Roman: A Raleigh Raptor Novel Read online

  “Don’t say that yet. I’m freezing.” She rolled and tucked herself against me, pressing her back against my chest and fitting her delicious ass right against my dick.

  Even the chill of her skin couldn’t cool the immediate shot of fire through my veins. It singed every nerve ending, leaving me raw and so fucking needy that I had to tilt my hips away from her.

  “Mmm. You’re always so warm.” She burrowed deeper, and I somehow managed to keep my rising dick from letting our secret slip. “Night, Roman.”

  “Night, Teagan.”

  Fuck the field and the locker room.

  The battle for my self-control was going to be fought right here in my home, in my bed.

  So help me God, I was going to win—or we’d both lose.

  4

  Teagan

  “It’s nearly been three weeks, T,” Roman said as he shook his keys at me. “You have to get out of this house.”

  I didn’t budge from the comfy leather chair in his living room—the one I’d quickly claimed for my own since semi-moving in with Roman. Semi-moving in because I still hadn’t retrieved any of my stuff from Rick’s, coward that I was. I’d thought about it plenty of times. Hell, I’d even planned out what I would say and how I wouldn’t dare cry in front of him.

  I didn’t even want the stuff he’d bought me—the clothes, jewelry, hell, even the art supplies. Despite how all those things would come in handy right about now, they were tarnished...just another way he’d chosen to control me.

  There was only one thing I actually wanted, my shoebox filled with pieces of my childhood. The one I’d never shown him. I risk seeing him again, confronting him, to get that back.

  But the twisting, overwhelming ice in my gut always had me squashing those plans and sinking farther and farther into the comfort Roman’s home provided.

  Plus, Walt’s massive body kept me warm since I always ran cold. And I couldn’t keep stealing the warmth Roman so freely provided—no matter how damn good it felt.

  Shame curled in my gut, twisting and spitting acid. I’d tried and failed every night to sleep on my own, but the nightmares were so vivid, so real, and the panic attacks that followed? Roman had been the only thing to keep my chest from cracking and my mind from shattering completely.

  “It’s easier to pretend the outside world doesn’t exist,” I finally admitted, doing my best to give him the please-don’t-make-me look that had always worked on him in the past—like that time he’d talked me into doing an extra-credit assignment for math.

  “Nah,” he chided, biting back a smile as he wagged a finger at me. “Don’t give me those puppy eyes.”

  I proceeded to exaggerate the look.

  It wasn’t fair…for me to ask him for anything. He’d already done so much for me.

  Roman raked his free hand through his dark hair, crossing the room to kneel at my level. He gently removed the book I’d been reading from my hands, and I swallowed hard. Something rushed in my blood, a hot sort of sizzle that had a lot to do with how damn good the man smelled. Who smells like the perfect combination of the woods after a rainstorm and melted chocolate?

  “Teagan,” he said, his voice curling around my name. “You know I’ll back you on whatever decision you make. You want to stay cooped up in my house, in my clothes—which are three sizes too big for you—and never take a step outside that door again, fine. I’m here. But,” he continued, taking my hands in his. “He wins,” he said, shaking his head and squeezing my fingers. “If you make decisions based on the fear of running into him, then he wins. And you deserve to live. To truly live. For yourself, for once.”

  Something tight stuck in my throat, and I shifted in the chair enough that Walt hopped off and curled up on his bed across the room. I wrapped my arms around Roman’s neck. “How do you always know the perfect words to say?” I asked over his shoulder.

  He smoothed a hand up my back as I clung to him. “It’s my curse.”

  I shook my head against him. “There is nothing cursed about you, Roman Padilla. You’re just…” I sighed, releasing him from my bone-crushing hug. “You’re just fucking amazing.”

  His eyes flared wide, that smile of his stretching from ear to ear. “Yes, Mami,” he laughed. “There’s the Teagan I know and love.” He stood, motioning me to follow. “We going to get you some new threads or what?”

  I’d washed the clothes I’d shown up in over a dozen times now, and he was right, I had been stealing his T-shirts and shorts with increasing frequency. Not all out of necessity either, they were just so damn comfortable, and I felt like I’d been living in too-tight corsets for the past three years.

  “You shouldn’t eat that,” Rick said, plucking the quarter-sized brownie bite from my fingers.

  I gaped at him, certain he was joking. I glanced around the crowded restaurant. Luckily, we had a secluded booth tucked in a low-lit corner, so we didn’t draw too much attention with his celeb-status.

  He popped the chocolate morsel into his mouth.

  “Jerk!” I teased, playfully swatting his arm from my seat next to him.

  Rick caught my wrist, his grip just this side of painful.

  “Babe,” I said, forcing out a laugh as I tried to tug my hand back.

  Tried, and failed.

  The waiter approached our table, a crystal pitcher of ice-water poised in his hand.

  Rick gave him one shake of his head, and the man hurried off.

  “Don’t,” Rick said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Ever call me that again.”

  I swallowed hard. “I was teasing.”

  “I don’t like being teased.”

  I nodded, a sheet of ice skating across my skin.

  His features softened, and he released me. I drew my hand into my lap, caressing my wrist. The skin stung and was red from his grip.

  Rick smiled at me, smoothing his hand over my shoulder. “You know I only want what is best for you,” he said, his voice practically a coo. “And with how much you’ve been photographed lately, it would only benefit you if you lost ten or more pounds. That way, you’d look natural next to my side. The press would stop calling you a charity case when it comes to my choosing you.”

  I wrung my hands, my insides shriveling.

  I’d already lost ten pounds. He hadn’t even noticed. I was a curvy girl. I always had been. It didn’t matter if I only ate grilled chicken and veggies for months at a time and exercised five days a week, these hips would never lie.

  “You know how much I love you, Teagan,” he continued, tipping my chin up to meet his eyes. “Don’t I always rush home to you? Don’t I always want to spend every second away from practice and games with you? There isn’t anyone else in the world I’d want to be with.”

  I nodded, some of the unease melting away. He always did come right home, practically buzzing to spend time with me. How many NFL stars did that? How many celebrities did that? Especially when Rick could have anyone he wanted.

  He was right. The cameras and the press were unforgiving. He just wanted me to have on my best armor.

  “You’re just not used to being loved as intensely as I love you,” he said. “Soon, you won’t question my intentions when I tell you to do something. It’s always in your best interest.”

  I leaned into his touch, silently conveying my understanding. I’d never been loved by a man like Rick. His love for me was—constant, intense, attentive. I shouldn’t question it, and maybe it was my lack of experience with actual love that made me do so.

  “Now,” Rick continued. “What did we learn tonight?”

  “Teagan,” Roman said, his voice soothing, patient, as I withdrew from myself.

  “Sorry.” I blinked out of the memory. “You’re right,” I said, hoisting myself out of the chair. “I need new clothes.”

  Needed clothes that reminded me who I was—a woman with values and self-worth. Hopefully, somewhere in there.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, sticking out his palm.


  I high-fived him and disappeared into his room to get my shoes, unable to fully shake off the memory.

  Three weeks and the flashbacks continued to pop up like bursts of oily bubbles in a clearer setting. God, it was like looking at them through a different vantage point. Who I’d been, what I’d let him grind me into…

  Stop, stop, stop.

  I paused before Roman, who held the door open for me, and stared into his dark eyes. My best friend had gone above and beyond these past weeks. Had listened when I managed to speak, had distracted me when I all but disappeared inside my head, and now? Now he was giving me the nudge I needed to take the next step in recovering my sense of identity.

  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” I said. “You know that, right?”

  Roman visibly swallowed. “You’ll never have to,” he said. “You know that, right?”

  Yes, I knew that. Knew that Roman had loved me unconditionally since we were in grade school. I knew his actions were out of a good, wholesome place—not because he was seeking something from me.

  And after all he’d done, all he continued to do, I still hadn’t been able to fully open up to him about everything.

  About the extent of scars he couldn’t see.

  “I am sorry,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip. “About how long it’s taking me to talk about it.”

  Roman shook his head as he laced his fingers through mine. “Don’t be, T,” he said, tugging me out the door and opening the passenger side of his car for me. “We’ll take it one piece of pain at a time,” he said, shutting the door before he rounded the car. “That’s all you can do,” he said once he was behind the wheel.

  “One piece of pain at a time,” I repeated his words.

  That simplified things. Instead of taking on the ocean of issues I’d yet to deal with, I could pluck drops from the waves and examine them one at a time. Whenever I was ready.

  “Now, the really important question,” he said as he backed out of his long driveaway.

  My chest tightened, but I nodded, knowing I owed him any ounce of truth he asked of me, despite how ugly it may be.

  A half-smile tugged at Roman’s full lips as he drove us through the gate and it slowly swung shut once we’d exited. He spared me a glance. “Shoes first, clothes, or food?”

  I blew out a tight breath, a laugh flying from my lips.

  “Clothes, shoes, and then food,” I said, unable to contain my smile. A real one, for once. Not one practiced for the cameras, not one to hide the fear from Rick’s prying eyes. A free, totally genuine smile. It almost felt foreign, but the man sitting next to me? My best friend, my constant throughout the years? He felt a hell of a lot like home, and I clung to that to bury the fear prickling the edges of my soul as we drove into the real world…the one I had yet to face since my breaking point.

  “How’s it coming?” Roman asked from outside the dressing room.

  I stared at myself in the full-length mirror, my head tilted as I looked at my reflection.

  The jeans I’d plucked from the rack hugged my curves and tightened around the ankles, making my legs look longer than they actually were. I smoothed my hand over my stomach, and for the first time in months, I didn’t cringe at the softness there. Hell, I was thinner than I’d been in high school, but I still had thighs and an ass that would never quit, and a cup size that made it nearly impossible to find a proper bra. But the flowing red T-shirt I’d picked out flared around my hips and hugged the girls in a classy, casual way.

  Comfortable, cozy, me.

  This was me when not forced into cocktail dresses or black leggings with black tunic-tops or black, black, black.

  I’d used to enjoy the dark color. Used to like pairing it with a pop of color on my eyes.

  Now, I hated it.

  I longed for color, for life, for anything that would remind me I used to love my body.

  “Yellow makes your skin look sickly.”

  “Blue only magnifies those love handles you have.”

  “Black is sexy. Sleek. Black makes you look mysterious.”

  I clenched my eyes shut.

  Stop, stop, stop.

  I did my best to shove Rick’s voice out of my head, hating that it had proved harder than the act of leaving him, which was a feat in itself.

  I thought of all the dead roses Roman or I had thrown out over the last few weeks. The constant texts and calls or extravagant gifts. All of which I ignored. I would speak to him when I remembered who I was.

  I just didn’t know how long that would take.

  “Good,” I finally answered Roman. “I think,” I added, uncertainty twisting my insides. I swung open the door, my eyes drawn down as I waited for Roman’s appraisal. “What do you think?” I asked when he hadn’t said anything.

  “You look beautiful in anything, T,” he said, and I drew my gaze up to his. He looked giant standing in the small hallway of the dressing room, his Raptors T-shirt stretched tight over his muscled chest. His jeans hugging his massive thighs. And his eyes? God, those dark depths were churning with something as they trailed the length of my body.

  That familiar sizzling rushed beneath my skin as if I could feel that gaze like a brand.

  I cleared my throat, trying like hell to shake it off. This was Roman. My absolute best friend. The man had seen me in every stage of life for God’s sake. I couldn’t possibly be…

  Nope. Not going there.

  I’d always appreciated Roman’s appearance—ever since we were pre-teens and we’d snuck out after dark to go swimming in the public pool a couple of blocks away from our joined houses. I could find him attractive without going all…sizzly, right?

  Besides, my emotions were all over the place, and the last thing I needed to do was give in to my body’s demanding needs and do something I’d regret later. Like ruin a life-long friendship simply because it had been over a year since I’d had a proper orgasm that wasn’t delivered by my own hand.

  Red flushed my cheeks, and Roman arched a brow at me. “Do you like it?”

  “What?” I blurted, which made Roman laugh.

  He motioned to me. “The outfit. Do you like it?”

  I tugged at the red shirt. “Oh, yeah, I mean…It’s not like I’m buying clothes for an office job or anything—”

  “Teagan,” Roman cut me off, stepping closer to me. “The only thing that matters is how you feel. It doesn’t matter what I think, your mom thinks, my Abuela thinks,” he teased. “How do you feel?”

  I laughed, grateful for his ability to pry the action from me. “I like it.”

  “Good,” he said, nodding. “I’ve missed you in jeans.” He winked as I stepped back into the dressing room and shut the door.

  I hurried out of the clothes, trying on the next few outfits I’d gathered and approving each one. It wasn’t until I’d changed back into my own clothes and I’d piled the garments over my arms that reality crashed over me.

  “Oh, goddamnit,” I groaned as we walked toward the register.

  “What?” Roman asked.

  I lifted the pile of clothes in my hands. “I can’t get these.” I shook my head. “What was I thinking?”

  I was thinking I had my own bank account with money I’d earned from selling my canvas pieces over the past year.

  I was thinking that one of the credit cards with my name on it actually belonged to me.

  I thought I’d had some possessions of my own.

  “What’s going on up there?” Roman asked, gently smoothing a finger over my forehead.

  “I don’t have any money,” I whispered. “For a second, I’d forgotten…” I swallowed hard. Forgotten that I’d let Rick control every aspect of my life under the guise of being taken care of. Of being cherished and loved.

  Idiot.

  “I’ll cover you,” Roman said with a shrug.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve already done enough for me. I can’t keep taking advantage of you.”

  “You’re
not,” he said. “T, we’ve never kept tabs before.”

  “This isn’t like grabbing lunch, Roman. This is a new wardrobe, and I still need shoes and…” Emotion clawed up my throat, sharp and hot.

  “Hey,” Roman said, his hands on my shoulders, his touch gentle as he guided me to meet his gaze. “It’s not like I don’t have money to spare.”

  I snorted, rolling my eyes. “That isn’t the point.”

  “You’ve covered for me dozens of times.”

  “Name one,” I challenged.

  His dark eyes trailed upward as if he were sifting through our long history. After a moment, they snapped back to mine. “Got it,” he said triumphantly. “Second grade. Popcorn and cookie day. I forgot my money at home.”

  I gave him a chiding look.

  “And I nearly cried over the prospect of not partaking in the treats of the day,” he continued. “But you gave me half of your money.”

  We only had enough to buy one thing each…

  “And we shared,” he said.

  I tilted my head, biting back a smile. “Second grade.”

  He nodded. “I owe you.”

  “You don’t,” I said, but allowed him to lead me up to the register. I remained silent as the cashier rang us up, and tried not to cry as Roman handed her his credit card.

  “Receipt with you or in the bag?” She asked him, her eyes widening as she put two and two together on who he was.

  “I’ll take it,” I said and quickly took the paper from her hand. I pocketed it, silently vowing to myself that I’d save every single receipt for everything Roman bought for me. And I’d pay him back in full whenever I got my feet underneath me again.

  Which I hoped would be soon, but I hadn’t had the urge to paint or even check my website for requests since my last commission. I’d checked in with local galleries for showings on pieces I already had made—them accepting would be just the kick I needed to go get my art supplies back from Rick’s. But it was kind of hard to be creative and paint new work when I felt like I’d had the life sucked out of me at the same time a truck plowed me over.

  Fuck, I really needed to get my shit together.