Page 26 of When We Meet Again

“She doesn’t normally sleep on flights, but if she needs to, she uses the pull-out couch.” I pull my lips between my teeth and give a tight smile. For some reason, the thought of them out there together tugs at something I’m extremely unfamiliar with.

Jealousy.

CHAPTER 15

ROMAN

I know Waverly’s jealous. Her face is scrunched and she’s trying to play it off by smiling, but instead, she looks…constipated. Yet she’s still pretty.Oh, Lord.I’m a goner.

“Why don’t we go finish our champagne?” I lead her out of the bedroom by the small of her back. Her camisole is so thin, it’s like I’m touching her bare skin. The soft, dark beige-colored fabric is only a few shades lighter than her skin. It’s fucking with my head.

My mind wanders, watching her sit in her seat. It’s all I can do not to imagine running my hands down her body, tracing her tan lines. If she wears anything while sunning to make any tan lines. Fuck. I have to stop that line of thought quickly.

“Rome?” Waverly calls my name from the seat. She’s belted with the champagne in her hand.

“The captain told us to fasten our seatbelts. Unless you’re going to try to balance while taking off. If so, let me grab my phone really quick so I can preserve that for posterity…and social media.” She pretends to reach into her backpack and pull her phone out.

“She has jokes,” I kid, taking a seat next to her. I want to ask her about the last time she flew, but I know it was her flyinghome alone from the Philippines when she should have been next to my brother. I can’t help but wonder if she wishes it was him here instead of me, but I bite my tongue. “We can watch a movie if you want.”

“Yes!” She white-knuckles the armrest between us as the plane starts to move to the runway.

I say nothing but offer her my hand and she doesn’t hesitate to take it. “You know, it was strange flying to the Philippines with Patrick and flying home without him. It was surreal. You know? It felt like I was living a dream I couldn’t wake up from. And then when I finally got back to the apartment…he’s gone so often with the Coast Guard, that it wasn’t the fact he wasn’t there, because I was used to his absences, but more that I knew he was never coming back.”

The plane starts ascending and she finishes off the rest of the glass of champagne in a few chugs before she continues, “Lately, I’ve been thinking…” she stops talking and turns to look at me. Her eyes slowly bouncing from my lips to my eyes. “Maybe our relationship was just a means for an attachment. Perhaps it was nothing more than a psychology study of two different attachment styles that spanned our entire relationship.”

Her face falls along with her shoulders. When he was alive, it seems as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders if what she’s saying is true, which she would have no reason for it not to be. I mean, I know my brother, and he had never been invested in any woman before Waverly.

“While I was with Patrick, I practically became a psychologist without a degree. I have what’s called an anxious attachment, or a fear of him abandoning me—something I never looked further into and don’t want to—and he has an avoidant attachment. Mr. Independent finds it hard to get close—even intimate—with someone, even if that someone is their girlfriend. If you stop to think about it…”

She pauses again and turns away from me. “What we had, it wasn’t anything earth-shattering. It wasn’t exciting. We were just there. Like roommates who fucked sometimes.”

I choke on what little champagne is left in my mouth. Imagining being so insecure in your relationship that you have to google psychological terminology to figure out what the fuck is wrong with the man you’re dating because he doesn’t want to have sex with you. Fuck, that’s depressing. And also, what man doesn’t want sex with someone as beautiful as Waverly?

“That last part was aggressive. I apologize.”

“Please.” I clear my throat and cough once more. “Don’t apologize for using the word ‘fuck.’ I’ve been cutting back on my swearing around you; otherwise, I curse like a sailor.”

“Why don’t you swear around me?” she asks, forehead crinkled.

“I guess I’m turning a new leaf because it’s disrespectful to swear in front of women.” I grab a small bottle of Crown Royal whiskey from the holder next to me. “Or so my father told us.” I smirk at her. She’s not the type to get offended by a man swearing. Patrick never said any vulgar words, but when I was around, I would say all the words. She’d look at me differently. Like her interest was piqued. Her cheeks would blush, and her head would tilt slightly with the corners of her mouth turned up. It’s actually fucking hard for me not to tell her I’d fuck her into oblivion if she’d let me. I’ll pretend Patrick, wherever he is, didn’t just hear my impure thoughts about his woman.

I continue, “I get it, though. It must be a hard way to live, always wondering if you’re doing something wrong. Walking on eggshells.” She says nothing and blinks. “When we all would hang out, you always seemed happy, but…can I speak honestly?”

“I should hope so.” Waverly crosses her arms and purses her lips.

I grin before I continue. Her little attitude rears its ugly head and she becomes feisty. It’s the old Waverly cracking through those walls she’s built around her, and I love it.

“As an outsider looking in, I sense you’ve been losing yourself. From the first time we met at the bar, and every time after that, you became less and less of who you were. I just remember seeing you and being so in awe of you that I couldn't help but point you out to Patrick and –”Shit. I can feel my face pale as I fumble for words. I didn’t plan on…

Her eyes narrow.

I can’t think of anything to say.

Her eyes go wide as they continue to narrow. “Wait, what do you mean, you pointed me out to Patrick?”

Shit. I didn’t really plan on telling her what actually went down the night we met. I don’t want to shine a negative light on my brother, especially when he’s not here to defend himself.

“Roman, tell me right now or I will tell the pilot to turn this plane around.” Her brows furrow and she turns toward me.

---