Page 22 of Teaching Roman

“So what happened last night? How did I get back?” Cassie asked in a soft voice. I heard the reservation in it as if she didn’t really want to know.

“Don’t remember, huh?” I tossed my textbook on my towel, abandoning it for a minute to have a much needed heart-to-heart with my best friend. Even with the cushion of sand, it thumped ominously.

“Uh-oh. Jess put down her book. This can’t be good.” She rolled to her side to look at me. Her gaze tentatively probed my face for confirmation.

“You gave Jillian some competition in the drama department,” I told her.

“That bad?”

“You ripped apart about twenty magazines at a bodega.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked in a confused tone.

“They were bridal magazines mostly.”

Cassie’s face disappeared in her towel as she wrapped her arms around her head. I suppose I had to wait on my lecture until she resurfaced. After a few minutes, she sat up, facing me. “Go ahead.”

“Go ahead and what?”

“Lecture me,” she said. “I deserve it.”

“I’m not going to lecture you,” I lied. It wasn’t as satisfying when she called me out on my intentions in advance.

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, fine,” I said without missing a beat. “I know you’re upset about Trevor and what happened, but giving yourself liver damage and nearly getting arrested”—

“I almost got arrested?” she interrupted.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re lucky Roman saved the day.”

Cassie held up a hand for me to pause. “Professor Markson was there?”

It was too late to backpedal, but it was probably better that she knew he was there. Admitting it meant there was less chance that she’d find out the whole story. I relayed last night’s events to her in full, save for Roman and I’s extra-sexticular activities, which I conveniently forgot to mention. Cassie was already obsessing over me hooking up with him. I didn’t need to fuel her fire.

“Shit. I’m so, so sorry, Jess. I’m being a crazy bitch about my break-up while you’re barely batting an eyelash about Brett.” She flopped down, throwing an arm over her eyes in defeat.

“I wasn’t in love with Brett,” I confessed. I had suspected it when his proposal sent me running for the hills, but I was certain about it after last night. Either Roman Markson was the rebound of the century or I wasn’t all that broken up about my ex-boyfriend.

“Why the hell did you waste so much time with him?”

“Brett was nice,” I said.

“Was he good in bed?” Cassie asked.

I measured my response. “He was adequate.”

“You wasted a year dating someone who was nice—translation: boring—and adequate in bed—translation: he had a 50% success rate.”

“Success rate?” I had a feeling I didn’t want to know, but I asked anyway.

“At making you see heaven,” she said. “I bet you are one helluva faker.”

I hardly registered her last comment, because the simple thought of sex had sent me back to last night. Cassie was right. If I’d known a man could make me feel like that in bed, things never would have gone on so long with Brett. I grabbed for my bottle of water, suddenly feeling overly hot, and took a deep swig.

“So did you nail Roman last night?” Cassie asked.

I choked. Water was becoming dangerous in all its forms. Once I recovered, I glared at her and picked my book back up. Cassie laughed at me as she stood up, brushing sand from her bare legs.