knots. “I colored it not long after we met actually. Maybe three months later.”
His lips curve up into a smirk and one of his dimples peeks through. “I preferred it blonde.”
I dip my head to the floor as if somehow he can read the truth in my face. The reason why I changed my hair along with every other secret of the nightmare I endured after Lucio caught me trying to find Roamyn. “Me too.”
My cheeks burn with shame. I’m glad Roamyn didn’t find me. I might not have ended my life the night he met me. He might have saved me then, but every day after, I’ve been fighting a losing battle I have no chance of winning. I’m not proud and I’m not better. I’m just surviving.
“You can’t find someone who doesn’t want to be found, Roamyn.”
His brows furrow and lines in his forehead crease. “I beg to differ. Now. Can you put the rest of your clothes on, please?”
He nods his head at my figure and I look down my body. I frown and cover my bare skin with my hands, tugging at my bra and panties. Embarrassed I’m standing here in my slutty stripper get up in front of a man worthy of so much more. My eyes dance around my costume until I notice the bulge in Roamyn’s pants. Hope rockets through me, pushing away the horrible flashes and I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. Stripper clothes, my age and all—his body still wants me even if his head doesn’t.
“You sure that’s what you really want?” I mumble, peeking up at him through my thick mascara coated lashes.
He growls as if he’s in pain. “Nope. But you’re gonna do it anyway to save us both the grief of doing something we’ll regret later.” He bends to the floor and picks up my black coat from underneath the bed.
The comment stings.
“Here.” He passes it to me. “I’m gonna take a quick shower…” he trails off and peers down his chiseled chest as he turns around.
“A cold one apparently,” he murmurs and I bite my lip as I watch every muscle in his back move across the large bedroom all the way to the bathroom.
His hand tugs on the door frame and a second later Roamyn’s head pokes out. “I’ll be out in a minute. Just, don’t go anywhere. Okay?”
I nod at his question that comes out more like a demand. My mouth becomes dry, and I head out of his room in search of some water. I step out into a small open plan kitchen and living room. A large, new, very unused kitchen sits to the left while the rest of the apartment screams Roamyn. Messy. Man only zone. An L shape movie theater lounge, complete with cup holders sits to the right side of the room, facing a massive flat screen television mounted on the wall. Beside the lounge, a boxing bag hangs from the ceiling, and as I get closer to the kitchen, I notice boxing gloves strewn on the floor near the bag. Keys, mail, and paperwork, clutter the countertop as I wander to the fridge. The weak light of the refrigerator lightens the room and I scan the shelves for water.
“Bingo.” Pulling out the water I take a sip and shut it behind me.
My fingers drift over the granite countertop as I walk into the living room, taking in the photos on the wall, the clothes hanging over the side of the lounge, and the city lights out the long window at the far end of the apartment. My heart flutters at a young Roamyn in an old tattered photo with a gorgeous woman with long dark hair and almond shaped eyes just like his. She’s classically beautiful, from her natural smile on her flawless tanned skin to her perfect posture as she holds a beautiful blond haired boy in her arms. The grin on the boy’s face gives him away. Roamyn years later, still has the same dimples and cheekiness to his smile. I drift from the old, discolored photo to a newer one. My fingers run over the trim of the frame and I freeze. My heartbeat thrashes loudly in my ears. Roamyn, younger by a few years, less aging around his eyes, his hair is a little longer than he wears it now. He’s smiling from ear to ear. Happy. An arm wrapped around the shoulder of a dark-haired, good-looking man, mirroring his spirit.