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He slowly lowers me to my feet, and I don’t miss the feel of his hard cock as I slide down his body. He’s denying us both what we want, but maybe, just maybe, I can convince him to give us a shot. Baby steps and all that.
Each time we’re together, he gives me more. Today, he held me close and kissed my forehead. We’re slowly making forward progress, and as long as that happens, I’ll keep trying. I know what I want.
I want Roman.
I ignore the fact that he’s hard from our interaction. It’s difficult, but it’s for the best. I still need him to give me my tattoo, and it has to be him. That’s how I saw this going down in my head, and once I set my mind to something, it’s hard to change it.
“I’m going to run out and grab us some food while you get the transfer ready. I’ll be right back.” I turn on my heel and race out of the room. I stop to grab my purse and keys and push out the door. I know what all five of the guys like to eat, so it’s easy for me when I pull into Subway to get Roman his usual. Two subs, two bags of chips, and two large drinks later, I’m using my key to unlock the front door.
Roman rushes out of his room to help take the food and drinks from my hands, and waits for me to lock the door before leading us back to the small break room. “Did you take cash with you out of the drawer?” he asks, as he starts to unload our food.
“No. This is on me. I’m paying for my tattoo too.” I give him a pointed look, and he rolls his eyes.
He reaches into his pocket and hands me two twenties. “This is for dinner, and no way in hell are you paying for ink.”
“Dinner wasn’t nearly that much, Rome. I’ve got it. Let me do something nice for you.” I don’t debate over paying for the ink. I know he won’t give in. I’ll just have to think of something nice to do for him to make up for it.
“You have college expenses. You’re not paying.” He shoves both twenties into my purse and gives me a look that dares me to argue with him.
I sigh, because I know better too.
All five of them are like that when it comes to me. Can a girl not do something nice for her friends and her brother? I get it. They make more than me, but I’m not destitute. I work as a waitress back at college, against my brother's advice. He insisted I let him cover the cost of everything that I need, but no way could I do that. Forrest has helped me so much, bought me a car, and moved me in with him, and so much more. I needed to pull my weight, and I have, even though he continues to grumble about it.
I have a feeling it won’t matter how old I am. Forrest is always going to see me as that little girl he’d take to his place for the weekend once he moved out, to give me a break from our alcoholic parents.
We’re quiet as we eat. I don’t make small talk. I don’t want to give Roman any type of ammunition to change his mind about this. I barely touch my six-inch sub, while he devours his twelve inch in what seems like a few bites.
“You not hungry?” he asks, noticing that I’m picking at my food.
“Too excited to eat.”
“You want this that bad?”
“Yes.” I stand and start cleaning up our mess, wrapping up my sandwich and placing it in the refrigerator for later. “Ready?” I ask when I turn to face him. He’s leaning against the counter, feet crossed at the ankles, watching me.
“I’m ready,” he finally says, before heading down the hall to his room with me on his heels.
“Have a seat on the table,” he says without looking at me. “Left hip?” he asks.
“Yes.” My pulse is pounding, and my palms are back to sweating. I can’t believe he said yes. After over a year of perfecting this design, it’s finally going to be a permanent part of me.
“Maybe we should call your brother,” he suggests.
“What part of I’m an adult do you not understand?”
“He’s going to wonder where you are if you don’t come home. They know the hours of the shop, baby girl.”
I roll my eyes and huff out a breath. He’s right. I hate it, but he’s right.
“Hand me my bag.” I point to where my purse is sitting across the room on the desk. He does as I ask, and hands me my phone. I start to type out a text, but I know my brother, and he’s going to call me anyway. I might as well get this over with. I dial his number and place the call on speaker so that Roman can be privy to the conversation. This is just delaying us. I swear if my brother messes this up for me, I’ll be pissed.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hi, Forty.”
“Are you on your way home?”
Roman gives me an “I told you so” look, and I roll my eyes, which only makes him grin. “No. I’m still at the shop.”
