Roman - Lane Hart Page 0,11
Charlotte asks as I use the railing as a bar to pour two shots for us. “That poor girl acted terrified.”
“She doesn’t know me,” I scoff. “Almost none of the waitresses do. They just hear things and gossip, until they get this insane image of me as some shadowy boss figure lurking up in the VIP lounge, giving out orders and taking favors like an old school godfather. When they actually run into me down here in the wild, they act like they’ve tripped over a sleeping tiger.”
“Are you some sort of shadowy godfather figure, Roman?” Charlotte asks with a coy grin. “I don’t remember Marlon Brando having the moves you were putting out last night at the house.”
“Then you’ve seen yourself that you have nothing to be afraid of at all. Don’t mind the waitress. The MC owns this club; and as the president, I’m her ultimate boss. That shit just makes some people nervous. Now, let’s have a toast,” I propose as I raise my shot.
Charlotte raises her glass and touches it to mine. “Go ahead,” she prompts me.
“To old friendships never forgotten and new friendships we’ve forged on the way.” I tell her before downing my shot.
Charlotte swallows hers as well, and then slams her glass down on the railing. “I think that sentiment deserves one more, don’t you?” she asks me.
“For new friendships? You’re damned right,” I grin at her as I pour another round. We pound them down. Then, as I place my glass down, Charlotte stands up, craning her neck to look back inside and see across the dance floor.
“That’s not good,” Charlotte mutters. I turn to try to follow her line of sight across the club.
“What’s not good?” I ask, leaning in close to her ear to speak. Not just because of the music being so loud, but because her scent is…
“That!” Her finger points to the dance floor where Verek is grinding hard on a redhead. A woman I quickly recognize as Charlotte’s friend, the bride-to-be.
“She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she’s just having a little fun before the big day,” I assure the uptight widow. “Did you have cold feet before your wedding?”
“No, of course not,” she says. I’m pretty sure I hear an indignant scoff in her reply.
“Right. Because Adam was perfect, and you never had any doubts about how much you loved him or he loved you,” I mutter.
“What?” Charlotte asks, turning her face to me with her brow furrowed.
“Nothing. You want to dance?”
“No.” Her refusal comes before the question has barely left my mouth.
“All right. We’ll just sit out here and watch all of your friends have a good time.”
After a few moments of neither of us speaking, I can’t help but ask, “You haven’t been with anyone since Adam, have you?”
Squaring her shoulders, she says, “That’s none of your business.”
“I could make it my business,” I offer, to which she simply rolls her eyes.
A few seconds later, Charlotte faces me directly with her eyes blazing. “What Adam and I had was five years of marriage. He was my best friend, my soulmate, my…everything! And while he may be gone, that doesn’t mean that I’m ready to just forget him and move on with some one-night stand that would probably just be awkward and not very good.”
“Not very good?” I repeat loudly. “Woman, everything I do is in-fucking-credible, especially in the bedroom.”
“Sure it is,” she huffs with a shake of her head. “That’s what all men think, but women don’t want their brains screwed out in some quick rut. They want a connection. Romance. Friendship. Love.”
“And you don’t think it’s possible to have any of that with anyone other than your dead husband?”
“Wow, that’s some way to talk about your ‘friend’,” she replies, using air quotes while staring out at the crowd of sweaty, dancing bodies with what can only be described as longing on her face, regardless of what her mouth says. “How do you think Adam would feel about you hitting on me?” she asks.
“I think he would approve,” I tell her honestly, which makes her neck swivel in my direction again before she gets to her feet.
“Well, I don’t,” she says.
“All right then, let me rephrase that. I think he would want you to be happy.”
Charlotte’s eyes widen, and I swear I catch a glimpse of tears before she looks away. “I think I’ve had enough alcohol and loud music for one night. Goodbye, Roman,” she says as she begins to walk away.
“Leaving already?” I