Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel (14 page)

Roman is calmly sitting at the table, showing no emotion other than patience as his mom talks. Her criticism doesn't seem to bother him at all. I glance my eyes toward him, and he smiles then makes a face like “What can you do?”

"Mom, if I cut my hair right now my poli-sci professor would not know who I am, so it will have to stay for at least the remainder of the semester," Roman says in a completely considerate and polite manner.

Regardless of whether or not he changes the way he looks, which he won't, he respects the hell out of his mother, and I love him even more for the courtesy. Wait a minute. I can't love him yet.
Could I?
There's no way, in such a short amount of time, I could fall. What I'm feeling has to be more of an adoration than anything. Wow, I really need be careful with what goes on up in my head and make sure my brain doesn't urge my mouth to say something like love out loud.
Fuck you, brain.

"We better be off," Mary announces as she grabs her purse strap from behind the dining room chair.

I frown. "Oh. Where are you guys going?"

Roman sits there poker-faced. Even if he doesn't look surprised, I sure am.

"We are going to go visit my parents for a little while. We go there every Friday."
Do they? I'd bet Roman knew.

"Have a good time, Mom, Dad," Roman voices and gives them each a hug. "Tell Grams and Gramps I say hi."

"Will do. Holler if you're mad." His dad, er … Ben, shouts over his shoulder as he and Mary walk out the door.

"What does he mean? Holler if your mad?" I say more to myself than anything.

"It's an old redneck way of saying call us if you need anything, I guess. My dad has always said it."

"Your family is very nice, and not quite what I had envisioned."

"Oh, yeah? What, did you think my family would be some trailer park trash? Or, more like big city loving, drug riddled deadbeats?" he demands in a venomous bark.

"No.
Nothing like what you're saying, I promise. I guess I didn't expect—"

"Upper Middle-class country folk?"

"Maybe?" I meekly answer as a question.

He sighs, and I see some of the tension he held in his face and shoulders disappear. "My whole family, on both sides, actually, dating as far back as we know were all farmers. Up until my gramps, anyways. He became an elite accountant for General Motors. That's where and when we came into some money.

"Oh. So, um …" I start but then I hear the bathroom door open.

"Later!" Thomas yells.

He grabs his hat and keys off the kitchen counter.

"Going out?" Roman's eyes gleam with mischief, and his mouth curves into a smirk.

"Have fun." Thomas winks at me.

He turns as he puts his hat on and walks out the door, letting the springs slam shut behind him.

"Where's he …?" I draw out my words in speculation.

"Shore Slappers. It's a bar. A lot of people go there to drink because it's easy to get there by boat or back roads."

"What does that matter?" I ask curiously.

"People get wasted and think they can drive because they either came by boat or on roads the police don't ever patrol."

"It's still drunk driving, it's still dangerous," I lecture him as if he doesn't already know.

"Try talking to the hammered and horny," he dryly replies.

We are now alone. I'm starting to get the nervous fluttering in my stomach. Not panic attack nervous yet, but I can't begin to predict what's to come. There is a definite process to be followed in situations like these. Qualifiers to get through before the main event. One of those steps is the whole
How many?
and
What’s your number?
talk. I am dreading the talk. It's undeniably needed, though, and I see it coming.

He takes me for a tour around the rest of his house and we are coming up on the very last room. I know it's his. He opens the door, and the first thing I notice is how clean the space is. He has a desk and bookshelf with books and papers thrown about, but other than the school stuff, the room is orderly.

His nightstand is decorated with a wide variety of trinkets. Memorabilia he must consider to be sentimental or important for reasons I wouldn't know. Everything from bobble heads to a beer bottle with a ribbon around the neck, as if it was a gift. The room is colored in blacks, whites, and greys. The colors are fitting and somewhat symbolic if you ask me.

Roman turns, sets his phone in a holder by his bed, and music starts playing. "Who on?"

"Against Me." He surveys me, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and a muscle twitches in his jaw.

"I like it, considering it's heavier than what I normally listen to," I say, trying to keep a lightness to the mood.

"Yeah? I'm going to a show up in Toronto in February, you should come."

I stop breathing, and my cheeks hurt from how wide my smile becomes. Knowing he can plan for us months from now, somewhere out of the city like a little vacation, means more than he realizes.

"You want me to go?"

"Sure, why not?"

My nerves buzz with electricity at the thought of staying in a hotel room with him.

"Okay, yes. Toronto sounds fun. I'm excited."

Now is as good of a time as any to see how I'd fair in a loud, dark, and crowded, atmosphere. I keep gawking at him, grinning like a fool. I wonder if he can sense what asking me to go with him has done to me.

"Good, I'm glad you want to go. Lyle and a few other people are heading up there for the show as well. Invite Enzo and his girlfriend too if you want."

"Oh. Okay, maybe I will. I think he'd be down."

"Good."

"Good," I say back, unwilling to let him sense my disappointment.

I pick a trinket up from his nightstand, pretend to inspect every small detail on the thing then set it back down. I'm running out of mundane things to do with my hands. I can't stall the inevitable.

Seconds go by with nothing exchanged but an awkward silence. I tilt my head toward him, and what was intended to be a fleeting look turns gaping as I'm taken aback by the startling new voraciousness he now emanates. He takes two eager strides, eliminating the space between us, and I'm forced backward until the back of my knees hit his bed. He leans in close, his eyes penetrate mine for permission before closing completely. Mine shut of their own accord, hungry from the promise of a kiss.

The sweep of his breath on my face gives away his closeness, and I rise to my toes to clinch any remaining distance. He gently touches his lips to my forehead, and my eyes squint in deliverance at such a simple yet intimate gesture. He opens his eyes to gauge my reaction; reflected in them is a need which perfectly mirrors my own. This is his undoing. He comes back in for the kill and crashes his mouth to mine.

He uses the hand now resting on my lower back to guide me onto the bed. He crawls over and falls to his side bringing me down with him. He relentlessly fists my shirt until he's grabbing only the skin above my waistband. His mouth moves from my lips to my chin and then down my neck. I honestly don't want to stop, but now I have my mouth free and I can think straight, I realize I need to slow him down.

"Roman, wait."

"Sorry. Shit, I'm sorry," he pants. "I got caught up. I know I was too fast, wasn't I?"

"No," I say too loud and too fast. "Well, yeah. Shouldn't we … you know, talk about some things first?"

"First? All right, sure. What do you want to talk about?"

"Don't you think we should tell each other our … our … What word should I use? Our experience … es? Yes. Our experiences." My question ends with a conviction it did not start with.

He sits up and turns the volume of the music down before turning to me in an uncertain compliance.

"Okay," he says and nods.

"Okay."

He sits back on his elbows and starts, "I have been with a total of nine girls, only a few were more than once. I have only had one serious girlfriend. In high school, we were together for three years."

"What happened? With the serious girlfriend, I mean."

"We grew up together, were always in the same classes as kids. We started officially dating late freshman year. We broke up late in the summer before senior year. We just fell out of love, I think. She cheated on me."

"I'm sorry."

"Breaking up was inevitable." He drops his eyes to his hands, and I wonder to myself if it's a good memory or bad memory running through his mind. "We only knew what it was like to be together. We needed to be our own people and explore without each other. I think we were bored. After a while, our relationship was about convenience and lacked the passion we had at the beginning. I got lazy and started treating her more like a sister than a girlfriend. And she did the same. We were both guilty."

He flinches every time he uses the word "we". The action is so subtle I almost miss it, and he probably doesn't realize he does it. Something on his face tells me he's not telling the whole truth, but I'm not going to push him.

"I'm still sorry."

"No big deal. My family were never very fond of her anyway. From what I hear, she was conceited and a little bit of a snob. I didn't notice, but why would I? My mom said some shit about ‘Mom's just know’, and she knew she wasn't the one. She could've told me earlier; would've saved me a world of hurt." He chuckles a sad sound and gets a far-off look like the conversation we're having has teleported him into another time. The daze only lasts a second before he regains focus and is back in the present with me.

"Anyway, there it is, my whole story. Nothing to hide."

I'm struck with a sudden thought about something he had said earlier.

"So, your mom can tell who the one is, huh? I'm curious to see what she says about me."

"I already know what she thinks about you," he teases.

"And what does she think?" I prod.

"You'll have to wait and see. You will find out eventually." In a mock disinterest, he shrugs his shoulders, knowing it will most likely bother me.

"C'mon, tell me!" I playfully wrestle him back down until he's lying flat on his back.

"Nope," he says and then laughs.

With stronger arms than me, he grabs my middle, shifts his weight, and rolls until he's got me on my back.

He puts his serious face on once more and stares straight into my eyes with a potency that would make me believe he can see right into me.

"Your turn," he says softly.

I'm confused for a half of a second, from being off topic, before I realize what he means. It's my turn to talk about my past.

"You've successfully eluded the conversation long enough, Bug. Talking was your idea, you know."

"I know. It's embarrassing, is all."

"There is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about," he reassures me.

That I have such bad panic disorder, I self-destruct every potential romantic relationship I have in order to avoid any sort of physical intimacy possible? If only he knew.

"It's complicated, so you have to promise not to judge me, okay?"

"Being a virgin is nothing to be ashamed of," he says matter-of-factly.

"W-What?"

"It only gets such a stigma due to guys of the douche bag variety who do virgins like a one-night stand and then don't expect them to get a little irritated when they never call again. Dumbasses."

"Back the fuck up a sec." I put my hand out in a halting gesture.

He stops his rant and looks at me perplexed like he doesn't know why what he said was so completely wrong.

"Which part?" he soberly asks.

"Come again?"

"Which part of what I said?" he clarifies.

"The part where you assume I'm a virgin."

"Bug …" The tone in his voice is gruff, and for the first time I hear a trace of his country roots come out of his mouth. And what timing he has. "I know you are. I'm sorry if I said something to offend you. I meant what I said even if I should not have said it. There is nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I-I'm not embarrassed," I argue, but he gives me the side eye, like don't even play. "Maybe a little, but you have to understand it's not for the reasons you think."

"Oh, you mean it's
not
because you are a hideous conversationalist and even worse to look at?" he jokes.

"God I hope not; I really haven't given much thought to whether or not the guys I were with wanted to have sex with me. I only thought about not wanting to have sex with them. How terribly selfish of me," I joke back and nudge his shoulder.

"In all honesty, though, why haven't you?" he asks. "Wanted to?" he then adds.

"Honestly?" I ask

"Yes."

"I haven't met anyone I wanted to with. Every time I was getting far with a guy, I froze and got this awful feeling in my gut. I would think to myself is
this
is how it's going to happen
,
and
this
is who it's going to happen with? I was always so disappointed. Then I would panic, not do it, and then I would get dumped."

I can't tell what he's thinking by looking at him, and the not knowing is killing me. I'm fully prepared for him to think I'm too complicated.

"You're perfect," is what he says.

"You're smiling," I point out in awe.

"Is that a problem?"

"No. I didn't know how you would react. In fact, you didn't react at all. And I really don't see you smile all that often."

He brushes the hair back behind my ears and takes my face to look me in the eyes.

"Just because I don't react, doesn't mean I don't feel. You're right, I don't smile a whole hell of a lot, but when I do smile, most of them are because of you. In one way or another."

"I saw you smile once," I say quietly.

"Well, I do do it from time to time, I'm not an emotionless asshole."

"What I meant was, when I saw you smile I wondered who it was."

He draws his eyebrows in. "Who it was?"

"Making you smile. I wondered if it was a girlfriend you had at home. And then I got jealous." I laugh. "I got jealous of an imaginary girlfriend I pictured for you and worked myself up about it. No matter how illogical it is and no matter what the chances of it being real are.
Ohmygod
, Enzo was right! I'm a nightmare. Are you sure you want to be with me?"