by Alexis James
Bella reaches for my hand under the table and gives it a squeeze, telling me without words that she’s in my corner. I wish it were enough. I wish I could unload all this shit inside my head onto my little sister and have that simple act make everything better. Sure, I’m feeling sorry for myself and yes, I’m still nursing the bruises from yesterday, but the fact is I want Sabrina and contrary to what Marco thinks, I do believe I’m in love with her. I sure as hell don’t need to date her to know that. It’s something I feel on a physical level, like the way my heart picks up speed whenever she’s around or the electric shock that slides over my skin when our eyes meet. We have something tangible to build on, I believe that without a doubt. I just wish I could convince her of that. Unfortunately, she’s made her decision, and that decision does not include me.
The minute the meal is over I take my leave, escaping just in the nick of time—before I start getting bombarded with questions again. I point the truck toward my favorite beach, knowing I need the peace and tranquility of the warm sand and blue seas to help me get my head together. Between the residual hangover effects, the persistent concern of my sister and other siblings, I’m feeling decidedly closed in and antsy. Knowing I have to face Sabrina at the office tomorrow sure as hell doesn’t help, and I can only be grateful that the majority of my time this upcoming week will be spent out at the job site.
The moment my bare feet touch the sand, I start to relax. Shoving my flip-flops in the back pocket of my cargo shorts, I walk to the water and let the warm Atlantic spill over my toes. With a sigh of relief, I begin my trek down the white sandy beach, lights from the hotels spreading out across the sand to guide my way.
What the hell is happening to me? In the matter of a few weeks’ time, I’ve completely imploded, going from romantic playboy to pathetic whiner. If this is what love really is, I’m not quite certain it’s for me. Sure, it was frustrating lurking in the shadows and admiring her from afar, but I think I’ll take all that instead of the immense frustration and snippets of anger I feel now. My life is discombobulated, uncertain and unpredictable, and for a long time that worked for me. Not anymore. Not once I got a taste of what life could be with someone I really care about.
Damn. I wish she’d given me a chance to prove myself, to take her out to dinner or even out for a cup of coffee. Believe it or not, I really do want to get to know her. I want to know all the good and bad. I want to know what makes her tick, what turns her on, what pisses her off. I want to know what she wants for her future and whether or not that could ever include me. But seeing as how she basically told me to fuck off yesterday, maybe the smartest choice I can make is to walk away.
So why does the idea of doing so sit so uneasily? And is it possible to love someone, when you barely know them at all? Dick that he is, Marco does make a valid point. Sabrina and I haven’t even dated so how is it possible for me to believe that I’m in love with her? Do I even know what love really is for that matter?
I can only take what I know and build from there, and my parents have set a good example for all of us as to what constitutes true love. Then there’s Cruz and Mia, the forbidden love of a boss and his assistant, something he fought to attain right up until she walked away and he realized the enormity of what he could be losing. And Marco, a playboy like me, convinced he was content with his crazy one-night stands until Amita waltzed into his life and turned it upside down. Is that what real love is … fighting and clawing and convincing yourself you’re worthy of it? Does the struggle to get there make it more meaningful or can it still happen when it sneaks up on you and hits you out of nowhere?
When I reach the end of the two-mile stretch, I take the beach access back to the street, slide on my shoes, and stroll back to the truck. Even on a Sunday evening in March, Miami is alive with energy and hopping with tourists. I’d love to say I could easily get sucked into it all but the simple fact is I’m exhausted. I want nothing more than to head home and sleep all this chaos away.
Up ahead is one of the many eateries boasting outdoor seating. It’s a place I’ve been to a time or two with Bella. The place is filled with patrons laughing over margaritas, sharing whispered confidences over appetizers. Seated at the end is the one woman who I can’t seem to quit thinking about, the one woman determined to avoid me at every turn. Her eyes widen with surprise as I stroll up to her table, eyes shifting nervously from me to her female companion.
My eyes skim her face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the slight pale tone to her already fair skin. She’s dressed casually as she was yesterday, a simple loose tank top and pants. Still beautiful. Still not mine. She nervously bites her lip as she sends me a wary smile, tipping her head back to look at me.
“Hello, Sabrina.”
“Mr. Moran.”
A surge of anger bubbles up in my chest, but I force it down and feign nonchalance. “Having a nice evening?”
She nods. “Yes, thank you. We are.”
Glancing at her companion, I take in the blond, blue-eyed teenager who looks up at me with a curious expression on her pretty face—a face that eerily resembles the woman across from her. Suddenly everything in the past twenty-four hours starts to make sense.
Thrusting out my hand, I murmur, “Hello. I’m Roman Moran. And you are?”
She blushes and slides her small hand in mine. “I’m Emmy.” She stares up at me all bold and starry eyed and holding back a chuckle takes a monumental effort on my part. I bet this little scrap of a girl is a ballbuster and one hell of a handful for the woman she calls mom.
“This is Emerson,” Sabrina states. “My daughter.”
I slide her a sideways glance. “Yes, I see the resemblance.” Turning my attention once more to the young woman, I disengage our hands and reply, “It’s nice to meet you, Emerson.”
She giggles. “You can call me Emmy. Do you work with my mom?”
I nod. “I do.”
Emmy’s eyes dart back and forth from me to her mother. “Um, you should have dinner with us.”
Sabrina starts to protest, which instantly pisses me off, so I direct my response to the less hostile of the two women. “Thank you, Emmy, but I already had dinner with my family. I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
Emmy shrugs. “Okay, cool. Maybe some other time.”
I smile at her, dimples and all. “I’d really like that.” I turn my attention back to Sabrina, wishing I could get her alone for a moment. Damn, she’s beautiful. Even wide eyed and nervous, wearing little makeup and dressed down, she’s absolutely stunning. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nods. “Yes, of course. See you then.”
“Good to meet you, Emerson. I hope to see you again real soon.” I leave the words hanging in the air but the look of shock on Sabrina’s face says all I need to know; she takes the words as the challenge they were meant to be.
“Sure, yeah. I’d like that. Nice to meet you too, Roman.”
“Emmy!” Sabrina scolds.
I wink at the younger Miss Morris. “No worries, kiddo. Feel free to call me Roman anytime.” Taking my leave, I stroll down the sidewalk toward the truck, hands in my pockets, grin spread widely across my face.
Fate has suddenly thrown me a bone by way of a teenage daughter. Now I understand completely why Sabrina has been so skittish, avoiding me at every turn and running in every direction. The woman is a mother for God’s sake, and the last thing she probably wants is some Romeo strolling into her home and giving her daughter unnecessary hope for a replacement daddy. Though I am content to finally understand why she’s so hell-bent on running, I realize more than ever that I really need to consider what the hell I’m doing. The responsibility of getting involved with her has suddenly grown—exponentially. This is no longer about what I want, or even what she wants. Now there is a third person in this potential relationship, a person who could be affected by how I treat her mother.
Knowing that Sabrina is a mother doesn’t change how I feel about her, not o
ne bit. In fact, I’d say I admire her more now … if that’s even possible. I don’t know the history of her situation, but I have to respect a woman raising a child alone. I’ve never been around a lot of kids, but I was a teenager once, and I had teenage sisters. They were like the devil on a good day, possessed by multiple demons on most others. I can’t even imagine how Sabrina can manage one little hellion on her own, although Emmy does come across as a pretty decent kid. However, looks can be deceiving, as I recall from when Bella would bat her eyelashes then proceed to sneak out of the house to meet boys and smoke pot. Man, I wouldn’t trade places with Sabrina for anything.
Heading for home, I take a deep breath and smile. What seemed so hopeless yesterday has suddenly become an interesting challenge today. Whatever I decide from this point forward, I need to be fundamentally aware that each choice I make will affect her child. Time and patience are key, and so is friendship. Of course, there’s always the chance that Sabrina will tell me once again to go fuck myself, but I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t give it my all … if I didn’t give her the chance to slowly get to know me and more than anything to trust me.
“He’s cute, Mom,” Emmy comments, watching Roman as he strolls down the sidewalk.
“What are you going to order?” Avoidance is my plan. The last thing I want is to get into a discussion with my teenage daughter about the sexy man I’m trying to avoid.
She turns her gaze back to the menu in front of her. “I’m having a burger.”
Sighing with relief, I make a quick decision and rattle it off just as the waiter steps up to the table.
Of all the places in Miami, he just happens to walk right past where Emmy and I are dining. What are the chances of that? Was it simply fate or could it be something else?
What, like he’s stalking you?
I give myself an internal eye roll and reach for my wine glass. Roman Moran is many things, but a stalker he is not. A man that confidant would have no need to resort to less than favorable tactics simply to gain a women’s attention. So if its fate, what does that mean? It certainly saved me from having to tell him outright about my daughter, but I do have some suspicions about his reaction—or non-reaction, if I’m being honest. Either he’s a very good actor or he has little to no issue with the fact that I have a child. He was certainly warm and welcoming enough to her, even if she was falling all over him. I can’t blame her. She’s right. He is cute.
Emmy snaps her fingers in front of my face and grins. “You like him, don’t you?”
“What? No. We work together.” My daughter is not one to be fooled easily, so I carefully school my expression into one of nonchalance.
She giggles and rests her chin on her hand. “Nice try, Mom, but I saw the way he looked at you.”
“We work together,” I reiterate.
“Big deal. Are you gonna go out with him … like on a date?”
I wish. “No, sweetie. I am not. Now can we please change the subject?”
Emmy frowns. “Why not? You haven’t ever had a date as far as I know. You need to get out more.”
“Tell me about what you and the M’s did last night?”
She chuckles. “Uncle Jack says you’re turning into an old maid. I think you should go out with Roman so that doesn’t happen.”
“Mr. Moran,” I scold—again. “Uncle Jack needs to learn to mind his own business.”
Emmy stirs the ice around in her glass with the straw and looks at me with wide, curious eyes. “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
With a shrug, I murmur, “I really don’t know, but I doubt it.” I’ve been so busy raising her that I’ve hardly even thought about the fact that I’ve never married. And because I’m a single mother, it’s truly something I assumed would never happen.
“I think I’ll get married. I’d like to have a guy who is happy to see me when I come home from work. I think it would be cool to know that someone has chosen me above everyone else to love forever.”
Smiling, I feel tears pinch my eyes. “I’m glad you want that for yourself, sweetie. I want that for you too.”
“So how come I can’t want that for you, then?”
Since when did my child become so incredibly wise? “You can want that for me. But if you’re thinking Roman is the man to do that, you’re wrong. He likes to date a lot of people.”
She smirks. “So he’s a player?”
This conversation has steadily gone downhill. “Um, no. He just isn’t ready to commit, that’s all.” Granted, I have no idea what Roman does or does not want, but the quicker I can sell this to her, the faster she’ll shut up about it.
Tipping her head sideways, she stares down the sidewalk where he disappeared from sight. “He’s pretty cute, Mom. Maybe you should … you know … have a fling with him. Get your motor running.”
My eyes widen in shock. “Emerson! It is not appropriate for you to be talking like that.”
That comment earns me an over-exaggerated eye roll. “Get real, Mom. I’m no dummy. I know people your age sleep around for the fun of it. No judgement.”
Good lord, I need to find the nearest hole and throw myself in it. “I will never believe it’s okay to sleep around for the fun of it.”
“Relax, Mom. I get it, you’re afraid. It’s been a long time.”
Thankfully our food arrives, and I’m saved for a time from any further interrogation or wise words from my teenager. And as I watch her dive into the massive burger, I feel a twinge of sadness that my baby girl is no longer a baby. She’s a blossoming young woman, developing her own thoughts and ideas about the world, curious about relationships and what to expect from her future. Have I denied her the opportunity to witness a positive relationship between a man and a woman simply because I’ve been too busy—and yes, admittedly too afraid—to get out there and try again? The last thing I’d ever want to do is shortchange my child. She’s gotten enough of that with the missing father in her life and the only blood family she has living thousands of miles away.
So what if I do as she suggests, take a chance and go out with him? Then what? From what I’ve witnessed so far, the sparks between him and I would be combustible … but would they last? As much as I might be enamored with him, I certainly don’t want to run the risk of losing my heart to a man who has no intention of wanting it for the long haul.
Poking at my salad, I glance across at her and ask, “How would you feel if I did decide to date? Would that be weird for you?”
Emmy shrugs. “I don’t think so. It might be weird at first, but I think it would be good for you.” She swirls a French fry in ketchup and murmurs, “It might be strange if a guy stayed over, though.”
Reaching across the table, I take her hand in mine. “I’d never have a guy stay over that I was just dating.”
“Would I have to call the guy dad if you married him?”
“No, absolutely not.” I thoroughly assess her reaction to each word said, watching and waiting for her to freak out a little. But she just continues to sit there, munching on fries and mulling over what we’ve talked about, taking every single bit of it in stride.
“Do you think you might use one of those dating website things, like EHarmony or Farmers Only dot com?”
Snickering, I grin at her. “You think a farmer is what I need?”
Emmy shrugs. “Who knows? I’ve never seen you around a guy except for Uncle Jack, so I have no idea why type of guy would be good for you.” Her grin widens. “I think you’d look cute with Roman.”
Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “Mr. Moran.”
“Whatevs.”
Teenagers. “Well, I doubt that he and I are going to date, so maybe I will try that farmers’ thing.”
“You’re such a dork, Mom.”
I believe God gave us children to keep us from ever feeling confident about ourselves—and to keep us grounded at all times. Just when I think I might be a cool, hip mom, I say something that earns me an eye roll and “you’re so embarrassi
ng” exasperated sigh. Somehow I fear that this will only get worse the older she gets. “Yeah, I know.”
After a long night of tossing and turning, I head into the office early Monday morning to get a jump start on the projects I didn’t manage to complete when I was there on Saturday. I’m three cups of coffee in and still not completely awake when I step into my office to find Roman seated there, casually glancing through a magazine. Jumping out of my skin, my feet come to a grinding halt just as he tips his head back and greets me with a slow, lazy smile.
“Good morning, Ms. Morris.”
“Mr. Moran. Can I help you with something?” It feels odd to speak in such a businesslike manner with a man who only a few days before was talking about doing naked things to me on a desk.
He waits until I’m seated then closes the magazine and sets it aside. “I brought you coffee.” He slides the large cup across the desk but immediately sits back in his chair, his way, I suppose, of being nonthreatening. “Did you and Emerson have a nice dinner last night?”
“Uh, yes we did. And th-thank … thank you. For the coffee, I mean.” Geez … I’m like a flighty teenager with all my stammering.
Roman smiles. “You’re welcome.”
Awkward silence fills the small space as I search for the appropriate words. What is it one says to a man she’s infatuated with but cannot have? I’m fairly certain I said everything that needed to be said on Saturday, though by the way he’s looking at me now, I do have to assume that he misunderstood somehow.
“Um, was there something you needed?”
He shakes his head and slowly gets to his feet, uncurling his large body and hovering over me as he stands at the edge of the desk. “Nope. Just wanted to bring you coffee, that’s all.”
