Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,21

I would have said sex with her was probably a lot like a roller coaster—a jaw-dropping ride that left you scrambling to get back on again.

Thank God she was gone when I turned around because I was certain she’d see the starvation I felt for her in my eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I lectured Walt as he tilted his head and whined softly. “It’s not like you’re any better with the ladies.”

He huffed at me, and I rolled my eyes as I took him outside.

Teagan was an hour later than normal as she slid into bed next to me, smelling like that sweet shampoo she loved. Not that I’d been watching the clock or anything.

Instead of rolling against me and tucking in tight, she settled into the other side of the bed and sighed. Yet another shift.

I stared at the smooth, creamy skin of her back that was bared between her tank-top straps until my breaths evened out. I had just drifted into sleep when I heard her whisper, “You have it all wrong, Roman. I’m the one who would never be good enough. Not for you, anyway.”

Thanks, Mom. Even my dreams had gotten weird.

Pity. I liked the dreams where Teagan was naked and under me way better.

6

Teagan

“Give me a break, Castle!” I yelled at the screen, scooting to the edge of Roman’s couch. “You’re killing us!” I raked my hands through my hair, shaking my head.

This was the fourth preseason Raptors game I’d watched from the comfort of Roman’s living room as opposed to the family box where I’d had the privilege of watching for the past few years. And Castle—our backup quarterback—was killing us with turnovers.

Walt dutifully kept me warm, perching his head in my lap and not at all flinching at my elevated critiques shot toward the TV.

I sent up a silent prayer that Nixon remained healthy and whole for the upcoming season, both because I adored him but also because we needed his arm, his ability to read the field and the defense.

Settling back into Roman’s couch, I rubbed Walt’s ears and sighed. I missed the live-action, missed the adrenaline that came with cheering for a team you loved with your entire being. Missed watching Roman run it in for TDs and the little celebration he’d have with Nixon and Hendrix when he did.

I tilted my head, searching my heart, and my memory.

Huh.

No hint of nostalgia hit me for watching Rick.

Sure, I’d been there to support him too, especially in the beginning, but as our relationship had progressively grown worse…I’d been there for Roman.

And Nix. And Hendrix. Roman’s best friends—besides me.

The camera panned to the sidelines where my boys sat watching the game, and my heart freaking soared at the sight of Roman laughing at something Nixon had said. That smile I knew by heart, the genuineness in it, that special crinkle that scrunched his eyes when he had a real good laugh.

Heat sizzled beneath my skin—the uniform had always had that effect on me, though. I mean, the men were sculpted to the nth degree, and Roman? God, he was just…he’d always been…

I blew out a breath, thankful when the camera panned back to the actual game that we were barely winning, thanks to Castle. The man was trying his hardest, but he had a real chip on his shoulder. He needed to take more cues from Nixon, listen to his advice, and watch him and take notes if he ever wanted to be on the same level as him someday.

Once a commercial break hit, I gently scooted out from under Walt’s massive head and pushed off the comfy couch to pad barefoot through Roman’s house. I double-checked the kitchen was as clean as I’d left it this morning, and then switched a load of laundry. I’d fold it when the game started back up.

Not because I had to.

Not because I feared what would happen if I didn’t keep the place tidy.

But because I wanted to. Because I wanted to be helpful and useful and respectful to my best friend’s house—the one he’d let me crash in for two months now.

Two months.

Had it truly been that long? It felt like yesterday that I’d come storming up Roman’s driveway, tears streaking down my cheeks, and fear crippling my heart.

I shook off the memory, hating the ice that chilled my skin whenever I thought about it. Or whenever the flashbacks would haunt me, usually in those quiet moments before falling asleep and send me running