Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,15
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.
“Thank you, again,” I said two hours later. Roman had helped me successfully gather a new wardrobe, three pairs of new shoes, and some active gear too. Enough to last me until I found the courage to go to Rick’s and collect the rest of my things.
“Always,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his own as we headed to the parking lot.
The sun coated the collection of boutique shops with a golden light, the air humid yet comforting at the same time. “I really needed to get out of the house,” I admitted, sucking in a good lungful of that fresh air.
“I know,” he said, flashing me a cocky look. “I’m always right.”
I barked out a laugh, and play shoved him. “Oh, you think so, huh?” I teased. “What about that time you thought it would be a brilliant idea to fill Jace Keller’s locker with bullfrogs?”
Roman froze on the sidewalk, gaping at me. “Jace was a class-A prick,” he argued. “He cut off one of your braids!”
“And I broke his nose for that.”
“That wasn’t enough,” Roman said, laughing.
“It took us an entire week to catch them,” I said through my laughter. “And those bullfrogs earned us a month’s detention!”
“In fourth grade! I think we ended up passing notes the entire time, anyway.”
I snort-laughed at the memory. He was right, damn him.
That megawatt smile stretched his lips as he pointed at me. “See,” he said, tilting his chin in the air. “Always. Right.”
“Gah!” I threw my arms up in mock-defeat, but the laughter and happiness peeking out of my heart were real. “How do you do it?” I asked as we rounded the corner, near where he’d parked.
“Years of practice,” he said. “If you’re referring to my ability to be correct at any given point in time.”
I rolled my eyes. “No,” I said. “Somehow, you know just how to make me laugh. Or smile.”
“It’s not hard,” he said, his voice lowering as our pace slowed.