Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,3
of my women. She was the only woman that mattered. Period.
“We had a deal?” Her eyes narrowed as she repeated my statement.
“Remember? Whoever hit it big first had to let the other live with them.” I shrugged. “I just happened to hit it big first, so now I have to pay up.”
“We were twelve.” She rolled her eyes.
“Wait…so the promises we made back then don’t matter? Because if that’s the case, I no longer have to keep cookies ‘n cream ice cream stocked in my freezer at all times.” That promise had been made at eleven, during one of her mother’s let’s-obsess-over-Teagan’s-weight phases.
The woman had never quite understood that Teagan was perfectly shaped to begin with, and as she’d grown into her figure, those lush curves weren’t just healthy—they were sexy as fuck.
“Hey, no ditching the ice cream,” she protested, the corners of her pink, kissable lips ticking upward into something that almost resembled a smile.
“Then accept the fact that you living here is simply fulfilling the terms of a verbal contract we made sixteen years ago.” I stroked my thumbs over her tear-streaked cheekbones and felt her melt slightly with surrender.
“Fine. But only if you agree not to hammer me with questions tonight,” she finished quietly. The plea in her eyes was impossible to ignore.
“You’re going to have to tell me eventually.” My stomach tensed and threatened to flip at the nauseating possibility that this wasn’t the first time he’d left a mark on her.
“I know. Just not tonight.”
I wanted to pry open her mind and steal the answers. I wanted to cajole or even force her to tell me. But I couldn’t take anything from Teagan that she wasn’t willing to give. I never would.
“Okay. Guest room is yours for however long you want it. I’m heading to bed.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead and breathed in the scent of strawberries and whatever that intoxicating perfume was that she loved.
She nodded, and we parted at the top of the stairs, me toward the master bedroom, and her toward the guest room down the hall.
Walt curled up on his ginormous dog bed at the foot of my king-sized monstrosity, and after I cleaned up, I killed the light and climbed into bed, only to stare up at the vaulted ceiling for another hour.
How long had this been going on?
Why the fuck hadn’t she told me?
Why hadn’t I seen it?
What else had I missed?
My thoughts were so loud that I barely heard when Teagan opened my door.
I didn’t pause, think, or hesitate. I simply pulled back the covers as she climbed into bed next to me. Her skin was soft and warm as she tucked in under my arm and rested her head on my chest like we’d done this a million times before—because we had.
I slid my fingers into the thick blonde waves of her hair and gently massaged her head.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her hand splaying over my heart.
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it. I should have seen it.” I covered her hand with mine and kept making lazy circles with the other.
“Do you still like me?” she asked like we were seven again, getting over our first big fight, which had been caused by her mistakenly thinking that her role as my best friend had been usurped by Tommy Kimball. It hadn’t.
“I still like you,” I promised. “Do you still like me?”
“I always like you,” she whispered.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she drifted off to sleep, but my mind didn’t quiet—not with the moonlight streaming in through the windows, illuminating the harsh fingerprints that marred the smooth, creamy skin of her arm.
If Teagan chose not to press charges, then I’d be face-to-face with that asshole in a matter of weeks. The first full day of training camp was in less than a month.
One punch hadn’t been enough.
2
Teagan
I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my chest so hard I laid my palm over it like that might slow it down. My mind raced, a sense of disorientation tilting my inner axis.
Warm, Egyptian cotton touched my skin instead of immaculate silk.
A fresh, woodsy scent with warm chocolate undertones swirled around me instead of the sharp, tangy lemon scent I was so accustomed to.
The betrayal and rage in Rick’s eyes as he flung the pillbox toward me.
The way his face had shifted from fiery anger to a cold, calculating fury.