Page 79 of Rome: The Ballerina

I felt as if I’d consumed a bottle of homemade tequila that had aged over twelve long years. Except it was him. He was the tequila.

“I close my eyes and you’re there. I open them and you’re nowhere to be found. If I could explain that emptiness– that disappointment, I would. But, I doubt I’d find the words to correctly express it.”

“You don’t have to,” I breathed out, finally exhaling. “I’ve suffered for years with the same emptiness.”

“If I was the cause, then you will suffer no longer.”

“You’re engaged, Saint.”

“I’m sorting my shit out, Rome.”

“I was clear.”

“So am I.”

He pushed the bag in my direction.

“I can’t accept that.”

“You can and you will. It’s only a gift. Nothing more.”

I inhaled, taking the bag he was handing me, knowing it was far more than just a gift.

“What’s the envelope?”

“Season passes. There’s not much left of the season, but I want you there for the rest of it regardless.”

“Sai–”

He shifted his weight, grounding himself in my foyer. He didn’t own the place, but one would assume. His confidence was repulsive.

“Bring a friend… or three. There are four passes. I want to see your face every time that ball hits the basket and I put another point up on the board.”

My breath hiked in my throat.

“I’m not a homewrecker.”

“You’re right. My home was wrecked before you touched down. It’s in need of a fixing, and I think you’re the woman for the job.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do that, then.”

“You’re engaged.”

“You’ve said that already. And as of tomorrow evening, Rome, I will be a free agent.”

He paused, staring at me with those dreamy brown eyes. He kissed the skin of his teeth with a titter. His shoulders lifted and fell.

“Hardly, because I’ve already been scouting and know whose team I’m trying to be on.”

My nostrils flared with emotions. My heart hammered in my chest. The room grew warmer. My palms perspired.

“That’s if she’ll have me.” Saint shrugged a second time.

His beauty was grueling. Agonizing. Treacherous. We’d make such pretty babies.

“Get some rest, pretty. I’ll see you in less than forty-eight hours, though that feels way too long from now. Feet on the wood.”

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