“Hey,” I say, walking closer.
“Hey,” he says, standing and grabbing me a chair. “Sit.”
I sit down and stare at him, feeling a little awkward, but strangely at home. It almost feels like I’ve known him my whole life. There is something about him, it seems familiar somehow. It’s a comfort that usually comes after years of being with someone, or knowing someone. Yet, I feel it with him after less than a week.
“How are you?” I ask, crossing my legs and leaning my elbows on the table.
“Good, you?”
I grin. “This is totally awkward, right?”
He laughs. “I can be a bit shy. Sorry.”
“So can I, believe it or not.”
He snorts, and I roll my eyes. “I doubt it.”
“It’s the truth. I’m actually freaking the hell out inside right now.”
He grins and his eyes light up. I wonder how many people have noticed that before? It’s the first thing I notice. His eyes talk, in a big way. I can nearly read everything he’s thinking, just by studying those eyes.
They are nice eyes.
Gorgeous.
“Nice top,” he says, dropping his gaze to my shirt and then sliding it back up again. “It looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I say, squirming.
“Want a beer?”
“Yes, please.”
He gets up and fetches us both a beer, then he sits back down.
“So, considering we’re besties now,” I say, my voice still a little shaky from my nerves. “I think we totally need to ask twenty questions. You know, considering you could be a serial killer and I wouldn’t know.”
He laughs. “All right, fuck, go easy on me, woman.”
I grin. “I think we have to do it. I mean, you could be anyone. I could be anyone. I could be a stalker, for all you know.”
He raises his brows. “I thought I saw you outside my window last night, but I was thinking maybe I was imagining things.”
I chuckle. “Oh, my god, dickhead. I wasn’t outside your window. I was inside your closet.”
He laughs, and God, it’s a nice sound. I like his voice. There is something comforting and yet incredibly sexy about it.
“Okay, hit me with this twenty questions crap.”
I raise my brows and sip my beer. “Oh, crap now, is it? Your new best friend could be anyone, are you willing to risk that?”
He cocks a brow.
I grin.
“Okay, let’s skip the twenty questions and you just tell me something about yourself.”
He sips his beer and studies me. “I like cooking.”
I press a hand to my mouth and do a happy little squeal. “Oh, my god, are you serious?”
He grins. “Yep.”
“Me too! I’m a good cook. I love cooking.”
He straightens and puts his beer down. “Oh, it’s on. I can cook better than you, woman.”
My mouth drops open. “Is that a challenge? Because I’ll kick your ass.”
“Oh it’s on,” he cocks a brow. “This is going to be hilarious.”
“Why, because you’ll go down crying?”
He grins. “Challenge accepted then. We’ll see who ends up crying, and it won’t be me, princess.”
I cross my arms. “You’re going down. Prepare yourself.”
We both laugh and something inside me eases, something deep down in my soul softens just a little. Something feels better. And I realise in that exact moment what we were put together for.
We were put together to heal each other.
To fix each other.
~*~*~*~
“Tell me about this woman,” I say, swallowing another sip of beer.
Roman turns towards me and crooks a finger, indicating that I shuffle my chair closer. I do, scooting closer until we’re facing each other. He smells incredible, again. Whoever this ex bitch is, she’s missing out. He smells good enough to lick. I inwardly laugh at that thought, because it sounds totally creepy, even in my own head.
“I don’t really do emotions and shit,” he says, studying me.
The way he studies me, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. His eyes penetrate me, like he can see every thought and emotion in my head. His eyes express everything. They’re soft and warm. They’re also hurting.
“We don’t need to do emotions and shit, but I’m your new Bestie, it’s like, my job to make you feel better.”
“Okay,” he says, sitting back in his chair.
He has a tattoo on his arm. I glance at it, and realise it’s a Harley Davidson tattoo. It starts on his forearm and winds up nearly to his shoulder. It’s a beautiful tattoo, intricate and detailed. It suits him. I move my eyes back to his face, trying to distract myself from openly staring at his bicep. He has great muscles, in fact, he’s got a great build.
“I’ll start. How long were you with her?”
He takes a sip of his beer before answering. “About three and a half years.”
“Wow, that’s a good amount of time.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “But about two of those she lived somewhere else.”
Long distance.
Interesting.
“Why is that?” I ask, crossing my legs and leaning back in my chair.
“She got a job somewhere else and decided to take it.”
I try to stop my body from jerking, because ... what? She chose a job over the person she was supposed to love? She picked a career ... over him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for chasing your dreams but when you’re in a relationship, you fight. That’s what you’re supposed to do. You try, at the very least, to figure out a way.
“She just left?” I say, trying not to sound judgy, but dammit, I feel judgy.
I could never leave someone I loved.
No job in the world could replace that.
None.
“Well, she wanted the job and she really didn’t like it here, so it made sense.”
“That didn’t upset you?”
He shrugs. “Nah, not really.”
He says that, but there is something in his eyes, something behind his stare, it’s something that makes him feel unworthy. He might not admit it, but somewhere, deep down, her not choosing him had to plant a seed of doubt that he wasn’t worth staying for. If only he could see he is totally worth staying for, and I don’t even know him that well.
“Hey,” he says, standing and grabbing me a chair. “Sit.”
I sit down and stare at him, feeling a little awkward, but strangely at home. It almost feels like I’ve known him my whole life. There is something about him, it seems familiar somehow. It’s a comfort that usually comes after years of being with someone, or knowing someone. Yet, I feel it with him after less than a week.
“How are you?” I ask, crossing my legs and leaning my elbows on the table.
“Good, you?”
I grin. “This is totally awkward, right?”
He laughs. “I can be a bit shy. Sorry.”
“So can I, believe it or not.”
He snorts, and I roll my eyes. “I doubt it.”
“It’s the truth. I’m actually freaking the hell out inside right now.”
He grins and his eyes light up. I wonder how many people have noticed that before? It’s the first thing I notice. His eyes talk, in a big way. I can nearly read everything he’s thinking, just by studying those eyes.
They are nice eyes.
Gorgeous.
“Nice top,” he says, dropping his gaze to my shirt and then sliding it back up again. “It looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I say, squirming.
“Want a beer?”
“Yes, please.”
He gets up and fetches us both a beer, then he sits back down.
“So, considering we’re besties now,” I say, my voice still a little shaky from my nerves. “I think we totally need to ask twenty questions. You know, considering you could be a serial killer and I wouldn’t know.”
He laughs. “All right, fuck, go easy on me, woman.”
I grin. “I think we have to do it. I mean, you could be anyone. I could be anyone. I could be a stalker, for all you know.”
He raises his brows. “I thought I saw you outside my window last night, but I was thinking maybe I was imagining things.”
I chuckle. “Oh, my god, dickhead. I wasn’t outside your window. I was inside your closet.”
He laughs, and God, it’s a nice sound. I like his voice. There is something comforting and yet incredibly sexy about it.
“Okay, hit me with this twenty questions crap.”
I raise my brows and sip my beer. “Oh, crap now, is it? Your new best friend could be anyone, are you willing to risk that?”
He cocks a brow.
I grin.
“Okay, let’s skip the twenty questions and you just tell me something about yourself.”
He sips his beer and studies me. “I like cooking.”
I press a hand to my mouth and do a happy little squeal. “Oh, my god, are you serious?”
He grins. “Yep.”
“Me too! I’m a good cook. I love cooking.”
He straightens and puts his beer down. “Oh, it’s on. I can cook better than you, woman.”
My mouth drops open. “Is that a challenge? Because I’ll kick your ass.”
“Oh it’s on,” he cocks a brow. “This is going to be hilarious.”
“Why, because you’ll go down crying?”
He grins. “Challenge accepted then. We’ll see who ends up crying, and it won’t be me, princess.”
I cross my arms. “You’re going down. Prepare yourself.”
We both laugh and something inside me eases, something deep down in my soul softens just a little. Something feels better. And I realise in that exact moment what we were put together for.
We were put together to heal each other.
To fix each other.
~*~*~*~
“Tell me about this woman,” I say, swallowing another sip of beer.
Roman turns towards me and crooks a finger, indicating that I shuffle my chair closer. I do, scooting closer until we’re facing each other. He smells incredible, again. Whoever this ex bitch is, she’s missing out. He smells good enough to lick. I inwardly laugh at that thought, because it sounds totally creepy, even in my own head.
“I don’t really do emotions and shit,” he says, studying me.
The way he studies me, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. His eyes penetrate me, like he can see every thought and emotion in my head. His eyes express everything. They’re soft and warm. They’re also hurting.
“We don’t need to do emotions and shit, but I’m your new Bestie, it’s like, my job to make you feel better.”
“Okay,” he says, sitting back in his chair.
He has a tattoo on his arm. I glance at it, and realise it’s a Harley Davidson tattoo. It starts on his forearm and winds up nearly to his shoulder. It’s a beautiful tattoo, intricate and detailed. It suits him. I move my eyes back to his face, trying to distract myself from openly staring at his bicep. He has great muscles, in fact, he’s got a great build.
“I’ll start. How long were you with her?”
He takes a sip of his beer before answering. “About three and a half years.”
“Wow, that’s a good amount of time.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “But about two of those she lived somewhere else.”
Long distance.
Interesting.
“Why is that?” I ask, crossing my legs and leaning back in my chair.
“She got a job somewhere else and decided to take it.”
I try to stop my body from jerking, because ... what? She chose a job over the person she was supposed to love? She picked a career ... over him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for chasing your dreams but when you’re in a relationship, you fight. That’s what you’re supposed to do. You try, at the very least, to figure out a way.
“She just left?” I say, trying not to sound judgy, but dammit, I feel judgy.
I could never leave someone I loved.
No job in the world could replace that.
None.
“Well, she wanted the job and she really didn’t like it here, so it made sense.”
“That didn’t upset you?”
He shrugs. “Nah, not really.”
He says that, but there is something in his eyes, something behind his stare, it’s something that makes him feel unworthy. He might not admit it, but somewhere, deep down, her not choosing him had to plant a seed of doubt that he wasn’t worth staying for. If only he could see he is totally worth staying for, and I don’t even know him that well.
