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But yeah, it's none of them.
A tall, dark figure moves in from the doorway, backlit by rays of afternoon sunshine. I squint but still can't tell who it is. Only that he's got a muscular frame and a slow, steady gait that makes me think he's not here to case the place. Though, with my luck, I s'pose I shouldn't rule that out just yet.
Oh, fuck. What if it's one of Bailey's hookups?
We're officially separated now, so as far as I'm concerned, he can do what he wants with whoever he wants. I just don't want it shoved in my face. The vet gang are trying to get me back out there, but the thought of jumping into the dating pool is about as appealing as plunging into an ice bath.
I leap off the car and manage to land steadily on my feet. With the hammer propped in my hand and my eyes fixed on the intruder, I call out over the roof, "Who the fuck are you?"
I'm inching toward the front of the car from the right, while the other guy is moving to the same spot from the left side of the garage.
"It's me. Roman."
Roman?Roman? I don't know any—
"From the animal shelter. Bishop's brother."
Oh. Right.
ThatRoman.
We've met briefly a few times. He took me for a tour of Bishop's animal shelter when I visited with Chester last Christmas. He occasionally shows up at vet gang dinners and catch-ups. We've never exchanged anything more than a few words. There's always a ton of people, kids, and animals at those things so it's pure bedlam.
But I've noticed him.
He’s usually standing on the periphery. Friendly, but never one to initiate contact. Happy for others—Tyler comes to mind—to hog the spotlight.
But I see him.
It's his eyes that always pull me in. A dark chocolatey brown, deep and intense. So intense. Roman's the kind of person that when he looks at you, youfeelhis gaze penetrating through you.
I step out from behind the car to get a better view of him. He looks as intense as ever. Powerful. Almost a little scary looking, his face set in a borderline scowl that seems to demand,What the fuck are you looking at?
If I remember correctly, he's older than Bishop. His face is slightly more weathered. A neatly trimmed beard matches his dark hair. And those eyes. Those mysterious eyes are pointed straight at me, like he can see right into me.
It's late summer, and possibly one of the last warm days, so he's got a black T-shirt on. There’s a couple of chains around his neck, and he has tribal tattoos running up and down both muscular arms.
He's standing a few feet away from me. His eyes take their time traveling down my body. I'm not bothered. Just like I’ve never been bothered. Not when he eye fucked me the first time we met at the shelter. Or every single time since.
Sure, the intensity of his gaze might be a little strange considering Roman is meant to be straight, but I'm currently going through a painful, ugly divorce, and being the subject of someone's brazen stare is… Well, it feels nice, okay?
It's been six months of nothing but me and my left hand, and frankly, I think Lefty is overdue a break.
Not to mention, my ego's taken a hit.
My soon-to-be ex-husband actively sought out other men,multipleother men, to have sex with.
Over me.
He chosethemoverme.
As hard as I'm trying to move on and leave all that shit in the past, I'm not okay with that yet. It hurts, and as much as I hate to admit it, a small, vulnerable part of me wonders if it's because I wasn't good enough.
Smart enough.
Hot enough.
Fuckable enough.
