Roman (Cold Fury Hockey #7)(69)
On the one night I had with Roman this week, I was a little irritated that some of our precious time together was marred when he felt the need to rant about Gray fining him for that Schultz hit. Apparently, she told him she was fining him five thousand dollars, but when she reviewed the film, she felt it was more egregious than she originally thought, and upped it to ten thousand dollars. Roman was convinced she was punishing him for dating her sister, being pissed he won’t jump at her beck and call, and that there were probably hormones involved.
My part in all of this?
I listen and remain silent. I don’t engage and I don’t offer opinions. The most I do is give each of them my empathy and pray to God that they both grow up at some point and put this crap behind them, because it’s really starting to wear on me.
This is the reason I have a little doubt about Roman.
Maybe he just doesn’t think I’m worth the effort because of my personal connection to the owner and management. Maybe he’s not here right now picking me up because he’s just not happy with the baggage that comes with my family ties.
Or maybe he’s realized that life was better when he could be free to sign autographs on women’s breasts and not have to commit to just one woman.
That’s probably it.
A flush of anger courses through me, and I know it’s irrational. But I reason that it’s rude he didn’t show up, didn’t call me, and has left me hanging with these worries. Outside of him being seriously hurt—and let’s face it, the chances of that are really slim—there’s really no excuse for him to be this late and not to have filled me in on his agenda.
“I’m going home,” I snap to Georgia, and she jerks in surprise, then quickly stands from her desk.
“Honey,” she says with her arms held out to me. “Want me to cancel dinner with Brian and you and I can go out? Drink some wine, bash on men or something?”
I snort. “You would have nothing to contribute to that conversation. You and my dad are so google-eyed over each other it makes me nauseated.”
Georgia gives a tinkling laugh, but her eyes remain filled with concern, and she doesn’t banter with me. “Seriously…you and I can hang tonight. It’s been awhile since we drank some wine and just enjoyed each other’s company.”
Smiling, I walk around the desk and give Georgia a big hug, whispering in her ear. “I love you for volunteering, but honestly…I want you and my dad to go out and have fun tonight. It thrills me to see both of you so happy with each other.”
Her fingers dig in to give me an acknowledging squeeze, then we pull back from each other. She cocks her head at me and asks, “But to be serious for a moment, it doesn’t bother you I’m dating your dad, does it?”
“God no,” I exclaim quickly. “Why would it?”
“Well, because he’s all stuffy and uptight, and I’m totally corrupting him and will continue to do so. I just want you to know that if you feel the need to step up and protect his virtue, I’d understand it.”
And for a brief moment, I forget about my worries with Roman and let out a snort of crazy laughter. Grabbing Georgia, I pull her back into a hard hug and tell her, “I hope you do corrupt him. He needs some fun in his life.”
“Amen, sister,” she murmurs to me, and we break apart again.
Turning toward her office door, I casually toss over my shoulder, “If Roman shows up, tell him I said ‘bite me.’?”
“Do you really want me to tell him that?” she asks skeptically.
“No,” I say grudgingly over my shoulder. “You can just tell him I got tired of waiting on his supreme highness to grace me with his presence and I’m going home.”
“I won’t say it quite like that,” Georgia says with a laugh. “But I’ll let him know where you are.”
“See you tomorrow,” I tell her with forced cheerfulness as I walk out of her office.
—
By nine o’clock, I have my pajamas on—a snuggly fleece set done in butter yellow with little white sheep on them—and a pair of fuzzy socks. I make a cup of hot chocolate in my Keurig. It’s a little watery and not all that great, but I’m too lazy to make it the old-fashioned way. Besides, it sort of fits my current mood of frustration and annoyance, so I’m going with it.
I’ve decided on one of my favorite movies, Love Actually, because I’m still an eternal optimist despite my frustration, and I settle in on the couch with a soft knit blanket my mom made for me several years ago. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but it still smells a little like home to me.
The hesitant knock on my door comes just as I turn on the TV, and taking stock of my immediate feelings, I’m honestly not surprised. I knew he’d show up at some point.
With a sigh, I put the remote down on the coffee table and push up from the couch. As I cross my small apartment, I wonder what I’ll get with Roman. Maybe he’s drunk after deciding to go out and drink with the boys, and he lost track of time and forgot he had a date with me. Maybe he had something important come up that prevented him from contacting me, although in fairness, I wouldn’t know if he’d been trying recently, as I turned my phone off the minute I got home.
When my hand touches the knob, I steel myself to maintain my irritation with him, knowing that one soft look will melt my anger, and swing the door open.