Roman

by Sawyer Bennett

  "Okay," I say softly.

  "So, Lexi," Ryker says, and my gaze slides to him. He's looking at me with open interest. "Brian's told us a little about you, but how about you fill Gray and me in on your life so far. Like where you were born, and where you lived. We understand you've lived in different places."

  I take a sip of my wine, and after swallowing I say, "Well...let's see. I was born in Hartford, Connecticut, and lived there until I was eighteen. When I graduated from high school, I didn't have any interest in college right then so I thought I'd travel around. A friend and I went out to Portland, and that's when I started working as a barista. Stayed there a few years, fell in love, or so I thought, and followed a guy out to Tucson. Fell out of love--namely because he was also loving someone else behind my back--and left Tucson for Little Rock. Over the next three years I lived in Little Rock, Nashville, and then Pittsburgh. I was working as a bartender in Pittsburgh when I found out my mom was sick, and I went back home to Hartford to take care of her until she passed away. Then I moved here."

  "I'm really sorry about your mom," Gray says softly, and I see within the depths of her eyes an understanding of my pain. She lost her mom too, although far earlier than I did. Just like I didn't have a father growing up, she didn't have a mother. But I'm sure she can imagine how horrible it would be to lose her father, and that's where I know she truly gets me.

  "Thank you," I murmur, looking down into my wine. "It wasn't pretty at the end, and she didn't go fast. Luckily they had her pretty drugged up, so I don't think she was suffering. Still...I got to the point where I would just sit in her hospice room and talk to her, repeatedly just telling her that it was all right to let go. I was so grateful when she finally did."

  I look up and see a light sheen of tears formed in Gray's eyes, but they're not looking at me. Rather, they're pinned on her father, and I know she is indeed imagining what that might be like if that happened to him. My gaze cuts to Brian, but he's looking at me, his face awash with utter sympathy.

  "I can't even imagine being in that situation...just watching and waiting," Gray says hoarsely, and I look back to her. She's blinked the tears away, but I can tell she's still ruminating about mortality. "It gives me a little more clarity as to why you came here. Why you want to get to know us."

  "Not to replace her," I say quickly. "Never that."

  "Not to replace," Brian says gently. "To add to your already full life."

  Gray smiles at me, then crosses the kitchen, brushing past me. But she hesitates...lays a hand on my arm and gives it a tiny squeeze of sympathy before she walks to the stove and pulls the tinfoil off the beef tenderloin that sits in a roasting pan on top.

  "So what's your current story, Lexi?" Ryker asks casually as he moves to the cabinet that holds water glasses and starts pulling some out. He then in turn puts each one under the ice dispenser and fills them up. "Brian says you're a musician?"

  I shoot a smirk at Brian and then look to Ryker. "I actually make and serve coffee at The Grind, but I do a little music on the side. It doesn't really pay much, but the tips are nice."

  "I never knew a ukulele could be so versatile," Brian adds proudly, and I can tell by the smile on Ryker's face as he fills the water glasses that Brian has actually told both Gray and Ryker quite a bit about my singing.

  "Mom wanted me to play an instrument when I was little, and I didn't want to. We argued about it incessantly, but she insisted. We finally compromised, and she told me I could pick the instrument. I seriously considered the drums just to drive her nuts, but I was totally charmed by the ukulele after listening to Israel Kamakawiwo'ole."

  "Who?" Ryker asks as he moves each ice-filled glass to the water dispenser in the fridge to fill them. Gray pulls a knife from a drawer beside the stove and starts to cut the beef tenderloin, and Brian merely sips on his wine and enjoys my story as I tell it.

  "Israel Kamakawiwo'ole was a Hawaiian folksinger, and he did this amazing mash-up of 'Somewhere over the Rainbow' and 'What a Wonderful World,' and it really is what made me fall in love with music. After that, there was no choice. It was the ukulele for me."

  "I heard her sing 'Over the Rainbow,' " Brian says proudly. "It was amazing."

  "Ryker," Gray slips into the conversation. "Can you hand me a plate?"

  Ryker reaches back into another cabinet, grabs a plate, and hands it to me. I turn to hand it to Gray, and she smiles at me as she says, "Maybe one night Ryker and I can get over to The Grind and listen to you."

  "Really?" I ask, my smile cracking wide open. "That would be awesome."

  "Absolutely," Ryker answers for his wife, and I turn back to him with the same smile. "Sounds like a lot of fun. I rarely get to take Gray out on a date anymore between our work and raising the girls."

  "Definitely sounds fun," Gray adds, and the earlier awkwardness seems to have dissipated completely.

  "So are you dating anyone?" Ryker asks me pleasantly, another question to learn more about me. Gray stops her transfer of the sliced tenderloin to the plate I had just handed her and looks at me with interest.

  "Not really," I say, which is the truth. "But I have a first date next week and I'm looking forward to that."

  And at this point, I hope that I don't get any follow-up questions because I absolutely do not want to tell them that said date is with a Cold Fury player. Despite the fact that Gray has seemingly come to some acceptance of my presence, there is still some level of skepticism on her part. That was evident by her questions to me tonight and by the way she intervened to prevent her dad from offering me anything until the final DNA results were in.

  Yes, there's no sense in even bringing Roman into the conversation when we may go out Wednesday and totally not even click with each other. I seriously doubt that, as there is some obvious and intense chemistry between us, but no sense in upsetting the apple cart tonight.

  Just to ensure that the conversations stays away from my love life, I decide to throw my dad, Brian, whatever, under the bus.

  In the most loving way, of course.

  "Speaking of dating," I say as I turn to Brian and give him a sly smile. His eyebrows shoot upward over the suggestive tone in my voice and his body goes still. "You made quite an impression on Georgia night before last."

  "Oh, I don't know about that," Brian mutters, and I'm astonished to see his face turn red before he puts his wineglass to his mouth and takes a healthy slug.

  My eyes dart to Gray briefly, who is watching her dad with a smirk, and this eggs me on.

  "Georgia can't stop talking about you," I say knowingly. "I think she has a crush."

  "Honestly, Lexi," Brian huffs. "A crush? Is she twelve years old?"

  "Forty-seven," I provide.

  His eyebrows shoot up higher. "Really? I thought she was younger than that."

  I knew it. He's interested.

  "Nope. And she's totally single, and I bet she'd go out with you in a heartbeat if you asked her."

  Brian makes sort of a harrumph noise and waves his hand at me in dismissal. "I'm too old to date."

  "Seriously?" Gray jumps into the conversation. "Too old? You are not going there."

  "I'm sixty-one--" he starts to say, but she rolls right over him.

  "You cycle over a hundred miles a week, you do strength training that's on a par with some of the very athletes that you employ, and you still sport a damn six-pack, Dad. You should be dating because you are in your prime."

  "I've got gray hair," Brian grumbles.

  "Only at the temples," I provide helpfully. "Which clearly labels you as a silver fox, not an old man."

  For the first time in the brief time I've known Brian Brannon, he actually glares at me, but I'm not taken aback. I'm actually happy I'm comfortable enough to rib him and he's comfortable enough to be pissed about it.

  Also bonus points that Gray and I are firmly united in this.

  "So who is this Georgia?" Ryker asks with a smirk on his face, and I know to keep the conversation going, as h
e's actually enjoying Brian's discomfort.

  Grounded in the knowledge that the spotlight is firmly off of me and my potential love life, I give them the brief rundown. "She's really super cool. Like I said, forty-seven years old and totally gorgeous. Brian can attest to that," I say with a wink his way, then barrel forward so he can't deny it. "She's originally from Georgia--which is why I guess her parents named her that. She opened up The Grind almost ten years ago. Has one son who's twenty-five and lives on the West Coast, she's never been married, and she's completely crazy. In a fun sort of way, I mean."

  "Really?" Brian says dryly. "I found her to be a little rude."

  "She's blunt," I say, looking at him briefly before turning back to Ryker. "But she has the biggest heart in the world. And she likes to get under people's skin, which is what I'm sure she was trying to do with you, Brian," I say as I shoot a glance back at him. "I think that only means she really likes you."

  "Funny way of showing it," he mutters, then adds petulantly, "She had me convinced Tink was a murderer."

  I burst out laughing, as do Gray and Ryker, and Brian shoots glares at all of us. Then he wipes away our amusement when he says, "That's enough of this conversation. I won't say I'm old, but I'm too set in my ways to date, and even if I did want to date, Georgia Mack would be the last person I'd ask out."

  Hmmmmm...he doth protest too much, methinks.

  He's so going to ask her out.

  Chapter 9

  Roman

  I slip and slide my way across the snow-and-ice-covered sidewalk to the front door of The Grind. It's close to 4 P.M. and I'm the only car parallel parked out front, but Glenwood Avenue is bumper to bumper, gridlocked traffic, for the "annual running of the southerners to take shelter during inclement weather" has begun.

  While I wasn't with the Cold Fury then, I've heard all about when Raleigh got hit with an epic snow and ice storm about nine years ago that started around midday. Although the Department of Transportation diligently salted the roads, the storm was such that it didn't matter. Ice accumulated thickly and rapidly, and the entire city was gridlocked with a massive rush of people trying to get home. News reports had children stranded in schools, commuters taking up to twelve hours to drive five miles, and numerous wrecks, because let's face it, it's hard to drive on ice in the best of times, nearly impossible for people who have no clue how to do it.

  After it started to snow and sleet about two hours ago, an alarming amount of ice collected on the trees, power lines, and roads. Since the city was still slightly traumatized by the great ice event of nine years ago, the Cold Fury cleared the staff and players from the arena and locked it down. A game is scheduled for tomorrow, which is still tentatively on, but that will depend on how hard we actually get hit.

  This sucks in a major way, because I had a date set with Lexi for tonight. The plan was for me to pick her up here when she got off at six, but that is not going to happen with the way the weather is. The governor's office has relayed to the news stations, which in turn have relayed to the masses, that everyone is encouraged to stay off the roads and inside. This means most businesses will be shut down, so no fancy dinner with Lexi.

  Yet here I am at The Grind, because I'm worried about Lexi driving home.

  She and I have texted several times over the last few days, and I was even compelled to call her after our game last night in New York. I knew it was late, but I also knew she'd be up, because I'd texted with her plenty of times in the late hours. During the phone call last night, I'd learned that she drives a very tiny car, which would surely cause massive injury and potentially death if she were to slide off the road or get hit by something bigger. So I decided to come here and rescue her with the intention of getting her home safely in my big Mercedes G550 and my own expert driving on icy roads.

  The minute I pull the door open to The Grind, I can feel the emptiness before I even take note that there are no customers inside. It's eerily quiet: no babble of people talking, no hiss of espresso machines, no cups rattling against tabletops.

  I don't see anyone, so I take a few steps toward the ordering counter, intent on calling out, when Lexi suddenly appears from a closed door behind the bakery cases.

  "What in the world are you doing here?" she asks with a surprised grin.

  "Came to drive you home," I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes at me, and it's cute for sure. "I told you I'm fine."

  And she had indeed told me that via text a few hours ago when I gave her a heads-up our date was looking like it was a no-go.

  "I decided not to believe you," I tell her with an answering grin. "And I hope to hell you don't have to stay here and work until six. The roads are getting really bad."

  Lexi shakes her head as she bends down briefly behind the counter and pops back up with a heavy coat and her purse in her hands. "I'm actually ready to go. I just finished closing out the day's books for Georgia. She's out of town for a few days and I'm the only one she trusts to close the place down."

  "Good," I say with relief as she puts her purse on the counter briefly so she can get her coat on. "Let's get going then."

  Lexi comes out from behind the counter, pulling a set of keys from her purse. "You know, I really didn't need you to drive me home. I am from Connecticut and have driven on an icy road or two before."

  "Yeah, but not with thousands of freaked-out southerners who do not know how to drive icy roads. Your car is too small to protect you if you were to get in an accident. Besides that, I like being bossy and doing the opposite of what people tell me to do. It's this whole power-control issue I have."

  I pull the door open for her and she laughs as she steps out into the frigid air, giving a tiny shudder when it hits her. It makes me want to wrap my arms around her for warmth, which is a distinctly un-Roman-like thing, as I've never been much of a cuddler. A jokester for sure, a man who likes to fuck a sexy woman and get it on in the dirtiest of ways, and definitely I like to talk if the conversation is interesting.

  But never a cuddler, since it's just not something I'm used to. Never had affection growing up, and most definitely never saw it between my parents or other family members, and by the time I'd started playing the field with women, it was just odd to me. Not distasteful, but merely awkward, so I avoided it.

  So it's just a bit unsettling to have the urge to wrap my arms around Lexi right now as I watch her lock the doors behind us. When she turns around, I hold my arm out gallantly for her. It's not a cuddle, but it does give me the opportunity for us to touch.

  "Shall we?" I quip as I nod down toward my arm.

  "We shall," she says with a laugh, and tucks her arm into mine as she asks, "Where to?"

  I turn her toward my SUV parked right in front. "Just five feet away, but hold tight. I almost broke my neck on the sidewalk earlier."

  She laughs again as she grips me harder, and I find I am becoming more and more drawn to that sound. She's not the type of woman who giggles, but instead shows her amusement with that same husky tone with which she sings and talks, which means essentially anything that comes out of her mouth is sexy and amazing.

  I get her to my SUV without incident or broken bones and manage to walk around the front without sliding too much and looking like an idiot.

  You'd think as a hockey star I'd be able to maneuver on ice with more sophistication, but truly it's the skates that make all the difference.

  I merge carefully into traffic, which takes some time since it's moving so slowly, then settle in for a perilous four-mile drive to the little garage apartment that Lexi rents from her boss, Georgia.

  We move less than a mile in thirty minutes and talk is limited to sarcastic comments made about all the terrible drivers we see. We wince as cars start to slide off the road onto shoulders, and several accidents that occur, although they are more like fender benders, fortunately. On two occasions, cars slide my way and I brace for impact, but then they veer off, which is more from happenstance than from any real skill b
y the drivers. By the time we get close to our exit onto Wade Avenue, I make a decision and turn right into a residential neighborhood.

  "What are you doing?" Lexi asks curiously.

  "Getting us off the big roads before some idiot hits us," I tell her as I glance at the navigation screen just below my dashboard. I'm vaguely familiar with this area, as I dated--fucked--a nurse who lives close to here, which is also how I found the pizza joint next to The Grind. I was starving one night after I slipped out of her house and had a pie all to myself after.

  This was apparently a good idea, as hardly any vehicles are on the street. I see a few have slid off the road, gone up onto sidewalks and such, but for the most part the cut-through traffic is light. My navigation system self-corrects for a new route to Lexi's house.

  I drive extremely slowly, because even though my vehicle is heavy, I can still feel it sliding if I get much over five miles per hour. However, without all the traffic, I can relax a little bit, so I ease into some more personal conversation, since this car ride is probably the extent of my date with Lexi.

  "So, care to tell me more details about Brian Brannon and how that all came about?" I ask her, daring to glance over at her. I see her hands are relaxed in her lap, an indication she's secure with my driving, but her face is seriously studying the road before us.

  "Like I told you the other night, my mom got really sick a little over a year ago. Pancreatic cancer," she adds on for explanation.

  "I didn't say it the other night, but I'm really sorry," I tell her, because that's what you say in these situations although admittedly, it's difficult to me to relate to what she might be feeling.

  "She had been sick awhile and made the decision not to tell me about it, but I was planning on a visit home for Christmas and she knew she couldn't hide it from me."

  "Where were you living?" I ask her curiously, because she's told me she's lived sort of all over the place.

  "Pittsburgh," she tells me, but then her voice gets a little tense. "I was bartending there, taking some classes at night. Partying and having a good time."