“Boyfriend, Roman Shore, either works,” he says, drawing a startled laugh up my throat. The wink he tosses my way heats my blood. “It doesn’t matter what you call me as long as you know I’m in love with your daughter.”
Wes chokes. “Christ, alright. No holding punches today.”
“You’re Wesley’s coach,” Mom babbles, eyes so wide they very well may drop into her coffee. “I’m . . . I wasn’t prepared for this. How long has this been going on? This is a conversation we should be having with your father present. I—this is inappropriate.”
I stiffen, sensing her disapproval. It isn’t unexpected, but that doesn’t make it any less upsetting. Her approval doesn’t matter much to me anymore, if it ever did. Maybe that’s why I never stopped to ask her for her opinion before I started Soft Body. Despite having grown to love sewing while watching her as a child, she played no part in my decision to make a career out of it. Or at least try to.
Maybe deep down, I knew that I didn’t want to take advice from her.
“According to who?” I snap. Roman’s thumb sweeps over my thigh, soothing me. “I love you, Mom, but I don’t want to hear dating advice from you.”
“Roman’s a good man. And if he hurt her, I’d take care of it,” Wes adds bitterly.
I inhale a shaky breath. “I didn’t invite Dad here for a reason. This has nothing to do with him, and I want to keep it that way.”
“I won’t leave him, Brielle.”
“Then you’ll need to get used to this,” I state, pressing my back into my chair. “He’s not invited to anything anymore. Idon’t want to know the details of your marriage or the women he’s been with. If you’re choosing to stay, then I won’t waste my breath trying to convince you otherwise or giving my input when I know it won’t matter. But just know that this is how it will be from now on. Us and you. That’s it. And I don’t want to hear about him, either. He will always be our father, but he isn’t my dad anymore. Not after everything he’s done to Wes, but also you. If you want to stay in contact, then we will. I’ll come see you, and you can see me. You can get to know Roman and learn all of the parts of him that I love because regardless of your opinions, he isn’t going anywhere.
“He treats me well, Mom. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to sit here with me and offer me the type of love that I wish I’d seen between my parents growing up. You should be happy for me for finding that. I might not see marriage or divorce the way you do, but that didn’t stop me from finding a man who I can’t wait to be with for the rest of my life.”
Wes’ eyes are on my face, but I don’t look at him. I can’t. If I did, I’d cry, and I didn’t plan on doing that today. I don’t want his appreciation for this when I’m years too late.
Instead, I set my hand atop Roman’s on my thigh and interlock our fingers. The strength that flows through him to me soothes my tension, bringing me back into myself. A sense of calmness washes over me as I glance at him and try to make him see how sure I am about everything I’ve just said.
He doesn’t spare anyone else a sliver of his attention. I’m the only one he sees as he palms my cheek and leans in to kiss me. My eyes fall closed as I smile against his lips and yank his hand. He tumbles toward me, a laugh rumbling against my mouth.
“I love you, too,” he rasps.
I wrap my arm around his neck and trap him in place, not done with him yet. The world blurs around us. Roman’s inperfect focus when I kiss the tip of his nose and both sides of his smile.
“No more space. I’m in this with you.”
46
ROMAN
“The team played really well,”Brielle blurts out about a minute into our drive.
My lips twitch. “They did. Though I didn’t expect you to be watching the games.”
“I always do. Whenever I can.”
“Your brother played the best he has all season.”
“I think he’s . . . happier. At least, he was today. What did you do to convince him to come with you to the café?”
“I only told him where I was going. He decided to join me all on his own.”
“Maybe he thought Dad was going to be there,” she says, her voice drifting like she’s lost in thought. “I meant everything I said. Do you think he believes me?”
I glide my hand over the steering wheel before stealing a quick look at her. “I think he’d be a fool not to. Cutting off family is not easy. It’s like chopping off a limb that, to everyone but you, looks perfectly healthy. But Wes saw the infection in it the same way you did, so he understands how hard that was to do. You’ll both be okay.”
“I know. I still wish I’d done it earlier,” she sighs.
When I look over this time, she’s patting her bare thighs and chewing her lip raw. I wring the steering wheel to keep from pulling the car over and yanking her out of her seat, into my lap. Her mid-thigh, flowy peach tennis skirt has a matching tank top that’s cut an inch above the criss-crossed elastic waistband, exposing even more of her pale skin. The stretchy material hugs every curve and dip of her torso while cupping her chest, holding it high despite the lack of bra straps.
I swallow a groan and adjust myself in my seat when my cock strains behind my zipper.
