Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,16

for years how hard I was to please, even when I’d done everything in my power to be as low-maintenance as possible.

“Roman—” My words died in my throat as I skidded to an abrupt halt.

My eyes widened, my world and vision narrowing to the car parked a few spaces down from Roman’s.

Electric green. Aston Martin.

The air in my lungs tightened, all at once too much and not enough. I backed up one step, then two, until I’d made it onto the sidewalk bordering the boutique shops. I scanned the area surrounding us, my eyes darting every direction.

“T?” Roman was at my side in an instant. “What’s wrong.”

“He’s here.” I choked out the words.

“Where do you see him?” Roman followed my line of sight, landing on Rick’s car.

But where was he? Rick hated places like this—he had a personal shopper who purchased all of his clothes, and they certainly weren’t from the shops around here. Was he following me? How would he even know—

“Omigod,” I gasped, and fished my phone from my pocket. No wonder…he’d shut everything else of mine down but this. This one way to get into contact with me.

Or track me.

“This is his,” I said, my fingers trembling around the iPhone. “He set it up for me. Put the tracking app on it in case we got separated at events.” And he’d used it countless times to practically follow me into the lady’s room on more than one occasion. Or use it as a weapon against me when I’d gone somewhere without telling him specifics—like the one time I’d gone shopping with Liberty for a Raptors pre-season party last year. God, he’d broken two dishes that night after he’d asked me where all we’d gone and I’d forgotten to mention the Cuban restaurant we’d stopped at for lunch.

The memories hit me in the chest, over and over again—him screaming and hurtling dishes across the room, him calm and cold as he blamed himself for not being able to hold my attention, his pleas for me not to leave him because he’d be lost without me. His excuses of pressure from his position, his media presence, his team.

Each dark memory climbed higher and higher in my throat until I couldn’t breathe or think around them. Until everything he’d done choked the life from me. Until I saw nothing but red because of that damn fear clawing in my veins at the thought of him here, watching me. Watching us.

I jerked my arm down and the phone clattered against the sidewalk with a satisfying crunch.

“T,” Roman said as he put a hand on my shoulder.

I flinched out of instinct at the touch, my eyes flaring wide as I looked from him to the smashed phone and back again. “I’m sorry!” I blurted, hurrying to gather the broken pieces off of the sidewalk, cringing at the curious looks I got from shoppers passing by.

“Stop,” Roman whispered, on his knees beside me. He grabbed my shaking hands, a gentle touch, and I dropped the pieces.

“I didn’t mean to cause a scene,” I said, almost on autopilot. God, this would be on the social sites soon. Especially if someone had identified Roman. How embarrassing, how mortifying—

“Teagan Ray Hall.”

I focused clearly on Roman’s dark eyes, the use of my full name snapping me totally to the present. His face softened, not with pity but with understanding and just a hint of anger—not at me, but something deeper. “When have I ever given a shit about scenes?”

My bottom lip trembled, my entire body trembled, and I shook my head.

Never.

Not once had he ever chided me for doing anything in public or private or…ever.

“Come on,” he said, hauling me to my feet. We walked in silence to his car where I stowed the bags in his trunk. “There’s a Verizon over there,” he said, pointing down the sidewalk. “Let’s go get you a new phone.”

I followed him, more inside my head than the present. I kept waiting for Rick to pop up from around the corner, waiting for him to unleash that cold fury he usually reserved for behind closed doors. It would land on Roman, too, simply because he was here. Simply because he was my friend.

The thought twisted something dark and angry inside me.

“We’ll get you on my plan,” Roman said after we’d entered the phone store.

I parted my lips to protest, but he quieted me with his hands raised. “Only until you can get your own,” he said. “I’m not trying to control