by S. M. Shade
His eyes dart down to my robo hand, and a trickle of insecurity washes over me with unbidden surprise. I push it away, refusing to let anyone wiggle that self-doubt back into me.
When his eyes meet mine again, my breath catches in my throat. He moves closer, cupping my chin in his hand, eyeing my lips like he’s about to go in for the prize. He leans down, and my eyes flutter shut like I’m some teenager who can’t help herself.
“Tonight the games stop,” he whispers across my lips, teasing me by staying a hairs-breadth out of reach with those taunting lips.
My eyes open as he backs away and grins. Asshole. He knows what he does to me.
I snatch a map off the table, ignoring the tingling sensations in my core. Roman reads the map over my shoulder, and I roll my eyes when he presses his body much closer to mine than necessary.
“Here are the rules,” my stepfather announces. I’m tempted to tell him his son has already broken the rules and headed into the woods alone. “Male and female partners, of course. You use the first map to find the second map’s location. Then the second map will take you to the third. And so on. Only one flashlight per team! The first to find the treasure will be the event winners, and you’ll also win the booty!”
That just sounds so wrong coming out of his mouth.
A few snickers ring out, as always. Goodness forbid booty-winning be taken any other way.
Roman even snickers, and I flip him off—with my good hand. I don’t trust my robo hand with that gesture.
As we head toward the woods, he takes the lead, flicking on his flashlight. The moonlight is bright enough for me to appreciate his ass in those jeans… Damn. I really want to touch it just to see if it’s as firm as—
A shriek leaves my mouth when my arm darts forward, and my robo hand actually grabs a handful of ass. Roman jerks, looking over his shoulder as my hand kneads said ass like it has a mind of its own.
“I swear that’s not me!” I bark, grabbing my robo arm with my good hand and tugging like crazy to get it away.
“Sure looks like you to me,” he says dryly.
It continues to massage his ass, and I close my eyes to concentrate. Let go of his ass!
It finally drops away from his ass, and my eyes pop open to find Roman watching me with undisguised mockery in his eyes.
“That wasn’t me,” I repeat, glaring at him. “My arm is malfunctioning.”
“And turning into a pervert?” he quips, his lips barely restraining the smile he wants to taunt me with.
“No it’s—” My words die in my throat, because the damn hand only reacted to my unfiltered thoughts of grabbing his—
The hand shoots out again, cutting my stupid thoughts off as it wraps around him and grabs his ass once more. Roman is knocked into me, and his arms go around me to keep from knocking us both over.
His laughter only adds to the heat on my cheeks as mortification sets in. Let go of his ass!
It finally does, but Roman doesn’t stop laughing, nor does he release me. He fingers a lock of my hair, and I close my eyes, trying my damnedest not to think pervy thoughts.
Cats dancing on a table. Dogs playing a piano. Squirrels hiding nuts.
No!!! Do not think of nuts!
“What are you doing?” Roman asks me as I try to turn off my arm. It doesn’t work. The link between my patch and my neck seems to be keeping it up and running, and the manual switch isn’t going to cut it off. My father said this could happen.
“Skipping the treasure hunt before my hand decides to grab something else.”
He grunts and turns away like he’s reading between the lines, and he cocks his head as I start walking away.
“Because you grabbed my ass?” he asks in disbelief.
“Because my hand grabbed your ass twice without my permission. Imagine what else it might do and tell me you still feel safe.” I toss an evil grin over my shoulder, and he grimaces while covering those jewels of his.
“Let me take you back. It’s late and dark.”
“I can see the house from here.”
Maybe I’m not insecure anymore, but I really don’t want to walk around without my arm in front of people. The faux arms draw enough attention when they’re obvious. But no arm at all? I get gawked at, and the whispers that follow really annoy me.
Besides, Roman may not seem fazed by my robo arm, but he might be a little taken aback when the whole thing is just vacant space. Seeing the pity on people’s faces is worse than seeing the grimaces.
And no way in hell am I taking off my patch without putting it in its case. That’s hundreds of thousands of dollars in that little rectangular thing.
Roman follows me despite my protests, and I glare over my shoulder at him. He just winks back at me like it’s no big deal I have a rogue arm that may or may not kick his ass at any given moment.
My eyes flit up just as a guy nears. I remember that jerk. He’s one of Anderson’s friends who told his girlfriend I lost my arm because of an STD. I wanted to slap the hell out of him that—
A yelp leaves my lips as my arm jerks out, shoving the guy hard. He curses and stumbles to the ground, and I grab my stupid arm, jerking it back against my chest.
“You crazy bitch!” he snaps as he stands.
Roman is suddenly in his face, and the guy pales as he steps back. Even in the moonlight I can tell Roman looks like he’s on the verge of snapping.
I’m not really sure why… I mean, I’ve been called a hell of a lot worse.
“Roman,” I hiss when his fists ball at his sides.
I snatch the flashlight from the ground that he must have dropped, and I clutch it in my robo hand. Suddenly, he grabs the guy by the shirt and slams him against the tree.
“Roman!” I snap again, louder this time.
He turns to face me, and I arch an eyebrow. “Are you taking me back or staring at the prick all night?”
I know he plans to do more than just stare, given the pissed off stance he’s holding. The guy pinned to the tree casts a helpless glance in my direction.
Roman once fought an entire team, busted his knee up too much to play sports again, and he gave as good as he got from seven guys.
I’d rather not see what lies beneath the surface of the Roman I’ve been getting to know. One thing is definitely for sure; he’s still carrying around a lot of rage.
He stares at me like he’s trying to decide, and he finally shoves the guy to the side, knocking him to the ground as he turns to walk to me.
Silence ensues, and his dark mood seems to be firmly in place. I’m not sure what just happened, to be honest. And it’s a little… unnerving.
“In all fairness, I did knock him down with my rogue arm,” I remind Roman as we walk back to the house.
He pockets his hands and clears his throat, still avoiding looking at me.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask, staring around at all the lights disappearing into the woods. The flashlight I’m still holding isn’t really helping us anymore, so I turn it off as we reach the bright yard.
“Not out here,” he says on a sigh.
I glance around at all the faces hanging out in the yard, seeing some of the bridesmaids on their phones, and hearing them desperately trying to find a dress to replace the pink one. Who are they calling after midnight?
He walks into the house, and I follow him. He’s so tense that it’s swallowing up the air around me, and I tense in response. Something akin to metal crunching draws my attention, and I look down, horrified when I see the crushed flashlight in my robo hand.
Roman turns, looking at it with the same expression, and his eyes meet mine.
“That’s totally stronger than a baby alligator,” I say in awe.
“What?” he asks, confused.
I shake my head and drop the remnants of the flashlight on the stairs.
“Nothing. As you were,” I tell him, ushering him on.
Dad is going to have to fix this damn thing before I accidentally hurt someone.
As we top the staircase, I debate going into my room. Roman just showed he has a violent side still. I’m not sure how smart it would be to follow him into his room. Apparently my feet don’t get the memo, because they follow him anyway.
He turns to me as he reaches his room, and he blows out a breath.
“Don’t back out now. I’d like to know why you almost kicked a guy’s ass for calling me a name. I did hit him first.”
“He raised his fist. Anyway, why did you hit him?” he counters.
“My arm did it. Not me.”
“Your hand grabbed my ass, but it didn’t hit me. What’s up?” There’s not even a hint of playfulness in his tone right now.
I really don’t want to explain in the hallway, so I reach over and open his door, walking in before him. He follows, and I take a seat on the bed, feeling on display as I shift awkwardly.
Roman stands, leaning against the large dresser as he crosses his arms over his chest. I’m not sure how this flipped from him to me, but I shrug.
“Jill is a prototype. She’s a smart arm, meaning she’s learning with each passing day. She reads projected commands and reacts accordingly. Unfortunately, now she’s gotten too smart, and my inner thoughts are being acted on.”
“I figured as much. What’d he do to you to make you hit him?”
I roll my eyes. “He made a wiseass remark about how I lost my arm. No, there were no STDs involved. Is that really what people think?” I ask, peering over at him.
“I haven’t discussed it with anyone but you, so I don’t know what people think,” he says, still watching me.
“Anyway, I was thinking back to how I wanted to slap him the day I heard him talking not too quietly about it. And… my arm reacted. Jill needs an upgrade.”
He relaxes like I’ve said something he wanted to hear. I’m not sure why.
“I thought he might have done something worse. I’m on edge. I snapped without thinking.”
“Why is that?” I pry.
He heaves out a breath. “How’d you really lose your arm?” he asks instead.
He’s a master at deflection.
Since there isn’t a heaping ton of choking pity in his eyes, I decide to tell him.
“I’m a bit accident prone, as you might have noticed,” I say, keeping the tone light. His lips twitch. “Anyway, Dad had this machine he was creating to crunch metals for the heating process. I’d just turned twenty, and had decided to launch my jewelry business. We didn’t have a lot of money at the time, so he made anything he needed from junkyard scraps—yes, there’s a junkyard in our backyard. We’re that kind of trashy. Still are. I used those scraps to create gems. I learned to heat the metal and bend it to my will. I also used his metal crunching machine when the pieces were too big to stick directly into the melter. No, I don’t know the technical terms, and never wanted to know them.”
He adjusts, getting more comfortable against the dresser, and I sigh as I think back to the scariest day of my life.
“There was a piece stuck, and I turned off the machine so I could reach in and dislodge the jam. However, I tripped, and my hip slammed into the power button while my arm was inside. Long story short, I pulled back a mangled limb, and my father called 911. I lost everything up to my elbow, and making jewelry one-handed became one hell of a learning curve.”
He flinches, and looks away. I’m not sure if it’s the vivid imagery that has him averting his eyes, or if he’s hiding the pity he knows I don’t want.
“Some good came out of it though,” I go on, shrugging. “Dad got into the prosthetic field. He received his first grant for an arm he made for me. He made one that allowed me to hook my jewelry while I worked on it with my good hand. Then a very realistic ‘going out’ arm. Then a swimming arm. Little by little, he’s made his way to the smart arm. Legs have come a long way, but arms… You have to be ultra rich to afford a good arm. Dad is trying to clone the technology from Jill with more affordable methods so that every arm amputee can have one. He’s made a lot of money in this field, and he loves inventing new arms for me. I started making the arm jokes for his sake. His guilt always crushed him after the accident, and I hated seeing that pain in his eyes… Like he’d failed me. At first I faked being okay with it. Then, with the help of Lydia and Henley, I really was okay with it.”
He studies me, like he’s soaking it all in.
“When my knee got crushed in that fight, they told me I’d walk without a limp again, but that I’d never be able to play sports. Some days it hurts worse than others, but losing basketball… It hurt worse than the physical pain I endured to get back to walking,” he says quietly.
I nod slowly. “You don’t know how much you use a limb until it’s suddenly gone,” I say, acknowledging where he’s going.
“At least I got to keep my leg,” he says on a sigh. “I spent a long time wallowing in self-pity. Here you are being awesome with it.”
“I wasn’t always so awesome. I wallowed in my own pity pit too. It’s part of the healing process,” I say with a shrug. “You mourn the things you will lose more than anything. I just learned to want new things. Not to mention, I was lucky to even survive the blood loss, so that put things into perspective for me. Acceptance heals all.”
He smirks, nodding again while absently staring over my head.
“Do you regret that fight?” I ask him, pulling my knees up to my chest.
I really want this arm off, but I want to know more about him even worse.
“Not even a little bit,” he says on a sigh while meeting my gaze again. There’s nothing but truth there. “If I had it to do all over again, I’d still end up in that fight.”
“Why? Because they hurt that guy on your team? He was fine.”
“Wick was fine. Just had a concussion,” he agrees. “When they took that cheap shot and knocked him to the court, I played the game of my life that night. I threw up garbage and sank buckets with it. Everything I tossed up was good for at least two, sometimes three. I ended up with triple doubles and left as the highest scoring player in a game in Trojan history that night. We went on to the state championship because of that game. The fight had nothing to do with Wick. I handled that on the court.”
Confused, I purse my lips. “Then why fight?”
“We were all at the after party that night, celebrating. A friend of ours had a massive cabin we partied at a lot. Wick was there, even though he couldn’t drink. I was three shots in when I noticed my sister was missing. Long story short, I found her in one of the bedrooms, and she was screaming when I kicked the door down. The bastards had her tied down, but she was still fully clothed. I barely made it in time. They were going to punish me through her, since I ended their season with an embarrassing blowout. I lost it. Seven fucking guys. I was holding my own when they came at me two at a time. It wasn’t until they all jumped me at once that I ended up on my back, and the baseball bat came down. It’s a sickening sound to hear your own bone crunch, to actually hear the sound of all your dreams being shattered.”
He blows out a heavy breath, and I nod. If anyone understands that last part, I do.
“I was wrong,” I say quietly. “Violence was definitely acceptable.”
He clears his throat, shifting his weight a little.
“I haven’t told anyone about my sister besides Anderson, my parents, your mother, and now you. That’s why I’m here for Anderson. He was there for me. It’s why I can excuse his womanizing ways, because my parents kicked me out when I was no longer a prime candidate for college scouts. They refused to let my sister go to the police because she would have been labeled a slut. That’s how things work, according to them. And when I needed the money for college, your mother paid my way, not expecting a dime back, even though I paid back every cent.”
That’s definitely the mother I used to know… before she left my father in a thousand tiny pieces to go be a
wealthy woman. It also explains why Roman spends any amount of time with my twerp stepbrother and my superficial mother.
“I was dating Emily Lawrence at the time,” he goes on, grumbling a little. “She dumped me once I no longer had an athletic future ahead of me.”
I’m a bobble-head doll, nodding once again, remembering Emily. She was definitely a jock bunny, but it sucks to hear that there wasn’t more to her than that.
“Some people want what we have, instead of what we are.” It sounds philosophical, but it’s all I can think to say.
“Anyone in your life?” he asks, clearing his throat.
Is he suddenly nervous?
“No. Single. Last guy I was serious with decided he couldn’t handle the one-arm thing. He didn’t mind it when I was wearing a prosthetic, but it eventually weighed on him having to see me without an arm. I take it off to sleep, and, with the exception of this one, I only ever wore the arm when I went out.”
My robo hand twitches, as if it knows it’s being talked about. Damn rogue arm. It’s caused enough problems for the night.
Roman looks confused.
“Most of the arms are just for aesthetics,” I explain, shrugging. “If they weren’t just for looks, then they weren’t really functional past certain tasks they may have been designed for. If I wasn’t doing those tasks, it was annoying to keep the arm on.”
He shakes his head. “Just trying to see what the problem was. How long did you date?”
That’s… not what I was expecting. “A little over six months. Not all guys can handle an awesome girl with just one arm,” I quip, keeping my tone light so he doesn’t start to pity me.
“But your tits definitely make up for the fact you only have one arm,” he deadpans.
Grinning, I make a show of glancing down at my perky, slightly large ladies. “Funny, I said the same thing. Guess he wasn’t a breast guy.” I shrug, still grinning.
My eyes meet his when he flashes a full smile at me, and I feel a weight off my chest when there’s not an ounce of pity in those blues.
“I’m all about tits and ass. Legs are next. Eyes are after that. Then the mind… Arms are last on the criteria,” he goes on, pushing away from the dresser as his grin broadens.
