Turning thirty should be this big deal complete with a raucous party and a well-earned hangover that you spend the entire next day (or two, if you do it right) recovering. But since the less than favorable end to our boating expedition a few weeks before, the last thing I’ve felt like doing is getting my party on. Considering the many years I’ve done just that, I feel like proverbial fish out of water; I’m irritable, insecure, and downright pissed off.
Mama insists on having a family dinner to celebrate, though considering my mood I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. Frankly, the idea of facing my entire family and all their questions about Sabrina is not exactly what I’d call a celebration. I’ve managed to avoid most everyone except Bella, who calls me daily for updates on “the blond situation” as she likes to refer to it. Since there is no situation to speak of, I am now avoiding her calls and trying to come up with a plausible excuse of how Sabrina and I went from something new and exciting to suddenly walking on a tightrope around one another.
I alternate between being pissed at her and dwelling on what the fuck happened. I’m just cocky enough to balk at the idea that some woman wants to try and change me. I’ve been very careful to avoid anything like that happening prior to Sabrina and even though she means more to me than anyone ever has, I’m not about to step back from my family simply because it will make things easier on her. I get that she’s skittish and uncertain about getting involved with me, and I also understand how incredibly intense my family can be, however their smothering type of love is done from the truest part of their hearts. If she’s unable to accept that, then maybe I do need to walk away.
That idea sits like spoiled food in my stomach. Every relationship has issues, especially at the beginning or so I’ve been told. I do have to ask myself why we are both so quick to bolt. For my part, I can only assume it’s because I’ve never felt actual love toward a woman before, not the whole-body, take your breath away kind of love that I feel whenever I’m with Sabrina.
Tearing my hands through my hair, I glance across the office to where Emmy is sitting at her desk, diligently organizing papers to file, bobbing her head to the music in her ears. If she notices a change between me and her mom these past few weeks, she’s kept silent about it. Though, she’s rarely silent about much else; she spent the better part of an entire day going on and on about our boat trip, gushing about my brothers and their women, and begging me to take her out again. I nodded and murmured a response at all the appropriate times but in the back of my head, I kept thinking, “Not gonna happen, kiddo. Not if your mom has anything to say about it.”
Now Sabrina … well, let’s just say she’s the epitome of the perfect employee. Here early in the morning, staying well after quitting time, and only ever greeting me and everyone else with a cool, professional demeanor. Chafes my ass, it does, especially when I catch her glancing at me and for a brief moment she’s not Sabrina the HR manager but Sabrina the woman.
In the past few weeks we’ve had one real conversation, which sadly was interrupted when Emmy strolled into the office and dramatically informed her mother that she had to go home. Teenage emergency, I presume. Sabrina shot me a “We’ll talk about this later,” and since then the Berlin Wall has been erected between her and me.
Women are more than a mystery to me … they are seriously fucked-up sometimes. I made the mistake of telling Bella this late last night when I’d lost my mind in a bottle of tequila, and she was quick to inform me that women are only fucked-up because of the way men treat them. If that is indeed the truth, then what the hell did that Will guy do to Sabrina? She’s said very little about him, and clearly he’s not exactly a stand-up guy if he walked away the moment she told him she was pregnant. What does it take for a man to turn his back on his own flesh and blood? Even though I was a complete fuckup at age twenty, I know without a doubt that if I was faced with that responsibility, I’d own up to what I’d done.
Emmy glances at me and smiles, looking so much like her mom it makes my heart hurt. She hums softly as she drags open the metal drawers and starts filing, and I want to say fuck you to Will whatever his name is. A big fuck you to being overwhelmed and taking things slow. I want this girl as my own, almost as much as I want her mother, but in a completely different and non-pervy way. I want the simple things: to eat dinner together, to drive her to volleyball practice, to listen patiently when teenage boys and her friends drive her crazy. I want everything that asshole Will threw away much too easily, but how do I tell Sabrina that? The woman can barely look at me. She’s bound to think I’m whacked if I start spouting how much I want to be a father to her child.
Father. Wow. A year ago I figured that title would belong to everyone but me. I’ve always been fastidiously careful with women, covering up during sex, getting tested frequently. Only once in all the years I’ve been crawling between women’s legs has there ever been a scare—one of those panicked late-night phone calls from a weepy girl insisting that she thinks she’s pregnant because her period is a few days late. I was seventeen, eighteen tops. My girl and I had been going at it like most horny teenagers do, all the time and any place we could find semi-privacy. In the backseat of my car, silently in her bedroom when the folks were asleep, behind the school gym during a football game. She got me all stirred up and the next morning called to say “Whoops, sorry.” Seriously … that’s what she said. Whoops. Sorry. Who does that? I spent the entire night pacing and puking and planning out my newly-changed life with the addition of an unplanned pregnancy. Then a “whoops, sorry” phone call from a very relieved and flighty chick, and suddenly I was rethinking my entire existence.
I dropped her faster than you can say “whoops, sorry” and promptly spent the next six months being grumpily celibate. When I finally got the nerve to hop back on that horse, it was with a new resolve that no chances would be taken—ever. What’s the saying Papa told me and my brothers when he gave us the proverbial sex talk … something about a car and a garage. Mostly what I remember is how uncomfortable he was and that when the time came I went to my siblings for sex advice, not my parents.
Marco strolls into the office, grinning at Emmy and plopping his ass down across from me. “Hey, man, Mama just called. She wants to know if Emmy and Sabrina will be joining us for your big birthday dinner tomorrow.”
Annoyed, I mutter, “Why the hell didn’t she just call me?”
“She said she has, a few times and you won’t call her back.” He wags his index finger at me. “Bad. Very, very bad.”
Grateful that Emmy has her music blaring in her ears, I tear at my hair and glare at my older brother. “I’m not in the mood, man. And no, they won’t.” I’ve been tossing around the idea of inviting them for the past few days but as the silence between me and Sabrina continues, I’ve taken that as a sign to just let things go for now.
“Too bad. Mama really wanted to see Emmy.”
Christ, I don’t need this. I sure as fuck don’t need my family getting attached to two people who will undoubtedly be nothing more than friends to me. If that. “What time is this damn shindig?”
Marco grins. “What’s the matter, baby bro, you feeling old all of a sudden?”
My age has absolutely nothing to do with my foul mood, but it is a hell of a good excuse. “Yeah. Thirty blows.”
He sneaks a look over his shoulder then lowers his voice to a whisper, “It will if you have the right woman doing her job correctly.” Wagging his brows suggestively, he chuckles at his own joke, which, of course, I find less than amusing. “Mama said six.”
“Fine. I’ll be there at six. Now, was there anything else or can I get back to work?”
His eyes stray over the mess on my desk. “Is that what you call this?” I glare at him and point to the door, channeling some of my inner Cruz, which thankfully he understands. He mutters a goodbye, waves once more at Emmy, and strolls out of the office.
My mood has darkened considerably by the time I pull up to my parents’ house the following evening. I’ve spent the majority of the day trying to come up with a decent excuse to bow out but my brain just can’t seem to engage. Whether I want to or not, I’m going to have to take my balls in hand and force myself to smile and have a good time. Doing anything else will create questions. And questions will only serve to further blacken this mood of mine.
With a hearty sigh, I step out of the truck and move toward the front door. Buzzing in my pocket has my feet halting on the porch; the name splayed across the screen has me smiling. “Hey, Sabrina.”
“Hi, Roman. Am I interrupting anything?”
“Just heading to dinner with my family. What’s up?” I hate this fake, casual bullshit that I’ve been forced to spew, but getting her back to my way of thinking is going to take a lot of niceties and a shit ton of patience.
“Uh, I didn’t know today was your birthday. Emmy just told me.”
“Really? How’d she know?” I’ve made a point to remain mum on the issue of my birthday around my very clever and overly curious assistant, more for my sake than hers.
“Mia called your office and told her.”
Fucking Mia. If I didn’t love her so much, I’d throttle her. “Well, that’s cool, but I didn’t ask her to do that.”
“I know. That’s what she told Em.” There’s a few moments of uncomfortable silence, then, “She asked if Emmy and I were joining you all to celebrate.”
Damn … there’s no way for me to win here. “I figured you’d had enough of me and my family for a while.”
“I’m sorry you felt like that. I wouldn’t … um … I wouldn’t have minded being invited.”
Walking back out to the sidewalk, I lean against the truck and respond, “What the hell is this, Sabrina? One minute you’re telling me how overwhelming my family is and then when I don’t invite you, you act all offended.” Anger surges through me as I start to pace. “You’ve completely avoided me since that day we were together, and now I’m supposed to just assume you all of sudden give a fuck about what’s going on in my life?”
“Roman, I’m so sorry. Believe it or not I do hate this. I don’t want to play games with you.”
“Yeah, but you are.” Amita pokes her head out the front door, takes one look at me pacing in front of my truck, and moves in my direction. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks for the call.”
“Happy birthday.”
Sighing, I close my eyes and mutter, “Thanks. See you Monday.” Call disconnected, I growl out a litany of curse words and slump against the bed of the truck.
Amita steps up next to me, mimicking my pose and turning curious brown eyes my direction. “You okay?” I growl out another curse and shake my head. “Dumb question.”
I shrug and dart a look in her direction. “Nah, it’s cool.”
“You so sure about that? Sorta looks like someone pissed in your Cheerios.” I offer her yet another colorfully thrown together group of curse words and shove my phone in my back pocket. “Tell me what’s going on with you and Sabrina.”
I like Amita a lot, but I’m not about to go sharing my love life shit with her so she can yammer to Marco and Mia. “It’s all good.”
“You’re full of shit, but I totally understand why you don’t want to talk about it. Been there.” Stepping up onto the curb, she turns to face me directly. “You know better than anyone how long it took me and Marco to get our shit together.” I offer her a nod, shoving my hands into my pockets. “What I’m saying is that if this woman is who you really see yourself with forever, you’ve gotta fight. It’s gonna get bloody and ugly and you’ll have days when all you want to do is walk away.” Her hands grasp my face. “Don’t you dare walk away without giving one hundred percent of yourself. Got that?”
Snickering, because really, she is such a ballbuster, I reply, “Yes, Mother.”
Looping her hand through my arm, she tugs me up to the sidewalk. “Now quit standing out here cursing and moping. We’ve gotta get our party on, birthday boy.”
A family celebration may not be what I want but the moment I step into the house, I’m fully aware that it’s what I need. My issues with Sabrina will have to be put on hold for now, at least until I get home tonight and I have time to decipher what the fuck that call was all about.
The dick in me hopes this is weighing on her … heavily. The good man inside of me, though, wants nothing more than to forget the past two weeks, take her in my arms, and try my hardest to make this work. Regardless of what she’s feeling right now, she and I need to sit down and figure out what the hell this is and where the hell we go from here. Until we can do that, we might as well be the strangers we’ve been for the past few years.