I don’t know why I care that Roman is wearing my swimsuit top. It’s just a stupid top. But he’s wearing it and it’s mine. My stomach flip-flops and I toy with the teal bracelet on my wrist. Following him out of Aaron’s room, I try to slow my racing heart. The crowd presses in on us, forcing us to take a few steps back until Roman shoves one of the football players out of his way with a two-handed shove. He’s wearing his jersey as are a bunch of other guys, making them easy to spot.
The guy whirls on Roman with a fist raised as if to swing, but suddenly halts before dropping his hand back to his side. “Hey, Rome. My man, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, man. I didn’t realize it was you.”
Roman doesn’t say anything. He just stares, his eyes narrowed into slits and the guy backs up, hands lifted in surrender. “Yeah. Sorry. Let me get out of your way.” He gives Roman a nervous chuckle as he moves.
I expect Roman to shove past him leaving me behind but instead, he turns back, grabs my wrist, and hauls me after him. I squeak and stumble, my body brushing up against a few of the players, but as soon as I come into contact with them, they step back. What is it about him and grabbing me by the wrist? “I’m perfectly capable of walking,” I say, but he either doesn’t hear me or chooses to ignore me.
We exit the house and find Emilio wearing a neon pink bikini top over his bare chest and string bikini bottoms over his dark blue boxer briefs. I have no idea how he manages to make it look good. But he does.
Emilio has tattoos as well and his chest piece is on full display. A gothic portrait of a woman with her hair flying back and a mix of sparrows and ravens flying around her with strands of her hair lifted in their beaks.
It’s surprisingly beautiful. When he catches me staring he rubs his chest and bites his bottom lip. His eyes become hooded and he lifts his brows in a suggestive manner. Roman steps in front of me with a growl and Emilio explodes into a fit of laughter.
I spot Dominique beside him, his shoulders shaking. His lips are pressed together and I can tell he’s fighting to contain his own laugh but in the end, he fails.
“Rome, if you could see your face right now.”
I move forward to gauge his expression but the mask he usually wears is firmly in place. “Well, uh, I’ll let you guys do your thing.” I inch around Roman and head back toward the fire, my eyes scanning around for Aaron. When I spot him, there’s a girl in his lap kissing at his neck. I can’t make out her face but…
My steps falter.
I look again and yep, it’s Sarah. The bitchy girl from earlier. Awesome.
Warm breath on my neck catches me off guard and then I hear his voice. “Looks like your boy is busy tonight.” His voice is low, his tone suggestive. “Fool. Going for that when he could have had this instead.” His fingers brush up my spine and I release an involuntary shiver.
“No one is having this,” I snap, hating what he’s implying. “Besides, we’re just friends. He can go after whoever he wants.”
Another caress, this one along the back of my hip. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Roman’s fingers tighten on my hip into an almost bruising grip as he draws me tight against his body. “What if I decided I want you?”
My breath hitches and he’s still behind me, trailing his lips up the column of my exposed neck. It’s not a kiss. The touch is featherlight but it feels like he’s marking me, branding me as his. “I’d tell you to screw off.”
“Liar.”
I step away from his body, instantly missing his warmth.
“Come with me.” He twines his fingers with mine and despite knowing better, I allow him to lead me toward one of the larger cabins.
I stumble after him, but he doesn’t pause or slow his steps. He just tugs my hand harder, forcing me to quicken my pace. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, finding my voice.
He smirks over his shoulder. “You scared, vanilla?”
I scoff but continue to follow him, my steps hurried as I try to keep up with his longer strides. “Hardly.”
The cabin is empty aside from the two of us and I take everything in. Much like the outside, it looks more like a regular home than a cabin. A large leather sectional takes up most of the room in front of a wood-burning fireplace. And the kitchen and dining area look like they came straight out of a magazine.
Roman watches me as I soak everything in, gauging my reaction though I’m not sure what he’s hoping for. Everything inside screams expensive, but it’s tasteful and you can tell that each piece in the space was carefully thought out.
Looking at it makes me think of movies in front of the fire huddled up with friends. Julio and Adriana and I would do that sometimes. Sometimes Gabe or Felix would join us. Before she did what she did. Before my mom died.
We’d watch stupid movies and eat popcorn. Julio always poured a bag of Swedish fish in my bowl so I could find sweet surprises. We’d fight over who got to eat the last one and the night almost always ended with Adriana sprawled out on our only sofa, Julio and I on the floor. He’d lean against the sofa with me lying beside him, my head in his lap.
I think of what it would be like being huddled up next to Roman in front of that fire and warmth spreads inside my chest. It wouldn’t be like when I watched movies with Julio. There would be no easy carefree affection.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, stepping closer to me.
“Nothing.”
“Mentirosa.” Liar, he says.
Maybe I am, but I know better than to share my true thoughts with him, so I say, “I was just thinking this place is nice. Homey. I know it probably cost a fortune but it doesn’t feel cold.” Like my new living arrangements. But I don’t say that out loud. “I like it.”
He nods and heads toward the kitchen, leaving me to follow him. He opens the refrigerator and starts pulling out ingredients. Carrots, celery, a package of ground beef. Then he opens up cupboards and pulls out onions, garlic, potatoes, spices, a few cans—corn and tomatoes from the looks of them—followed by a bag of rice.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m cooking.”
A laugh escapes me. “I can see that but what are you making, and why?”
“I didn’t eat after the game.” A shrug, his broad shoulders flexing with the movement, and I fight the urge to trace every contour of his body with my gaze. He should look ridiculous in my swim top. But he doesn’t. It’s unnerving.
I still haven’t decided if he’s the enemy or not. He runs hot one minute. Cold the next. I can’t get a solid read on him.
“I’m making albóndigas.”
My heart seizes in my chest and memories of my mom and me cooking at the stove wash over me. “Yo…you are?” I turn to hide the sudden tears pricking the corners of my eyes, barely catching his nod.
Thankfully, he doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. He peels the onion and with quick efficiency, dices it into small neat squares. “Here.” He hands me a second cutting board and a sharp knife. “Dice these.” Then he hands me the celery, potatoes, and carrots.
I take them and do as instructed, ignoring the sudden emotion clogging my throat. “You know albóndigas take at least two hours to make, right?” And even then the flavors aren’t completely melded. My mom would make the soup and let it simmer on low on our stove for several hours, making sure everything married nicely together. There’s no way the soup will be done in time to eat tonight.
He nods. “I know. I’m cheating.”
I look up from my task and spot him pointing to an Instant Pot, of all things, on the back counter. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.
“My mother would be mortified.”
He gives me a devilish smile. “Mine, too. And my grandmother would probably disown me, so this is top secret. No sharing trade secrets, vanilla.” He winks. “I don’t want burgers or hot dogs. I want real food. Food I’d eat at home.” Another shrug. “This will cut back on time. Once we get everything in there, we’ll have fresh soup that tastes like it’s been cooking all day within fifteen minutes.”
I smile to myself. “You’re not what I expected you to be.”
He eyes me up and down and I almost miss the hunger in his eyes before it disappears. “Neither are you.”
