Page 30 of Heartbreaker

It’s one of the few things I was never able to drop, one of the things I was always most insecure about growing up. Stub my toe? I’d cry. Watch a sad movie? I’d cry. See a deer and her babies in a field? You guessed it, I’m probably bawling. My brothers made fun of me for it my entire life, poking fun in that way that brothers do. Although if anyone else did it, they were sure to get their asses kicked.

It was okay for them to make fun of me, but not other people. But before I can explain that, Rome’s lips are on mine again.

“What did I say?” he asks after he breaks the second heady kiss. Resting his forehead on mine. My mind is muddled, dazed by the power of his kisses. “None of that. No more belittling yourself. You’re you, Lana. And you are spectacular.” The lump returns to my throat, though for a different reason altogether. He gives me a small smile, then another soft, brief kiss.

“Now, we have a line out there waiting, but if you keep that shit up, I’ll find the time to show you just how amazing you really are.” It’s a threat, but it’s not nearly as effective as he may have intended, though the way he smiles tells me he knows that. “Your call, heartbreaker,” he murmurs, and I shiver before letting out a sigh.

“Maybe next time. I have adoring fans to meet,” I say with a smile.

“That’s my girl,” he says, then leads me back out.

And I might not be allowed to call myself just a girl, but I think I might like calling myself Roman’s girl.

SEVENTEEN

I’m the second person in the press room, a first for me, and clearly Courtney notices. “Roman! Look at you, here as early as can be!”

“Trying to do my part, Court,” I say with a winning smile before scanning the room, looking for the real reason I came here early: to steal just a few extra moments with Lana. There’s a good shot she’s planning to ignore me again, but I’m done waiting for her. I grin when I spot the paper placecard on the table, noting we’re seated next to each other once again, and take my seat. Next, I scoot her chair just a few inches closer to mine. It’s not enough to look intentional, but if I spread my legs, as I’m prone to do, my leg will brush hers. I’m sitting back as she steps into the room, another oversized tee hiding her curves, with tiny shorts peeking out beneath it, showing off her legs.

“Hey, heartbreaker,” I say as she walks to the table, squinting at the seating arrangement.

“Did you do this? Move our seats?” I shake my head.

“No, no. I think the Court wants the team’s biggest stars front and center.” A blush burns over her cheeks as she sets her drink on the table, then sits beside me.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say we’re the biggest stars,” she says.

“I would. You killed it out there, Lana.” A knowing grin slides across her face then, and I realize I fell for her setup hook, line, and sinker.

Possibly in more ways than one.

“Oh, I know I’m a star. You’re the one I’m unsure of.” A loud laugh leaves my lips, my head tipping back to the ceiling, my hand moving to my chest. I get like this with her—free of expectations, light and airy, as if for one moment in time, the pressure on me lifts. When I settle, she’s watching me, face soft and gentle, and something in my chest shifts.

“What’s that look for?” I ask.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you look genuinely happy like that. It’s a good look on you.” It’s strange and different to be perceived by someone, and I don’t know if I like it.

I sift through the feelings, trying to decide how to respond, but before I can, the rest of the drivers come in the room with reporters following in their wake. It changes the vibe, and the moment is gone as they settle in.

When the press conference is underway, we get all the normal questions about the race, expectations, and shortcomings. But after a few minutes, a woman stands and looks directly at Lana.

“Lana, it’s become clear that you’re changing the way people see Monster Smash and encouraging girls and women to come out and support you—how do you feel about that?” Lana lets out a small, uncomfortable laugh, and I reach under the table and set my hand on her thigh. Not because I intend to do anything, though her warm skin beneath my hand does give me a few ideas, but because I want to remind her I’m here. I know she isn’t used to the spotlight, and this new revelation of hers has been an emotional rollercoaster. When she sets her hand on top of mine, then laces our fingers together and squeezes, I know it was the right choice.

“I don’t know,” she says nervously. “It’s all very new for me. I do know when I was little, being raised by a single dad with two older brothers, I would have loved to have someone to show me it’s okay to like pink, frills, and unicorns, and still roll around in the dirt. That girls can be just as badass as boys, that we deserve to be out here just as much as anyone else.”

There’s a scoff from the other end of the table, where Jordan is sitting, rolling his eyes as he sits back, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ignore him,” Lana whispers, so low the mics won’t pick it up. “I am. He’s not worth it.”

And for the first time in a long time, I hate the boundaries I have to stay within. If I didn’t, I’d call Jordan out and probably punch him in the face for putting that strange blank look on her face, a mask hiding the disappointment and hurt.

Even more, I hate that she feels that she’s not worth speaking up for.

“You’re relatively new to this circuit but are steadily rising in the standings. Do you have any goals for your first season?” the reporter asks, thankfully pulling my focus. Lana grins, and I know she’s going to say something bratty.

“I’d really like to kick Roman’s ass,” she says, and the room erupts in laughter. No one uses my full name, not really, partially because I’ve threatened anyone who did, but there’s something about Lana doing so that makes me fucking love my full name. I squeeze her thigh, shifting it up a bit.

God, I think this woman was made for me.