and yesterday at the grocery store, is now gone. He’s perfectly clean-shaven, and honestly, I can’t tell which looks best on him. His lips are plump, the bottom much larger than the top, but both have me beat in the plump department.
But his eyes? They’re what do me in. They’re what cause my breath to hitch, my heart to pound, and my stomach to dip with that damn foreign sensation. The pewter blue is vibrant, taking on a gray hue. Like sunlight on chrome, ice in the Atlantic. A fucking stunning pale blue. He really is beautiful. Not in a feminine way, but one you can’t help but stare at. He’s beautiful in a dark, rebellious way. I feel it in the way the air is charged around him—around us.
I start coughing when I see the makings of a smirk on his face. He’s caught me red-handed. It’s the last thing I was expecting from him. And it’s gone before I can analyze it further. Embarrassment coats my cheeks because he knows I was checking him out. I mean, it’s obvious. I wasn’t exactly discreet about it. Not in the least.
“Soooo, Mad Max, huh?” I try for nonchalance, but my voice, my whole fucking body, betrays me by sounding breathy. Ignoring me, Roman snaps for Max to come, and he does so begrudgingly. Tentatively, I invite myself inside his garage, observing the space. I take in the license plates on the wall and the hardware and other tools. There’s a station with car parts and items resting on a toolbox.
“You fix cars?”
Roman crosses those thick arms over his big chest, glaring daggers at me. The smirk that was inching across his face is completely wiped away now. It’s like he suddenly remembers he hates me.
“Is there a reason you’re here talking to me?”
I fidget under his intense glare. Shifting toward the car he’s been working on, I decide to ignore his obvious dismissal and take in the shiny black paint job and the red stripes over the hood. It’s nice. A muscle car. The same one from the grocery store yesterday.
“What is this, a Mustang? My dad would probably love this car.”
Roman scoffs. “A Mustang,” he mumbles under his breath, shaking his head with disappointment. “You can clearly see it’s not a Mustang.”
I roll my eyes. “You know, you don’t always have to be so rude about everything.”
“If you think I’m so rude, why are you here?” he quips coldly, leaning his black smudged hand against his pride and joy. There’s a gruffness in his tone that sets me on edge. The question stumps me, because I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here. I knew coming here to play nice was a mistake, but foolish me had hoped that he’d be an adult about this situation. That’s obviously not going to happen.
I don’t understand why I find myself constantly thinking about him. I refuse to believe it’s just because he’s hot. There’s something about Roman, an air of mystery around him that has me wanting to know who he is.
Why is he such an asshole?
Why did he name his dog, Mad Max?
Why does he hate me so much?
It doesn’t matter because it’s not like he’ll tell me anyway. I’m familiar with Roman’s type. I know his type all too well. He’s just like Travis and Reid. Men who look like them always treat women a certain way, and honestly, it’s a waste of my time constantly trying to figure him out. I refuse to settle, not when I deserve better than either of them is willing to give.
“You’re right. I can’t fathom why I’m here. I know your type well enough to grasp that you’re a jackass. Just like the rest of them.” Fuming, I spin on my heels and stomp out of his garage. I’m partly angry with myself. I hate that I’m like this. I gravitate toward men who are bad for me, and I can’t for the life of me understand why. I have a loving father, so it’s not like I have daddy issues, but a part of me goes out and hopes, it’ll be the moment I meet the one. I’m constantly searching for love.
I’m also angry with my god-awful neighbor for being such a dick. For invading my headspace and being an unwanted distraction in this new chapter in my life. Why couldn’t he just be a nice, regular neighbor who I don’t have to worry about walking on eggshells around?