Page 36 of When We Meet Again

Her mouth drops open, and she merely stares, tongue-tied. “I’m sure she is. What’s not to love about Roman Huxley?”

Having her this close to my body is doing too much to me. I’ve tried taking care of the problem myself multiple times, in the shower, in my bed, but that only leaves me wanting her more.My imagination Waverly is one thing. But having her here in the flesh, I can barely control myself sober, but now...

Without a second thought, I brush my lips against her exposed neck and a soft gasp escapes her. I don’t actually kiss her neck, but I sure want to. We need to talk, and one thing I’m not good at is timing.

“Roman,” she whispers past my ear as I drag my lips across her skin, stoking a gently growing flame between us. My body aches for her touch, and it’s like she’s reading my mind when her fingers trail up my arms, over my shoulders, and into my hair, while one hand rests on my waist.

“What do you want from me, Rome?” I peel myself away from her neck to look at her, fighting the overwhelming need to push our bodies closer together. Her question causes a tingle in my stomach, and I do what I’ve been so eager to do, but feared would scare her away. My functioning mind has told me not to, but it’s no longer in control, and my liquid courage has now overtaken all rational thought.

“You.” It’s simple. It always has been. At least to me. But I see her falter, her eyes darting between mine as she tries to read my face.I’ve blown this.

“Rome, I’m not who I…who I… used to be. I’m damaged goods.” I see her falter, her eyes darting between mine as she tries to read my face. Something she’s always been so good at.

“You arenotdamaged?—”

She shoves one finger against my lips, cutting me off. I wish that finger was back in my hair. But the plus side is that her quick move threw her off balance, so the hand on my waist is tighter, her grip so strong—and so distracting—that I barely hear her next words.

“Ifeellike I’m damaged goods. And I’m not looking for your pity when I say this. I know I have a lot of work to do on myself.”

This is the most coherent she’s been all night, yet Ihaveto stop her. I can’t bear to hear it any longer, so I hold up my hand, praying that she’ll let me speak, “I need to say something before you go on,” I mumble through the finger still pressed against my lips.

She nods, retracting said finger and hooking it through one of my belt loops instead, keeping me close to her.

“And you’ll listen until the end before you interrupt?”

She rolls her eyes but nods again.

“Okay. Then, here it is. You can’t talk about yourself like that. You might have days where the damaged part of you surfaces, but it doesn’t define you.” I rest my hand on her chest, over her heart, and she leans into my touch as her eyes flutter shut.

“What’s in here defines you. Don’t fall victim to your thoughts, but instead be the victor.” Her eyes open slowly, trying to focus on mine as she blinks widely, and I smile.

“You arenotdamaged, you’re healing. And I think you’re healing from a lot more than just Patrick’s death.” Her wide gaze remains fixated on mine, as the gentle jut of her chin urges me to say more. I remove my hand from her chest, and it comes to rest on her hip.

“I love my brother. He was a decent fucking guy. He’d never leave the people he loves to go without. But he was also a dick, and you deserved to be treated so much better. You deserved to go out to eat, or bowling, or to wear weird t-shirts that say strange things. There is so much more to learn about the real you than theyouPatrick created.”

I can feel her start to tremble as the words resonate within her, and I can’t stop myself from grasping at her waist to steady her with both my words and my being. “I want to know everything about you, Kensi, if you’d just stop pushing me away. I want to know how you like your coffee. Or if you think there was enough room for Jack on that damn door, or if you thinkRose was being selfish or dumb? Would you ever swim with sharks? What was your favorite class in college, andwhy? What is your most embarrassing moment? Whether or not you think pineapple belongs on pizza… I could go on and on. Because I want to knoweverythingabout you.” I move a hand to her face and cup her chin, as my tone lowers, and she’s forced to lean in closer to hear my next words. “I want to know what makes you laugh. What makes you cry…” I rub my thumb along her bottom lip as I gaze into her tear-filled eyes. “If you’ll let me, I want to know what makes you scream.” I feel her stiffen beneath my fingertips.I shouldn’t have said that. I really shouldn’t have said that.

Overwhelmed with paranoia, I move away, running my hands through my hair. “I’m sorry.” I’m not even sure what I’m apologizing for, and being the wine-infused smartass she is, she calls me out on it.

“Sorry forwhat, exactly? Telling me how you feel?” Her gaze is as soft as a caress. Something I’ve been burning for. “Sorry for trying to learn who I am?” She shakes her head and lets out a breath of air.

“Rome, I’ve been?—”

I jump, as the door slams open against the wall, and her confession, or admittance, or whatever it was going to be, is cut short.

“I thought I’d find you kids here. We’re going to lunch on the sun deck. Neen made delicious tuna steaks.” My dad looks between us, acknowledging the silence, his eyes reading the unspoken truth of what’s been happening. Whatcouldhave happened if he hadn’t interrupted us.

“Waverly, why don’t you run ahead? I have some shop talk about the boat and finances that I’ll just run through with my son before we join you.”

The woman of my dreams looks flustered, and wanton, with something I can’t read swirling in her eyes as she locks eyes with me once more on her way out. I stare after the empty space, longing to follow, already dreading the shit about to spew from my dad’s mouth.

My dad clears his throat. “I always pride myself on being open and honest with my kids.” He pours two glasses of whiskey and hands me one. As if I need another. “I see the way you look at her.”

The way I look at her. How I’ve always looked at her. As if she lights up the darkest of rooms with her laugh. Something I’ve become so fond of hearing. Waverly’s always found me funny when I joked. But more importantly, she was the only one who always heard me on my quietest days.

“Dad, I?—”

“No. Hear me out, please, Roman.” My dad rubs his hands through his hair, frustrated.Welcome to the damn club.“I see the way you look at her. It’s in a way that I’d never seen Patrick look at her. Not in the years I’ve known her.” That’s right. Patrick never brought her around the first three years. He chalked it up to the fear of Mom and Dad scaring her away. But one night he got drunk after he had been gone for three months and admitted he didn’t know if he wanted long term with her, let alone with any woman. I think his words were, “They just don’t make women like they used to.” I never understood that because Waverly is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. He was unsure of her from the get-go, which pisses me right off, considering he approached her knowing I was going to. What did he expect?

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