LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(23)

“No, I mean…” I shrugged. “Yeah, I hook up. But the last person I actually dated was in high school.”

The spoon in his hand clattered to the counter and he turned. “High school? Fuck. How young are you?” he asked, stepping back like I was infected with a plague.

I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m twenty-eight, Roman. Jesus.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Really? You look younger than that.” Then he did the math and his eyes widened. “Wait, you haven’t dated someone in like ten years? Why not?”

I set my wineglass down again and rubbed my hands over my face. God I hated telling this story. But Roman had opened up to me. It was only fair for me to do the same. “He changed his mind,” I said simply.

“About you?”

“About being gay.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

I shrugged again. Apparently that was becoming my signature move. I was Don’t-Give-A-Fuck Man. “It’s fine.” I hadn’t thought about Ian in a long time. So why was it suddenly making me feel depressed?

“Obviously it’s not fine if you’ve never dated anyone since,” Roman said. “I assume it made you gun-shy about relationships?”

I forced myself not to shrug. “Dunno. I guess. Relationships are a crapshoot anyway. It’s kind of hard to trust that the person’s going to stick around, you know? I can’t…” I struggled to figure out the best way to explain it, which made me realize I’d never really had to before. I’d never known anyone well enough to share this with, so I’d never needed to find the right words.

I blew out a breath. “I don’t want to rely on someone and then have them pull the rug out from under me like that again. It’s not worth it.”

One moment Roman stood by the stove, and the next he was in front of me. He set his wine on the counter and placed his hands on my knees. Without thinking, I spread my legs so he could get closer. He stepped between them automatically. I could smell the scent of fresh garlic and basil coming off him.

I looked away, nervous whispers skating along my skin where his hands seared my skin through my jeans.

“Scotty,” he said softly. “Not everyone is like that. Plenty of men know what they like, what they want.” His words held a deeper meaning that sat between us like a living thing.

“Mm,” I hummed nervously. Because what I wanted to say was, “And what do you want?”

But if the answer wasn’t me, I would sure as hell regret asking.

He reached up to nudge my chin until I looked at him again. From this close, I could see the late-evening whiskers on his face, the pale oval scar along one cheek, the lone slash of tawny gold in one of his warm brown eyes. He was close enough to kiss, close enough to lay my head on his shoulder and simply rest, knowing I was safe in his care.

I hadn’t been safe in someone’s care since I was nine years old and my grandfather had died. After that, it had been just my mom and me, and it had always been clear that I’d been the one caring for her. Which I’d done a shit job of because she’d ended up in prison.

More proof of just how awful I was at relationships.

Roman leaned in a little and I held my breath, terrified I was going to accidentally do something to ruin the moment or scare him off.

He continued moving in, but instead of lowering those lush lips onto mine, he slid his arms around my back and hugged me.

Just hugged me, as tightly as he could.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hair. “I know what it’s like to be alone for so long, and it’s not great.”

And it was true. I could tell by the sound of his voice, and by the memory of the loneliness in his eyes, that he knew exactly what it was like to be alone. We both tried to mask it, but it was always there beneath the surface.

My entire body began to tremble, and my eyes smarted. Was this really happening?

I carefully slid my arms around his neck and held on just as tightly. For some reason, I felt completely comfortable letting go around him.

“No,” I breathed. “It’s not.”

And then I felt warm tears slide down my face and into his collar. He didn’t say another word, simply stayed there with his arms wrapped around me until I was done crying.

When the timer went off for the pasta, I pushed him away gently and quickly wiped my face off with my shirt. “Saved by the bell,” I said, letting out a watery laugh. “I’m starving.”

After that, we were both content to let the conversation pop back up to shallow depths. Strangely, I didn’t feel as awkward as I expected after being so vulnerable around him. We joked while we ate. Roman asked me questions about Nugget and then told me a story about working with a horse on a movie set. Clearly he was trying to cheer me up, and it made me like him even more.

By the time we were done with dinner, I was stupidly half in love with the man. And I’d even somehow convinced myself that he might feel something for me as well.

Which was a one-way ticket to disappointment and blue balls. I needed distance from the man. I needed to put on the brakes before I fell even harder for him.

“I’ll clean up,” I said quickly, hopping up and reaching for our plates. Suddenly, I felt like if I didn’t get away from him, I was going to jump in his lap and beg him for more touching. “You cooked most of it, and I’m really good at doing the dishes. I once had a part-time dishwasher job at the Cracked Egg,” I said as I carried everything into the kitchen. “Do you know it?” I called over my shoulder. “Probably not, it’s in Queens. They have this chef there named Bobby G, and that guy was crazy. He—”