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“Tomorrow, tomorrow can be boat day.” Abby is pouting, and while I see plenty of advantages to giving in, I decide my cooler head has to prevail before we become mummified in my loft.
“Toss a couple of days’ worth of clothes in one of my duffle bags and let’s hit the marina.” I tap her rear, and she leans up on her elbows frowning.
“Did you just spank me, Roman Winters?” Abby is coy and I know what she’s doing as she drags a fingertip down my chest. I roll us over so I am on top.
“Uh-huh, my girlfriend is being naughty, so somebody has to keep her in check or we’ll wither up and die in here.”
“Girlfriend?” Her brow furrows and I smooth my finger between the lines.
“Yeah, you, my girlfriend.” I get her to crack a smile and she’s silent a moment before nodding. Good, I’m glad we got that out of the way. I press my hips and cock into her, letting her squirm and rub against me. The torture is enough to make my eyes squeeze shut for fear of crossing all together. Between tight lips, I tell her in no uncertain terms. “Pack, sea wench, or you’ll be the most unfashionable sailor on board.” I hold her still while she wiggles and tries her best, yeah, her best to get me in a better position.
“Fine… but I need caffeine.” I make a note that my girl is moody when horny in the mornings.
“You’re plenty awake. We can grab some on the way.
” I let go of her and run to the shower as she gives chase, only to bang on the door mere fractions of a second before I can lock it. “Pack, Abigail,” I yell through the door, laughing.
“Argh. You’ll be sorry, Roman Winters!” Whining, she yells from behind the door and I tease her more. She smacks the door hard and I imagine her hand must be smarting from the force of it. It seems like Hollywood has a little violent streak in her when she gets denied.
Good. To. Know.
Chapter Thirteen
ABIGAIL
Roman Winters thinks he can deny me and I’ll come running. The pain zings up my arm like lightning for foolishly trying to attack him through the bathroom door. Okay, so he is kind of right, as much as I don’t want to admit to anything. It’s been pure bliss these past few days, cozy and holed up in the loft as his girlfriend! That part has me giddy with excitement, with the exception of my phone going crazy.
I don’t have anyone to share the news with… certainly not my old superficial college friends back home who moved on. They were the kind of friends who got postcards, not intimate details. Lucas sort of claimed them anyway and even the postcards I meant to send didn’t get mailed. I’m not back at work and don’t know if I plan to go back to LA at all at this point despite Dad’s ultimatum. I’m sure I could take the bar exam for Washington or Oregon and maybe move up here or to Gold Beach, or I don’t know. Feelings of guilt sweep through me and I’m conflicted all over again. I’m the girl with the wonderful life to everyone looking in from the outside, but inside, my life is nothing more than a beautiful broken mirror reflecting all the damaged pieces of how I feel.
The water continues running, so I assume Roman is still in the shower. He’s probably getting himself off so I can’t weasel my woman way into making him stay here in the loft away from the real world. Evil man, he should have learned these past few days that I will do anything to get my way. Roman seems to be able to get me to do his bidding instead because I want to and not because I feel obligated to.
I go back to the bed and crawl in between the sheets, which are still warm from our tumble earlier. I reach over the bed, hugging a pillow, and grab my phone from the nightstand. The screen is flashing, so I slide the bar across and see a selfie of Roman and me with the Space Needle in the background. We haven’t had a chance to go there yet, and I’m excited to have that as another first with this man. I check my messages. There are several from Lucas and more from my dad. Only one from Leah, and while I’m sure it’s not an apology, I delete them all. My plan is to deal with them after we do whatever it is that Roman has planned on the boat the next few days. LA can wait a little longer; I’m enjoying time spent with my boyfriend.
* * * * *
“Let’s take my truck to the marina.” Roman tells me as he picks up my bag along with his and takes them down to his truck. We haven’t driven since we came to Seattle. Anywhere we’ve gone, we walked or took public transportation. It made me think of my car still sitting lonesome in Maddie’s driveway. I left my keys in case she had to move it. “Whatcha thinking about, Hollywood?” Roman slips a lock of my hair behind my ear, and I sigh because his touch is that good.
“Platypus,” I tell him, thinking of my car, and then I instantly regret speaking the word out of my mouth, covering my face embarrassed.
“Plat-a-what?” He puts the truck into gear and drives out of the garage under his loft.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Forget I said it.” I feel my face heat up a thousand degrees. Ugh. How will I explain this one?
“Nuh-uh. You’re not getting out of random comments like that. You can tell me now or I’ll pull this truck over and tickle you until you fess up. I know your soft spots, woman.” He has the gall to smirk at me, and I wonder what I did karmically to deserve this now of all things. He flexes his fingers threateningly and I know he’ll pull the truck over. “Abigail…” It’s my final warning.
“Okay. Okay!” Roman pulls the truck over and I throw my hands up defensively to ward off his twitchy fingers.
“I’m waiting…” I swear this man is impossible.
“It’s, um, my name for my car.” Cringing, I wait for the laughter. Lucas looked at me like I was stupid for naming my car when I had first gotten it and told him excitedly. I do feel stupid.
“Platypus, huh?” Roman nods his head, adjusting the Mariner’s ball cap on his head, testing the name out as he pulls back into traffic.
“Platinum Platypus, actually.” I pick non-existent lint from my shorts. “You know, cause she’s silver.” I feel super self-conscious, but Roman isn’t scrutinizing me. He’s just sitting there thinking. “It’s pretty shameless, I know.” I duck my head and hope to God my tanned skin is hiding my embarrassment.
“Nah, it’s perfect actually. Makes me think I should ask if you would name my boat, though. Not the one we’re sailing on this week, but another one I built that I plan on keeping.”
“Really?” My voice squeaks. I feel like a moron.
