchmake at every opportunity. I think she’s worried I’ll head back to New York. She likes me being here.”
Back to New York? The notion chills me. “Is that likely? I thought you’d … finished there.”
“I’m going nowhere.”
There’s a definitive stamp in his voice that immediately affirms his intention and conveys solidity and trust. Having a man like Roman in your life—in my life—is hashtag goals for sure. It doesn’t have to be as a boyfriend or lover, either. He can fill myriad roles: mentor, boss, running partner, cheerleader.
Friend.
The silence stretches as our gazes lock in challenge. Apparently, we’re both desperate to prove we can spend time together and not do what comes naturally: touching, tasting, and so much more.
That friend notion is looking less and less likely.
“So a drink date?” he finally says. “I think you might need to coat your stomach. Don’t want you getting light-headed.”
“Hmm, those abs are something else.”
“Keep it in your pants, Sullivan.”
That pulls a laugh from me, one of my deeply awkward ones, but something wicked flashes in Roman’s eyes. He likes my laugh, I can tell.
“I guess I could throw a frozen entree into the microwave,” I say casually.
“Or help me with my spicy-ah-meatballs-ah.” He plays up the fake Italian accent and I’m swooning again, loving when he drops the guard of Lieutenant Serious.
“How spicy are we talking?”
“As spicy as you need it.”
Although I should demur, I can’t say no to that.
Twenty-four
Roman
I should have let her go. Thanked her for her service and sent her packing to her frozen entree and date prep with a guy who isn’t me. Instead I used my kid’s request for my own selfish wants. I can’t stop Abby from seeing some other man but I can make it damn difficult to not think about me while she’s doing it.
It’s an evil plan. I’m not usually a games-player but I can’t be forthright about my motives here because I’m not supposed to have any.
I’m supposed to ignore those freckles across her nose.
I’m supposed to ignore the lushness of her curves and the way she fills out that blouse.
I’m supposed to ignore that dirty, sexy laugh that she seems to be using, oh, ten times more than before. That sound is a sex act in some countries and should be illegal in every state of the union.
Whether because we’ve entered a different phase or we’re both hovering in this will-they-won’t-they limbo, the vibe is flirty and loose and easy, and I’m enjoying myself too much to question it. One dinner with my kid as chaperone can’t hurt.
“What can I do?”
I look around. No sign of Lena all of a sudden, which means I’m solo and in deep ass trouble. “As I’ve lost my usual helper, you’ll have to do.”
“Sorry to disappoint. I can’t cook but I can chop onions or parsley or—”