AllFreeNovel
Share Us
summer
This man moves slowerthan molasses in January.
I don’t think I mistook his intentions. We’re here--- aren’t we? He danced around this day for five freaking months, literally and figuratively, teasing me to no end with smoldering come hither stares, cheeky banter, gratuitous bicep flexes, and the unnerving ability to shake his hips without forfeiting an ounce of masculinity. You have no idea how difficult that can be to pull off.
But Roman Russo does it with ease.
A few weeks ago, I decided to throw in the towel and stop waiting for him to make whatever move he always seems two seconds from delivering. Either he wasn’t attracted to me, or my radar was on the fritz, and I’d accidentally developed a crush on a gay man. It was a half-hearted endeavor. As long as Roman continued to make his weekly appearance at my parents’ dance studio, I knew I’d fall prey to his charms and hold out for him to breathe the words he finally uttered tonight.
Although, I’m not sure if this is an actual date.
“Are you up for the lasagna? It comes highly recommended, but I’m hardly married to that suggestion. What’s your favorite dish?” Roman leans closer and peers over the makeshift chianti candle to peruse my menu, ignoring the identical copy in his hands. The scent of his cologne floats into my nostrils, mixing sublimely with the aroma of marinara and garlic, and my stomach grumbles. I haven’t eaten since earlier this morning, but I’m not sure if I’m hungry for food or thirsty for the tall drink sitting next to me.
“The chicken piccata looks good and isn’t as heavy as the lasagna. But if you have your heart set on it, we don’t have to eat family style. I’m sure they serve smaller portions. I’d hate for you not to get what you want.” In typical fashion, I give my honest opinion and hope it doesn’t turn him off. He seems secure enough to handle my mouth---Lord knows it’s not going anywhere.
He hums with satisfaction and slips the menu from my fingers. “The chicken piccata sounds perfect. And I’ve already gotten what I wanted--- you’re here. The company is the most important part of any meal.”
I bite my lip to disguise the smile bubbling through nervous laughter. Roman’s proposition felt more like a friendly invitation to share a meal on our way home. It was an odd-sounding request, and it took me by surprise. I expected more from someone like him. He’s got the natural charm of a philanderer, but something tells me he hasn’t been that guy in ages. Whatever reason he had for dragging his feet, I’ve decided not to analyze it to death. It’s my modus operandi, and Roman feels different. I think he’s special.
But what do I know? Perhaps, I’m projecting.
My cousin, Sunny, swore Roman was on the verge of a major declaration after we tripped the light fantastic at her wedding. Of course, those days came and went without so much as a wink or inappropriate grope. For the sake of my bruised ego, I convinced her and myself that I wasn’t genuinely interested. There is plenty of fish in the sea, and sooner or later, I’d find the time to bait my hook.
But that was before tonight. She’ll be thrilled to hear the details once I get home. I shot her a quick text on our way here, and she’s standing by, anxiously awaiting my update later tonight. At least, I’ll know by the end of the evening if he and I have a chance in hell of moving on to phase two before I leave for Virginia in two weeks—-a detail that felt too insignificant to share until now.
“Thanks for coming out with me.” Roman clears his throat and unfolds the napkin sitting on his plate. I follow his hands, fixed on the subtle movements of his thick fingers, and feel a surge of phantom tingles creep up my inner thighs. I don’t need this aggravation so soon. He’s handsome, hot, kind, sweet, and light on his feet. His attributes are endless, and I’ve yet to find a flaw. This man might be my kryptonite. He dangled the proverbial carrot for months, and now I’m far too thrilled to put up a fight. One kiss, and I’ll hand him my house keys and panties, then ask him to set the alarm for 7:00.
“I’ve wanted to do this for quite some time. But you probably already know that. I don’t think I’ve been able to hide how much I like you.” Roman leans into the table and offers a sheepish grin that both melts my heart and makes me seethe with rage. How on earth was I supposed to decipher his strange banter as flirtation? It was cryptic and nonsensical. He seems like the kind of man who takes what he wants. This fool had me questioning my attractiveness and sanity.
If I weren’t a lady and itching to feel those giant man hands crawl over every inch of my skin, I swear, I’d slug him.
I wiggle in my seat and shake my head with frustration. “No, I didn’t. I don’t think you were as transparent as you believe.” This isn’t the time or place to lose my head or surrender my heart. I’m not even sure if this is our first date. I don’t care if I’ve lived in a sexual desert for the last three years. The least I can do is hold out for the first official date.
Roman coughs, choking through a sip of wine as his eyes bug and words come sputtering out of control. “How could you not? I’m a terrible actor.”
“Maybe you got lessons from Baron,” I snap, annoyed he’d presume it was up to me to read between the lines. “Or maybe you lacked the enthusiasm to say something sooner.” I brush a few errant strands of hair off my face and feel a line of sweat drip down my cheek. I’m mortified. I’ve unwittingly carried around more resentment than I imagined, and I’m apparently incapable of disguising it. Obviously, I’m not as good of an actor as him.
Roman straightens his shoulders and sits taller in his chair. His eyes rake over me, lingering over the cleft between my breasts, the one I’ve just created by squeezing my arms closer together. “Forgive me for being an idiot. I should have told you how I felt the first evening I walked into your studio, but you took my breath away. You steal it every time I’m near you, and no matter how often I practice everything I want to say to you, I lose my nerve as soon as you say hello. You’re too young and beautiful for a guy like me, but that hasn’t stopped me from hoping for more. I just don’t know how I’ll ever convince you to give me a chance.”
I sway in my seat, swooning from words I never thought I’d hear. “A chance?” I swallow hard and clumsily reach for my glass of Chardonnay, dribbling drops along my chin as I struggle to regain my composure.
He nods. “A real chance---and I promise I won’t make you wait again.”
I take a deep breath and try to temper the beat of my thundering heart. I want to say something meaningful---something clever or romantic to match the words he showered upon me, but I’m no good at romance. My experience with men is minimal, and I often flee before things like this become necessary. As the silence between us grows more awkward by the second, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I hope you know this means I get two scoops of gelato.”
A wicked smile spreads across his gorgeous face and unleashes the horde of butterflies I’ve fought so bravely to contain. “You’ll get much more than that, sweetheart.”
