Chapter 10
Lexi
The minute Roman coasts to a stop in Georgia’s driveway, right in front of her double-car garage, I make my final decision. Turning to him in the seat as he shifts into park, I ask, “Want to come up and eat dinner? I made Jim Kaczmarek’s chili and put it in the Crock Pot before I left for work this morning.”
Roman’s eyes drift up to the apartment above the garage where I live, then turns his gaze to me. “Jim Kaczmarek’s chili?”
I shrug. “No clue who he is. That’s just the name of the recipe I found online, but I chose it because it called for a bottle of beer and a lot of cumin. It’s pretty spicy.”
His lips curve upward and he admits, “Well…the traffic out there is pretty bad, and I’ve got to drive all the way over onto the north side of the city.”
“Could take you hours in this weather,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
“And eventually everyone will get off the street, so it will be safer for me to go once it’s cleared, but that could take hours. Are you prepared for me to be up there with you all alone in that tiny apartment for hours?”
I cock an eyebrow at him and put on my haughtiest voice. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“You said before you weren’t sure about it,” he counters.
“Well, okay…I’m not sure about it. But I thought we’d just start with chili, if you’re interested.”
“Oh, I’m interested all right,” he says as he reaches a hand out to turn the ignition off, and I smile at the deliberate innuendo he’s taunting me with.
“You are so bad,” I say with a laugh as I open the passenger door.
A wave of freezing sleet immediately pelts me and I scramble out the door, but not before I hear him mutter, “You have no idea.”
Roman meets me at the front of his SUV and grabs my hand, and we make a dash to the wooden staircase with two short flights that leads up to my apartment door. He pushes me before him, and because the steps are covered in ice and even more sleet, his hands come to my hips as he carefully guides me up. I grab my keys and unlock the front door, flipping on the light switch that’s wired to my table lamps as we enter.
The apartment smells wonderful—thank you Jim Kaczmarek, whoever you are—and I shrug out of my coat, tossing it onto the couch to my immediate right.
“Take your coat off and get comfortable,” I tell Roman.
I glance at him as I bend over to unlace my Dr. Martens—this time shoes rather than boots—and toe them off. Roman does a casual perusal of the little apartment Georgia rents to me.
She originally had it built for her son after he dropped out of college. Sadly, Craig Mack fell far short of Georgia’s expectations for her only son, seemingly preferring to spend time in his room playing video games rather than attend classes at North Carolina State where he had been accepted into their school of engineering. He was incredibly bright, but lacked motivation or ambition, something that puzzles me greatly, as his mother has both of those qualities in abundance.
After Craig dropped out of school, Georgia told him he’d have to start paying rent, albeit at a discounted rate. After he lost job after job, and couldn’t pay the rent three months in a row, she employed tough love and evicted him. It broke her heart to do so, because he ultimately drifted out west with other shiftless friends and hasn’t come back to visit her since then.
The benefit to me when I applied for a job at The Grind was that the apartment had just been vacated a few weeks earlier and Georgia was eager to rent it to someone responsible. While she ultimately learned I was indeed a responsible person and paid my bills, she didn’t know it when she offered it to me, but that only goes to show the size of her heart. Georgia Mack is one to take chances on people because she’s just generous that way.
“I like it,” Roman observes about my small abode.
My eyes drift over the roughly six hundred square feet of space. There’s not much to it, but it’s nicely laid out and more than what I actually need. The front door enters into the living room, with the small efficiency kitchen just behind it, separated by a counter. The only seating for the kitchen is two barstools on the living room side. To the left of the front door is my bedroom, which is actually on the spacious side relative to the overall size of the apartment, and on the opposite side of that, bordering the kitchen, is a small bathroom that barely holds the shower, tub, toilet, and sink.
It’s cozy, and Georgia had furnished and decorated it nicely but eclectically, which is her signature style. While it’s not as outlandish as The Grind, it’s funky enough with vintage furniture, brightly colored throw pillows, and tassel lamps.
“What do you want to drink?” I ask as I head into the kitchen and Roman peels off his coat. “I’ve got some water, Diet Coke, and even some beer if you’re interested.”
“Let’s get drunk and lose our inhibitions,” he suggests, and I look over my shoulder at him to find him sitting on my couch and unlacing his shoes, which are more like low boots and clearly more expensive than mine.
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.” I laugh as I pull two bottles of beer out of my fridge. “You are so bad.”
“And yet you’re handing me ammunition,” he says as he nods toward the beers.
“Well,” I offer with a sly smile as I set one beer on the counter and twist the top off the other. “I’m actually bad too.”
“How bad?” he asks as he pulls his shoes off and drops them carelessly to the floor. He stands from the couch and walks toward me, but stops on the other side of the counter.
I reach out and hand him the beer, turning to grab mine from the counter and opening it. I hold my bottle out to his and we tap the necks against each other.
“Not bad enough to sleep with you tonight,” I say before I take a sip. After I swallow, I add, “But totally bad enough I might get frisky with you.”
He gives a mock groan and looks up to the ceiling. “A tease. I’ve saddled myself with a tease tonight.”
Laughing, I set my beer down and take two bowls out of my cabinet above the sink. “I’m not a tease, but I do sort of go with the flow. If I’m feeling it, I’m feeling it. If I don’t, I don’t.”
“That’s what I like about you,” Roman says, and I know he’s pulling a stool out because I can hear the slide of it across the tile that extends from the kitchen to just past the counter to where Berber carpeting covers the living room. “I’ve figured out you sort of march to the beat of your own drums.”
“How’d you guess that?” I ask as I smile to myself and ladle piping hot chili into the bowls.
“You followed your heart, not norms after high school when you traveled, and you approached a multimillion-dollar CEO to let him know you were his daughter, and you chose the ukulele, when most everyone would have chosen the piano.”
“You’re reading an awful lot into just a few actions,” I say in deflection as I turn to set the bowls on the counter before him, then grab spoons out of a drawer.
“I’m reading the situation just fine,” he says with a laugh. “And I’m completely okay if you choose not to sleep with me tonight.”
I give him a quick look as I grab my beer and round the counter to sit down beside him. As I plop down, I ask him, “So seriously, why do you get in so much trouble? Not that I don’t appreciate your spirit, but seems like you’re always courting trouble.”
“Not really,” he says as he takes a spoon from me and stirs it around in the hot chili. “I’ve just sort of been on my own for a really long time and not used to answering to anyone. I like playing by my own rules.”
“And yet you play a sport that has rules,” I point out. “You are a part of a team that has its own rules.”
“And I try to abide by them,” he says thoughtfully before pulling up a spoonful of the chili. “When I agree with them and I’m not being ruled by my emotions.”
“So that last suspension you had,” I say as I stir my chili. I don’t dare try to taste it yet because the steam is coming off in waves. “You left the bench in order to engage in a fight that had broken out on the ice. Did you disagree with the rule or were you being ruled by your emotions?”
Roman grins at me, still holding up his spoon. “Was totally ruled by my emotions. That fucker Denubris had slashed at Garrett earlier in the game. It’s my job to protect him while he’s out on the ice. I had to let him know that wouldn’t go unanswered.”
“So bad,” I say with a grin, then blow on my chili.
“Yup.” He goes ahead and takes a taste. I know he thinks it’s good by his groan of approval, and I’m not going to lie: that groan was kind of sexy. I totally don’t think I’m going to sleep with him tonight, because honestly, I really don’t do that. I did once, when I was drunk, and it was a lesson learned in harsh daylight when the beer goggles wore off the next morning.
But what if we do make out and he groans like that?
My panties might just incinerate.
I snicker to myself over my thoughts and finally risk a taste of the hot chili.
“Mmmmm,” I say in pleasure as I chew the spicy blend of beef and beans and spices galore.
As I take another spoonful, I glance at Roman to my right. His eyes are narrowed on me, his own spoon held loosely in his hand.
“What?” I ask.
“Stop with the sexy moaning,” he grumbles with a tiny smirk before he turns back to his dinner. “I think you’re trying to take advantage of me.”
Laughing, I lean over and nudge his shoulder with mine. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
Roman chuckles and then asks, “So, if you could pick any profession in the world you’d like to try, what would it be?”
I cock an eyebrow at him skeptically. “You’re seriously going from sexy moaning to talk about careers?”
“I have depth,” he says in mock indignation.
“Of course you do,” I say sarcastically, but in truth, I know he does. We’ve teased each other tonight, but he’s not made a serious move on me. Instead, he gallantly braved ice and snow and treacherous road conditions to get me home safely.
There’s no doubt that Roman wants me, just as there’s no doubt I totally want him.
We’ll get there, I’m sure, but there’s no pressure on either of as to when.
Until then, I’m completely fine eating chili, drinking beer, and getting to know him a little better.
—
“Son of a bitch,” Roman grumbles, his mouth right near my ear. His arm tightens around me and his entire body shudders.
My eyes open slowly, first luxuriating in the warmth of his chest against my back and the solidness of his embrace around my waist.
Then I notice with an entire body shudder of my own just how freaking cold it is in my apartment.
“What the hell?” I mutter as I shiver again and try to figure out what’s going on.
It’s dark in my apartment, almost pitch black, but my eyes start to adjust so I can make out the murky outline of my TV against one wall and the kitchen counter to the left of it.
“I’m going to guess your power’s out,” Roman says, his voice still rough with sleep.
Sleep.
Couch.
We fell asleep on my couch while watching a movie.
It all comes back in a rush. Our totally awesome conversation over equally awesome chili that Roman raved about and had three bowls of. We talked more about our backgrounds, with us spending more time on his growing up in Prague, as I’ve always wanted to travel to foreign countries, so I couldn’t get enough of his stories about this home city.
We had a few beers, and while I didn’t get enough of a buzz to drop my panties for him—and let’s face it, he didn’t even try—I was comfortable enough to ask him if he wanted to stay a bit and watch a movie or something.
He accepted—quite quickly—and that made me smile, because it meant he was having a good time too. I liked that because this wasn’t a conventional first date and yet it seemed like the way it was supposed to be.
So we ended up on the couch, having agreed on watching Captain America—he’d already seen it, I had not—and I didn’t even have a moment’s hesitation when he lay down on the couch, pressed his back against the cushions, and patted the area in front of his hips. With a devilish gleam in his eyes, he said, “Come on…let’s cuddle.”
Roman Sýkora, hockey bad boy, shameless flirt, total panty dropper asking me to cuddle.
Who was I to say no.
I’m not sure who fell asleep first. I clearly didn’t make it through the movie and I have no clue even what time it is. Roman shifts on the couch behind me and reaches at arm out to the coffee table to nab his phone. He flicks his thumb across the screen and it lights up, showing us it’s almost a quarter after one in the morning.
“Power’s probably been out awhile,” Roman says as he sits up behind me. With a gentle hand to my hip, he nudges me and we both stand up from the couch.
My eyes have adjusted enough that I can easily maneuver around the coffee table to the kitchen counter, rubbing my arms briskly to ward off the cold. I grab my own phone, glad I’d plugged it into the phone charger cord there and disconnect it. As I power it up to look at the news, Roman walks to the window that sits above the kitchen sink and peers outside through the slats of the blinds.
“Damn,” he says in amazement. “There’s ice all over the trees and power lines.”
I walk around the counter, come to stand beside him, and look out. The moon is high and bright, lighting up Georgia’s backyard, and it looks like a fairy-tale winter wonderland. There doesn’t appear to be any more sleet or snow falling, but every single structure and tree is glistening with ice.
Turning away from the window, I pull up the browser on my phone and go to the local news page I have bookmarked. My eyes scan a few articles and I’m warmed inside and out as Roman turns and wraps his arms and his warmth around me as I read. It’s an intimate move that speaks more to his concern for me being cold than a need just to touch me solicitously. What’s even more astounding to me is just how natural it feels, and that’s just something that will take a lot of thinking about on my part. We hardly know each other, and yet I seemingly melt into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place in the world for me to be.
“It says there’s over fifty thousand reported power outages,” I say as I read a news article, and then hit a link that takes me to a map provided by the local power company of the homes without power. It has a handy little menu with associated icons to tell you when resumption of power is expected. For my neighborhood, it says not until at least 6 P.M., which means I have about fifteen hours of freezing.
Guess I better load up on layers and pull all my blankets into my room. Looks like I’ll be doing an awful lot of napping and huddling under the blankets until then.
“Come on,” Roman says as he releases me and heads toward the couch. “We’re going to my house.”
“Why?” I ask curiously, not moving from my position.
“So we can get warm,” he says simply.
“But you don’t even know if you have power,” I point out.
I can’t see him all that well in the gloom, but I can feel his smirk.
“I’ve got a whole-house generator,” he explains. “I have heat.”
“Oh,” I say, and then decide to be a bit cautious. “You go on ahead. I’m going to be fine here. Power will be on soon.”
“Not soon enough” is all he says as he puts his shoes on. “So go pack a bag and get your shoes and coat on. I’m going to go out and start my car to warm it up.”
“Roman,” I say with mild annoyance. “I can’t just go to your house.”
“Why not?” he asks as he stands from the couch and moves toward me.
“Well, because…I don’t want to impose on you,” I say truthfully.
“Impose?” he asks, and although I can’t see his expression clearly, I can hear the impatience in his voice.
“Yes, impose,” I say in exasperation. “You drive me all the way there, then you’re going to have to bring me back when my power comes on, and besides that…you have a game today.”
“Not if the arena doesn’t have power,” he says as he walks right into my space and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Not if the city is shut down.”
I start to open my mouth to argue when he interjects, “If you open that mouth to say anything other than ‘Okay, Roman, I’ll go pack a bag,’ I’m going to do something to occupy said mouth.”
It might be cold as hell in my apartment, but heat flushes through me at the thought of all the ways in which he could occupy my mouth.
For a brief moment, I think about arguing with him, just to see what he does. To see if he’ll make good on that threat. But then an involuntary shiver hits me, my body naturally rebelling against the cold, and self-preservation takes over. “Fine. Okay…I’ll go pack a bag.”