Page 16 of The Story of Me
“George, you missed a grouse weekend, darl. Seriously, next time I go down, you’ve got to come. So many men, George, so many.” Roman sits down on the stool next to me and Brooke gives a little squeal.
“Fuck me! Roaming Roman the Rooter, when d’ya get back in town?” She throws her arms around his neck and he wraps his around her waist; I watch with interest, especially after what she just called him. I know we all talk English, but the Australians have completely different slang to what I was used to, and I was learning it slowly. I know a ‘Rooter’ or a ‘Root Rat’ was someone who shagged about a lot.
Roman kisses Brooke’s cheek. “How ya goin’, Brookie? Ya lookin’ good, darl.” She stands back, puts her hand on her hip and looks him up and down; he’s put his vest back on, but his nicely tanned and toned arms are still on display.
“You too, Rome, lookin’ pretty damn hot yourself. Broken any hearts since you’ve been back yet?”
He shakes his head, turns and looks at me. “Would you like a drink, Georgia?”
Before I have a chance to say anything, Brooke shrieks, “Oh, my fuckin’ God, you have got to be kidding me!” She looks between Roman and me. “Three days, three fuckin’ days I’ve been away, how… when did this happen?” She gestures with her pointy finger between the two of us.
“Shut up, Brooke,” Roman says to her. She folds her arms across her chest and cocks her hip to the side, tapping her foot.
“Brooke, can I get some drinks please? Stop being a child, nothing’s going on. We only met last night,” I say to her. She frowns.
“So, why are you here together now, George? Seriously, you need to watch this one, darl; he has a rep. Where was Jax? Didn’t he steer ya right?”
“Hello.” Roman waves his hand in front of Brooke’s face. “I am here ya know; I can hear what you’re saying.” He looks across at me. “Don’t believe a word of it, Georgia; none of it’s true.”
“Haaa, bullshit Roman, bullshit,” Brooke shouts as she walks back around the bar. “What can I get yas? And no getting my cousin drunk and trying to get in her pants; she don’t need none of your kind of trouble in her life.” Roman and I look at each other, both smiling and shaking our heads.
“Thanks for your concern, Brooke, but maybe he’s exactly the kind of trouble I need right now.”
Her mouth drops open, and Roman leans into my ear and whispers, “I’m exactly the kind of trouble you need right now, exactly the kind.” Goose bumps travel up my spine, but I keep staring ahead as if he’s had no effect on me.
“Georgia, you are a bad, bad girl, but you’re in very good company. I’ve heard first-hand that Roman here is a very bad, bad boy. Now, take this bottle of wine and go be bad together, but be done with the badness by the time I finish up here tonight.” I can feel my face flush.What is it with my Australian family and their outspokenness?
Roman takes the bottle from Brooke.
“C’mon, Georgia, I can’t take much more of your cousin’s mouth.”
We stand as Brooke calls from where she’s serving another customer, “Yeah, go on; get out of here, ya pair of freaks!” I turn and glare at her; she shrugs, winks and turns back to her customer.
* * *
We spend the rest of the evening sitting on the balcony, drinking wine and talking about our lives. Despite the drink, I remain fairly guarded. I’ve never really had many friends outside of my family. My best friends growing up were my brothers and Jimmie, then later on, Ashley; my best friends had gone on to marry my brothers so they eventually became family, as well. Sean was my brother’s best friend and was already a part of my family before we were even in a relationship, which all meant I had never really trusted anyone outside my family, and I’m not about to start now. I like Roman; he’s a nice bloke, but I don’t know yet if I can trust him. What if he goes to the papers? What if I kiss him? What if I let slip some secret the press doesn’t already know about my life and he sells me out? I’m suddenly feeling extremely paranoid…
“What are you thinking, Georgia? What’s going on in that mind of yours?” His eyes sparkle in the dark. We’ve drunk wine and beer and smoked another joint between us.
I sigh deeply. “I was just thinking about how hard it is learning to trust people.”
“What people? Hope ya don’t mean me?”
“No offence, but yeah, you included, Rome. Sorry, but when you’ve had as many lies told about you in the newspapers as I have, it makes it really hard to trust anyone.”
He nods. “Yeah, I s’pose it would, but what makes you think I’m gonna go to the papers with anything? I’ve got nothing to go to them with.”
I feel really bad, but I need to put it out there. “I know you haven’t, and I need to keep it that way.”
“That’s horrible, Georgia. That’s a horrible way to think of me and that’s a horrible way to go through the rest of your life. To be honest with ya, darl, I’m offended.” I knew it would piss him off, but I’m a little stoned, a little drunk and feeling brave. I just needed to get it out there, so there it is.
“I’m sorry.”
“I thought we’d had a nice day, George. I thought we’d become friends, but obviously I was wrong.” He stands and pushes his chair back loudly; I assume he’s going to leave, but he moves around the table that’s between us and leans down into my face “You’re just a girl, a beautiful girl I met in a bar. You’re funny and intelligent, and I’m really pissed off that you think I would do something like go to the press. You’re not famous to me; you’re just someone I really, really…” he looks all over my face, then brings his fingers up to my mouth and brushes the tips over my lips, “…really want to kiss.”
My breaths are coming short and shallow, my heart is beating hard in my chest and I can’t take my eyes from his mouth. He brings it closer, smelling of wine and cigarettes. His hand slides around the back of my neck and he closes the distance between our mouths, his lips gently brushing mine. He pulls me up by my arm and I stand; his lips move slightly while his tongue traces along the seam of my mouth but our mouths are still closed and I resist. His hands rest on my hips and he pulls me into him closer, tighter, my boobs pressing against his chest as my arms wrap around his neck. My fingers slide into his hair, and he lets out a little moan as my nails rake his scalp.
A million emotions are racing through me: this is wrong, but it feels so right; this is good, but it should be bad; I want this but I shouldn’t. Then I realise that while I’ve been thinking, my mouth has opened and his tongue is inside, tangling with mine. He grinds against me. I can feel his erection pushing through the thin material of his shorts and want, need and desire rush through me. From where? I don’t know. I’ve not felt a thing for almost a year. Nothing, and yet instantly, it’s back. I’m a woman of thirty-two, and despite the shitty hand life recently dealt me, my appetite for sex has apparently survived. I grip Roman’s hair hard and grind my hips into his.
