Page 57 of For The Weekend
I proceeded to laugh maniacally. Because who in the hell would mind?
The man is a walking side of beef. Pure muscle. Every part of him is huge. If I didn’t find it adorable that he sometimes has trouble making it through doors and has to turn sideways, I’d say it was too much. But this man is just enough for me. Even with barbells through his nipples.
Especiallywith barbells through his nipples.
The thing in his pants, on the other hand?
It’s a goddamn anaconda.
It’s all well and good in rap songs, until it’s right there, next to you, outlined in cotton. I’m not exactly a nature girlie, and the thought of trying to tame that monster is intimidating.
Not to say I would be the one to do it.
Roman was a perfect gentleman last night, surprising even when he asked if I wanted to snuggle.
My heart wept at his actual words, “You need a cuddle, sunshine?”
Fuck yeah, I did.
I always need a cuddle.
And his arm was so heavy, it felt wonderful. Immediate sensory relief.
We talked a lot, not about my mom or family, but more about my ADHD. He was so interested in learning about things that helped, praising me for my daily adaptations as if I were solving world hunger and not simply living my life. We talked a lot about Mazie, flipped through the hundreds of pictures on his phone of her and then the posts of cars on his social media. He told me how he grew up working on cars with Ian, and when he was old enough, it was the only thing that interested him. The only thing that he felt kept him connected to his family that was so far away, not necessarily physically but certainly emotionally. He explained how he’d lived in a few different places, going wherever the next high took him, but that he’d been in upstate New York for the last ten years or so, and that’s where he’d met Mazie’s mom. Since he gave me that in, I asked about her, but all the answer I got was, “That’s a long story. For another time, maybe.”
It was almost two in the morning by then, so I agreed and burrowed under the covers. He reminded me to set my alarmbecause I’d asked him to earlier, and he kissed my forehead. Then the living heat box threw his arm over his head and fell asleep instantaneously.
I laughed, thinking it was a joke.
But, no. The man closed his eyes and went to sleep like a magic trick. Look, folks—now, he’s awake. And now, he’s asleep.
I ended up scrolling on my phone for another forty-five minutes before I closed my eyes, so I’m not super energetic after less than five hours of sleep.
But I was told in no uncertain terms that I wouldruinLily’s big day if I didn’t meet the bridal party in the salon at seven thirty this morning.
Before I creep out of bed, a seventy-five-pound weight bands around my waist, a face against my neck. “Morning, sunshine.”
“Morning,” I say through a yawn.
He pulls me right up against him, my back against his chest, my ass against the steel rod in his underwear. He’s clearly not embarrassed—nor should he be. Though he might want to call a doctor about giant syndrome. Could a person only have it in their penis? Not that the rest of him is all that small. I’d have to Google it to know for sure.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, hand snaking up under my pajama top to spread over my belly, and I start to tug it away. He doesn’t budge, but he does raise his head. “What?”
“That’s my pooch.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move except for his fingertips pressing into my skin. I curl my legs up as if I can make myself smaller, but he isn’t having it and tightens his hold, angling his elbow to force me to straighten out.
“I like your pooch,” he says, grinding himself against me as if to prove the point.
And yeah, okay. Igetit.
But as I’m about to put on the ugliest dress known to man and stand up next to a bunch of women who are half my size, I’m not particularly excited about it.
I can already hear my mother’s fatphobic comments about me eating the wedding cake tonight.
“I can hear you thinking,” Roman says, lips moving against the nape of my neck. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel like getting up.”
