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“I’m not a child, you know.” I pick the burger up and take a bite. But it’s because I wanted to do it, not because he told me to.
“I know,” he laughs. Rounding the island, he sits beside me, draping his arm across the back of my chair. “Just trying to take care of my girl.”
A stupid smile spreads across my heated face, and I slide my eyes to him. Oh, he knows those words drive me insane. He’s definitely getting a blowjob later.
He presses a kiss to my jaw like he knows what I’m thinking, a grin on his face. “Not until you’re feeling better, Goldie,” he murmurs.
“I feel great,” I lie as he kisses down my neck. God, that feels so good. Almost good enough to make me forget about my pounding hangover.
“So, you’ll be able to handle me throwing you over my shoulder and taking you to bed? Then fucking you until you lose your voice from screaming my name all day?”
“Jesus,” Kon breathes. I blink at his voice. How did I forget he was here?
“Ro,” I squeak, and he laughs again, pulling away.
“Eat up, baby. And if you’re a good girl, maybe you’ll get a reward.” My brows lift, and he grins. Leaning forward again, he whispers, “My face between those thick thighs.”
Fuck.
He’s killing me.
“But you don’t get that unless you eat your food and you start feeling better,” he says as he leans away. He taps my plate, lifting his brows expectantly.
Grumbling, I take another bite. I hate to admit how delicious it is, and it’s definitely helping my hangover. “Why didn’t you drink last night? Kon wasn’t. You didn’t have to be our DD.”
He shifts uncomfortably as he clears his throat. He glances at Kon, and the big guy nods before grabbing his stuff and leaving. That was weird. I open my mouth to ask him what that was about, but he speaks before I can.
“I’m sober,” he says.
I drop the burger to the plate and stare at him. “You’re sober? But you smoke.”
“Sober of alcohol,” he laughs. “Not nicotine. I need something to keep me sane.”
“Is it because of—because of his issues? You’re worried you’ll have them too?” I ask, and he sighs as he leans forward, resting his arms on the counter.
“After I left, I was in a bad place,” he mutters. “I was homeless—”
“What?” I blurt. “You were homeless? Roman.” He shrugs, his eyes on his hands.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. After I dropped out of school, I didn’t have anywhere to go. I couchsurfed for a bit, but my friends got tired of that. So, eventually, I ended up on the streets. It wasn’t for that long.”
Something about the tightness of his voice tells me that was a lie.
“I was drinking a lot, mostly to numb the pain. To help me forget what I’d lost. Who I’d lost.”
He glances at me, and I slide my hand onto his forearm. He rests his over mine, his thumb absently stroking back and forth.
“One night, it was raining and I’d just gotten into a fight with some random guy. I ended up in an alley, and some giant Russian fuck was standing over me.” His lips twitch, his face lightening at the memories. “He gave me a place to stay, taught me how to tattoo. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be dead.”
I just stare at him. I didn’t know any of this. How could I? I’d never asked. All this time, I’d thought he was living it up here in Mammoth with Chase. I thought he was happy.
I didn’t know he was struggling.
“Anyway, I had an issue with drinking. Kon’s sober, too. It’s why he doesn’t drink either. So he helped me. I didn’t go through a program or get those little coins or anything. I just stopped, and he made sure I never touched the stuff again.”
“You’ve never relapsed?” I ask gently, and he shakes his head.
“Nope. Once I realized I was addicted, it made me sick to know that I was so similar to my father. All my life I’d told myself I wasn’t. That I was better than him—”
