Roman (Raleigh Raptors Book 2)

by Samantha Whiskey

  I scraped my palms over my face, forcing the memories away, the hurt and anger away. I had to get my life back. Had to find a way to remember who I was before all this had happened.

  But right now? Right now, I had to make a celebratory batch of mocktail-mojitos, because Roman would be home soon, and he’d want to celebrate the Raptors win. He wouldn’t drink when he had practice tomorrow morning, but I wanted to make it fun for him nonetheless.

  And having a fun drink with Roman was an effortless piece of happiness I’d gladly lose myself in.

  “Hey, T?” Roman called from the hallway just off the kitchen.

  “Yeah?” I toweled my wet hair as I walked through the house to meet him. “What’s up?” I asked when I found him standing in front of a closed door—the one that led to another one of his guestrooms.

  He raised his hands, his biceps threatening to rip the seams of the black T-shirt he wore. His dark eyes were wary but edged with excitement, and his black hair had that perfect just-rolled-out-of-bed messy quality that made my skin flush. God, he was gorgeous, but those eyes? The way they flickered from one emotion to the next, so open, so real and raw? It did things to my body. To my heart.

  “I need you to hear me out,” he said, and I raised my brows.

  “What’s going on? You look nervous,” I said and swallowed hard as I glanced from him to the door behind him. My shoulders sank, my heart dropping to the bottom of my stomach. He didn’t want me in his room anymore. And why would he? I’d taken up more than half his bed with the wild sleeper that I was. And my nightmares hadn’t gotten any better. It made sense for me to move into the guestroom. I wasn’t his girlfriend, and we weren’t having sex…

  Ohmigod. I’d kept him from bringing girls home for two months.

  Jealousy, angry and bitterness raged in my blood as images flashed behind my eyes—another woman tucked up against him in that bed, her hands against his smooth skin…

  I clenched my eyes shut, the twisting in my stomach shifting to something deeper as those images were replaced with me. My fingers touching and exploring his body in ways I’d never had but always secretly longed to. My lips on his, inhaling his scent, tasting his kiss. My knees went weak with a want so deep I thought I might topple over.

  “Teagan,” Roman said, tilting his head, and I snapped my eyes open. “What is going on up there?” He smoothed his knuckles over my forehead, and a warm shiver danced along my spine.

  Sleeping with you. In more ways than just the bed.

  “Nothing,” I said. “What’s up?” I asked again, my voice cracking slightly.

  Roman blew out a breath and turned to open the door.

  My lips parted on a gasp as he ushered me into the room.

  The queen-sized bed had been removed and replaced with…

  “Omigod.” My hands flew over my mouth, shock rippling over my skin.

  Easels and canvases filled half the space, the other half dominated by a standing art desk piled high with supplies. Fresh paints and brushes, empty water cups, cloths and sponges, colored pencils, and charcoal pieces.

  “Roman.” I spun, taking the room in, my eyes watering as I met his gaze from where he lingered in the opened doorway.

  “It took me a while to track down all the supplies,” he said. “I would’ve asked you, but I know you would’ve told me the cheapest supplies to get, and you deserve better than that.”

  A tear rolled down my cheek, and he pushed off the doorway, breaching the distance between us.

  “Hey,” he said, brushing away that tear with the pad of his thumb.

  Heat blazed straight down the middle of me, a constant hunger churning and aching as I tilted my head to meet his eyes. God, he was tall and smelled like a dream, and I could feel the warmth from his body he stood so close.

  This is Roman! Your best friend.

  Your kind, caring, perceptive, gorgeous friend.

  Right.

  “I know when Rick gave you a space to paint, he did it as a way to control you. Like everything he did, he had a motive behind it. He wanted to keep you in a cage. One where he knew where you’d be and what you’d be doing.”

  I swallowed hard, acid chasing away the hunger. Had he always known? Or had Roman just now seen the truth of the situation in the little bits I’d given him over time?

  “And this, Teagan, is not that.” He glanced around the room that he’d converted into an art studio, but didn’t move an inch away from me. “You’re fucking talented. And you deserve the space and freedom to create. You deserve the option of if you want to work or not.” He dropped his hand, the edge of his fingers just grazing my arm enough to make my breath stutter past my lips.

  I slowly turned away from him, knowing if I looked into his eyes for one more minute, I’d crumble into a thousand pieces. I ran my fingers over the soft brushes at the desk, relishing the feel of the bristles against my skin.

  Roman was right, damn him.

  Rick had used my need to create as a tool to control me. He’d never believed in what I’d done, merely allowed me to do it so I’d keep busy when he wasn’t home to watch me. He’d acted like it was a privilege to pursue my passion instead of my God given right.

  “T?” There was a hint of desperation to his voice. “I’m not trying to pressure you to go back to work. You have to know that.”

  I hurried across the room, launching myself into his arms knowing he’d catch me.

  He’d always caught me.

  I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent, breathing a sigh at the feel of his solid body against mine. Loving that he didn’t try to pull away or speak or question this…he just held me.

  “You’re too good to me,” I whispered, not daring to move my head from his shoulder.

  He squeezed me against him. “I’m nowhere near good enough.”

  I furrowed my brow, shifting against him so that I could meet his eyes. He’d said something similar when our mothers had visited, and I hated the words now just as much as I had then.

  We were nearly nose to nose, and my heart raced against my chest that pressed against his. He could probably feel it. He held me that tight.

  “You are the most amazing man I’ve ever known, Roman Padilla,” I said, making sure he heard every word. “And I will never, ever be able to repay you for what you’ve done. What you keep doing for me.”

  But I would sure as hell try. I had an envelope full of receipts hidden in the drawer I’d claimed as mine. Once I started selling my paintings again, I’d pay him back. Little by little. With interest.

  The emotional aspect though? How could I ever repay him for that? For the way he kept going out of his way to make sure that I not only found my feet again but found myself again?

  “You’ll never have to,” he said, his breath warm on my cheeks. His eyes flickered from mine to my lips and back up again. Flames licked my skin at the energy that buzzed between us as he continued to hold me as if he’d be content to do that all damn day.

  One inch of movement, that’s all it would take from me, and I’d learn what his lips felt like—

  An alarm buzzed from his back pocket, and I jolted from the sudden sound.

  Roman hissed but gently set me on my feet. “Practice,” he said after silencing the alarm on his phone.

  “Right,” I said, slightly breathless. “First game tomorrow.”

  Roman arched a brow at me. “Are you coming?”

  I nearly choked at the words, my cheeks blazing red from where my mind had been moments ago. “I…um.. Roman, I don’t know—”

  “It’s okay,” he said, waving me off. He motioned behind him. “I have to go.”

  I nodded, my heart still racing. “Have a good practice,” I said, watching him as he headed for the door. “Roman?” I blurted, and he whirled around, his hand on the doorframe like he needed it to stop himself from rushing back into the room. “I…” the words built up inside me, a crescendo of confusion and need and uncertainty and fear. I blew out a
breath. “Thank you for this.”

  Coward.

  Roman flashed me a smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Of course,” he said, then disappeared down the hallway.

  I spent half the day in that studio, the urge to create on the tip of my fingers, but the storm of emotions in my soul shackling me in doubt.

  Because the longer I stayed with Roman, the more emotions kept cropping up I couldn’t explain. Like that undiluted need when he was within touching distance of me or anytime he did something so incredibly kind I couldn’t even fathom how he knew. He always knew—the right thing to say or not say, the right place to go, the right way to bring me out of myself.

  He’d always known.

  Since we were kids.

  Because we’d been friends since before I could remember.

  And that wasn’t something that happened every day.

  My heart sank, knowing that it didn’t matter what I felt. I couldn’t risk his friendship. I couldn’t cross that line between us. And, hell, he literally had women falling at his feet. The last thing he needed was his emotionally broken best friend begging him for affection.

  It would be more than that.

  I shook my head at the voice in my mind that begged me to reach out. Then I glanced at the studio again, and my heart melted.

  He’d continued to go out of his way for me. For his best friend. To help me heal.

  And I knew there was something I could do for him, beyond taking care of his house.

  I just hoped like hell I’d find the courage to actually do it.

  I flashed my badge at the security guard who waved me down the hallway. Excited chatter from the press and family alike echoed off the walls, the stadium buzzing with an energy I tried to siphon. I smoothed my hands over my jeans, my sneakers near silent on the floor as I upped my pace.

  It had taken me over an hour to convince myself to come, to convince myself I was strong enough to be here. To face whatever being here would bring down on me. But knowing that Rick was always the last to leave the locker room gave me the security I needed . And even if he changed his routine—which I knew he wouldn’t—I’d deal with it.

  Because this wasn’t about me, it was about Roman.

  And he deserved my support more than anyone on the planet.

  I’d borrowed one of his practice jerseys, having to tie the thing in a decorative knot at one hip. I used to wear dresses made out of jersey’s—Rick’s idea, of course. Not today. And something about wearing his number—my best friend’s number—across my back made me feel like I slipped on a piece of armor.

  Safe.

  Roman had always kept me safe.

  I slowed my pace outside the locker room, taking care not to bump the other family members or press that had gathered in the same spot in the hopes of catching a glimpse before they hit the field.

  The first game of the season was as important as the last, and I could barely contain my smile as the doors swung open, and the Raptors filed out.

  “Roman!” I shouted when I saw him trail out after Nixon.

  He whirled around, his eyes widened as he found me in the crowd. He pulled me to the side with his free hand, the other holding his helmet.

  “You came!” His smile was infectious.

  My heart pounded against my chest as I gazed up at him. “It’s gameday,” I said. “I’m here to cheer for my favorite player.”

  Roman smoothed his hand down my arm, his eyes scanning the jersey I wore.

  “Hope it was okay I borrowed this,” I said. “I’ll order my own once I—”

  “You’re perfect,” he said.

  “Padilla!” Hendrix called from down the hallway.

  “Got to go,” he said but hadn’t moved his feet.

  I reached up on my tiptoes, throwing my arms around his neck, laughing slightly at the way the pads made him even bigger than he already was. “Thank you,” I said into his ear. “For the studio. I painted last night.” I shifted my head, my cheek grazing his. And before I knew what I was doing, I brushed my lips over his. Just a featherlight touch, an innocent thank you for all he’d done, but it was enough to make my knees tremble.

  Roman’s hand on the small of my back flexed, and he pulled me against him, pressing back with the slightest pressure.

  “Padilla!” Nixon yelled, and Roman pulled back, his eyes wide and questioning.

  “For luck,” I said, and dropped back to my level with a shrug. He didn’t need to know how I could still feel electricity crackling through my veins from the innocent kiss. He didn’t need to know how that simple touch had my heart flaring to life. He didn’t need to know how desperate I was for more.

  Because he was my best friend.

  My famous, hot, NFL running back best friend who could have any woman he ever wanted.

  So, why the hell would he want me?

  “Get a TD for me,” I said, pushing against his chest.

  He flashed me a smirk, then ran backward down the hall. “You know it,” he said before spinning around to catch up with the guys.

  I’d probably catch hell from Nix and Hendrix the next time we hung out, but who was I kidding?

  It’d been worth it.

  7

  Roman

  “I can’t believe you’re making me watch this shit,” I groaned, sinking into the couch as Teagan curled up on the other end. She was wearing pajama pants—the kind with the drawstring—tight enough that they showed off the delectable curve of her ass, and loose enough that I could slip my hand right between—

  “You’ve never seen it, a bet is a bet, and you lost,” she tossed back with a smirk as the opening credits played for The Notebook on my big screen.

  Get your mind out of her pants.

  “How was I supposed to know that you’d learned to tie a cherry stem with your damned tongue?” The tongue that had stayed behind her teeth two weeks ago when she’d given me that good luck kiss before our first home game.

  Was it a friends-only thing? More? I’d never been a coward, but the idea of opening that subject was enough to nearly shrivel my dick. Nearly, because the way her breasts looked in that tank top had me adjusting my athletic shorts as discreetly as possible.

  Good thing this couch had a few throw pillows, too.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Roman Padilla.” Her smirk deepened before she rolled her eyes and sighed. “But fine, it was a trick bet since I already knew I could do it. But really, you can’t complain about The Notebook. It’s a classic!” She threw a piece of popcorn in my direction, and I caught it in my mouth.

  Her grin just about stopped my heart.

  “No way,” I argued after I chewed and swallowed. “Classics are Casablanca or Citizen Kane. They are most definitely not The Notebook.”

  She hit pause and turned to face me. “Are you reneging on our bet?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Never!” I balked. Bets between us were sacred. “I’m just questioning your choice in movies.” I caught another piece of popcorn she tossed my way.

  “It reminded me of you.”

  “It what?” My jaw dropped a bit.

  “He gives her an art studio.” Her cheeks pinkened, and she looked away, leaving me dumbstruck for a second. “Look, we can watch something—”

  “He gives her an art studio? Spoiler alert,” I teased, hating that flicker of self-doubt that clouded those blue eyes. If I didn’t already want to kill Baker for putting his hands on T, the way he’d systematically broken her down until she questioned every choice would have gotten me there.

  “Speaking of the art studio…” A wide smile spread across her face.

  “Yeah?” I leaned over and grabbed a handful of popcorn. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a post-practice Wednesday afternoon than bantering with Teagan.

  “I sold another one of my pieces today!” She practically glowed with happiness.

  “No way!” That was the third this month. “Congrats, T. That’s awesome!”


  “As soon as that check clears, I’ll have enough to get out of your hair!” Her smile softened. “I never meant to stay this long, you know.”

  My stomach dropped. “Don’t rush on my account. I know you’re just getting back on your feet, and I’d hate to see you scrambling for cash just so you can pay rent.” The minute she left, this would all end. The dinners, the movie-matinees, the sound of her singing as she worked in the art studio. It would all end just as I’d finally gotten her back in my life. The last year she’d been with Baker, I’d barely been allowed to see her. “Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor if you stayed a little longer.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows rose.

  I nodded toward where Walt had consumed the love seat. “I have to admit, it’s nice that he hasn’t run off another house sitter during away games. I went through five last season, alone.” I cringed.

  “What?” She laughed. “Walt’s a marshmallow!” Her laugh picked my stomach off the floor, but tension still ran thick between my shoulders.

  “He can be a bit…imposing.” Especially to strangers in the house. “Seriously, T, I love having you here,” I admitted softly, rubbing the top of my head and looking away. “It’s been nice getting to spend some real time with you again. So like I initially told you—stay as long as you want. But if you’re ready for your own space, I get that, too.”

  She swallowed and glanced from me to Walt and back again. “Maybe just a little longer,” she said softly.

  I nodded.

  Awareness stretched between us, just like it had in all of our interactions since she’d kissed me. There had been a subtle shift from that awkward, just friends convo in the kitchen after dinner with our moms, to…well, whatever the hell this was. Not that it was anything. She was fresh out of a long-term, shitty relationship, and I might have wanted her more than I wanted my next breath, but that didn’t mean I was going to act on it.

  She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and faced the television, fumbling quickly for the remote. “And on that note…” She pressed play, and the movie began.