Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,27

as the opening credits played for The Notebook on my big screen.

Get your mind out of her pants.

“How was I supposed to know that you’d learned to tie a cherry stem with your damned tongue?” The tongue that had stayed behind her teeth two weeks ago when she’d given me that good luck kiss before our first home game.

Was it a friends-only thing? More? I’d never been a coward, but the idea of opening that subject was enough to nearly shrivel my dick. Nearly, because the way her breasts looked in that tank top had me adjusting my athletic shorts as discreetly as possible.

Good thing this couch had a few throw pillows, too.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Roman Padilla.” Her smirk deepened before she rolled her eyes and sighed. “But fine, it was a trick bet since I already knew I could do it. But really, you can’t complain about The Notebook. It’s a classic!” She threw a piece of popcorn in my direction, and I caught it in my mouth.

Her grin just about stopped my heart.

“No way,” I argued after I chewed and swallowed. “Classics are Casablanca or Citizen Kane. They are most definitely not The Notebook.”

She hit pause and turned to face me. “Are you reneging on our bet?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Never!” I balked. Bets between us were sacred. “I’m just questioning your choice in movies.” I caught another piece of popcorn she tossed my way.

“It reminded me of you.”

“It what?” My jaw dropped a bit.

“He gives her an art studio.” Her cheeks pinkened, and she looked away, leaving me dumbstruck for a second. “Look, we can watch something—”

“He gives her an art studio? Spoiler alert,” I teased, hating that flicker of self-doubt that clouded those blue eyes. If I didn’t already want to kill Baker for putting his hands on T, the way he’d systematically broken her down until she questioned every choice would have gotten me there.

“Speaking of the art studio…” A wide smile spread across her face.

“Yeah?” I leaned over and grabbed a handful of popcorn. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a post-practice Wednesday afternoon than bantering with Teagan.

“I sold another one of my pieces today!” She practically glowed with happiness.

“No way!” That was the third this month. “Congrats, T. That’s awesome!”

“As soon as that check clears, I’ll have enough to get out of your hair!” Her smile softened. “I never meant to stay this long, you know.”

My stomach dropped. “Don’t rush on my account. I know you’re just getting back on your feet, and I’d hate to see you scrambling for cash just so you can pay rent.” The minute she left, this would all end. The dinners, the movie-matinees, the sound of her singing as she worked in the art studio. It would all end just as I’d finally gotten her back in my life. The last year she’d been with Baker, I’d barely been allowed to see her. “Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor if you stayed a little longer.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows rose.

I nodded toward where Walt had consumed the love seat. “I have to admit, it’s nice that he hasn’t run off another house sitter during away games. I went through five last season, alone.” I cringed.

“What?” She laughed. “Walt’s a marshmallow!” Her laugh picked my stomach off the floor, but tension still ran thick between my shoulders.

“He can be a bit…imposing.” Especially to strangers in the house. “Seriously, T, I love having you here,” I admitted softly, rubbing the top of my head and looking away. “It’s been nice getting to spend some real time with you again. So like I initially told you—stay as long as you want. But if you’re ready for your own space, I get that, too.”

She swallowed and glanced from me to Walt and back again. “Maybe just a little longer,” she said softly.

I nodded.

Awareness stretched between us, just like it had in all of our interactions since she’d kissed me. There had been a subtle shift from that awkward, just friends convo in the kitchen after dinner with our moms, to…well, whatever the hell this was. Not that it was anything. She was fresh out of a long-term, shitty relationship, and I might have wanted her more than I wanted my next breath, but that didn’t mean I was going to act on it.

She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and faced the television, fumbling quickly for the remote. “And on that note…” She pressed