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Roman smiles and gives me one of those toe-curling kisses. His tongue slips past my lips, darting and playing with mine. A wave of heat crashes into me and my body flushes with desire. I love how he makes me feel even in the short time we’ve been… whatever we’ve been doing. Grabbing the back of his neck, I pull him closer to me. Laughing, he gently pries my lust-filled hands from his body, shaking his head no.
“Food, Abby. This man needs food if you want more of that.” Roman’s eyes sparkle with mischief. Never has a man made me feel so happy and uncertain all at once. The sheet slips down, exposing a barely covered breast and he shakes his head no, slipping it back up to cover me, tucking it firmly under my arms.
I’m pouting with need for my body to be next to Roman. “Don’t come back without my coffee,” I growl, displeased he’s leaving the bed and me.
“Of course, Hollywood.” He kisses my lips, nipping at the bottom one. A zing of arousal begins anew. Ugh. I should not want this man so much, but I do. Hopelessly, I can’t stop myself.
“Go. Now.” I push him away. Roman smirks as he knows exactly what he’s doing to my mind and body. He pulls up the drifting sheet a second time, tucking me in.
“Go back to sleep, Hollywood. I’ll be back in a few.” Roman tugs my hair before turning around to pick up a discarded gray t-shirt from the floor.
I watch the muscles in his back ripple. Holy hell, this man is mine right now! My bitchy sister can keep my ex-boyfriend. Who needs broken toys anyway? I roll over on the bed and chop the pillow, making an indentation perfect for my head. Roman slips into the elevator and leaves the loft, as I snuggle back into warm sheets and the smell of man, ocean, and wood. I let my eyes close and drift into content sleep, carelessly letting my apprehensions go.
* * * * *
Unfamiliar sounds outside the building jar me awake to look around the room. Quic
kly, I realize I’m in Roman’s loft. Looking at the nightstand, I find his digital clock pushed far to the back, probably from our shenanigans. It reads 8:02 a.m. I’ve slept for sixteen minutes. Roman must still be hunting for breakfast.
What was I thinking saying yes to Roman to stay for the rest of the summer?
Overwhelmed, much? I don’t even know what that means. Should I have Maddie clean out the cottage so she can use it for other renters the rest of the summer? My reckless impulses have taken me even further from LA, and yet it feels liberating. The further I am from the confines of my dad’s office, Leah’s coldness, and Lucas’ demands, the less pressure threatens to engulf my chest.
Roman’s bed is like a safe haven. I relish the peace, thinking about how an hour earlier the man I wasn’t sure I even liked blew my mind with the most passionate sex I ever experienced. There is no doubt, when Roman is with me, he sees me, the real me. I don’t feel like I have to explain myself constantly. My body feels slick and my arousal jumpstarts, eager for his return to the loft. My actions seem selfish and irresponsible, and to some degree, they are exactly that. After a childhood of being forced to repress my nature, Roman lets me be who I am. He doesn’t make me feel like the daughter who cannot measure up or the sister who lacks in some way. Without the words, Roman gives me something close to the unconditionally love my mother gave me and a safe haven I think I’ve always been looking for.
I decide to find out more about Mr. Winters, while I have the opportunity. Pulling the sheet from my body, The cool air touches me. Slipping from the bed, I’m surrounded by orderly and functional pieces of furniture amid nautical colors and décor. I twirl around the sea of blues and grays like a misty morning in the spacious bedroom. Padding over to the dresser, I fumble through drawers, and in the second one, I find folded T-shirts. I take a gray one, matching his from earlier, and pull it over my head. It’s oversized and smells like saltwater and man. It has a navy-colored boating logo on it I’m not familiar with; the lines are clean and sleek.
Looking around, I find the upstairs is an open loft with metal railings that overlook the center of Roman’s space. Windows are on all sides of the building. I see a boat in the center of what he considers his workshop downstairs. Natural light shines on the pale honey wood, and touches of applied varnish give it a sleek appearance. I can tell the craftsmanship is a work of love, and crave to explore it more fully.
But first, I step into the bathroom to I freshen up. It’s another sleekly designed room; the space is optimized. Silver metals and gray and brown stone fill the room. None of my things are in here, so I figure our stuff must still be in the truck. Not wanting to hunt around the unfamiliar space too much uninvited, I use my finger to brush my teeth and wash my face taking the towel from the bar. I feel more awake as I step out.
Along the wall, I see photographs in black and white of Roman and his parents. And boats. Lots of boats. Big, beautiful ones, but also small handmade ones where he’s standing off to the side or on them with sanding and what looks like painting equipment for the hull. Now I understand how he stays so fit. It all looks awkward trying to get around the boats out of the water and It must take an incredible amount of strength to maneuver around boats as large as these and elbow grease to keep them going. It’s his face in the pictures that captivates me.
One of the photos is of Roman and his parents around a small boat. He looks proud and his parents flank him on either side, their arms embrace a young man full of smiles. I can feel the love coming through the picture, radiating from their happy faces. I want to touch it to see if one can capture that feeling, maybe bottle it up and save it, but I find myself holding back and longing for a fraction of what Roman enjoyed growing up with. He was obviously well loves.
With a deep sigh, I find my purse, which Roman left for me on a table in the open room. I reach in to check my phone. Three missed calls. Lucas, Leah, and my dad all in that dismal order. I decide to ignore Lucas. After all, we’re not a couple anymore and he’s a cheater with no remorse. I ignore my sister, Leah, because she’s just being a bitch after having stolen my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. I’m entitled to be angry, and I don’t want her to make this all about her and how she did me some kind of favor. We’re not fucking twelve and this isn’t junior high. I finally decide to call my dad since he is technically my boss.
My fingers slide across the phone screen and hit his contact number. My stomach bubbles with anxiety as the phone rings several times. “Hi Dad” Swallowing, I focus on not stuttering when he picks up his phone.
“Abigail, where are you?” He is not one to be subtle and the tone of his voice hints he’s restraining his anger for the moment.
“In S-Seattle.” Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m an adult and my dad continues to freeze any intelligent thoughts transmitting from my brain to my mouth. He sighs through the phone like he’s placating me.
A moment passes before he begins again. “Abigail, darling, when are you coming back to work?” He sounds polite like his secretary might be in his office with him or Everest perhaps. What he really means is, ‘Abigail, when are you going to grow the fuck up?’ There is no ‘Hey, how are you?’ or ‘What happened between you, Lucas, and Leah?’ Empathy is something that must have skipped my dad genetically.
“Dad, I’m taking a break. We discussed this. I left you a five page brief outlining my summer plans and how my remaining work load would be divvied up.” Yeah a brief, because my dad doesn’t function with face-to-face communication or his children being assertive and living independently from under his thumb. It doesn’t matter I actually had finished all my pending cases and have no discernable work load to divvy up.
“Sweetheart, we’d all love to take a break—” and here is where my dad starts to tighten the noose around my neck with guilt “—but paying my dues is how I got to where I am, just so you and Leah could have everything.” Yup, cue the guilt. I know my dad is right, but after busting my hump for three years, basically more than that, and now breaking up with Lucas, my mind is more than fried.
“I just can’t. Not right now.” Selfish. I know I’m being selfish, but the hell with it.
“Abigail, a break is two weeks at the most. I’ve given you a month to sort yourself out...emotionally. I need you back in the office taking some of these cases.” Dad’s tone changes and I know it’s either give in or get out. Being emotional, as he sees it, is weak and unacceptable for a cut-throat lawyer attached to his prestigious practice.
Pacing Roman’s place, a wave of anxious vertigo swims around the edges of my brain as I force the words out. “I… I’m not sure I want to be a lawyer, Dad. I know I’m good but I’m not sure my heart is really in it.” I feel my skin going from blissfully warm in Roman’s arms this morning to clammy and cool under the pressure of displeasing my dad.
“You’re heart’s not in it?” Each word is sharp and cutting. My own father has no clue what is going on in my life. We’ve learned to function as strangers. The thought tugs my heart like sad guitar strings playing a disjointed tune.
“Leah and Lucas…” It’s in my pause that Dad shows no quarter.
