After two shots of tequila for courage, meanwhile convincing Chaz that I’m off to meet Melanie, I spend ten minutes trying to collect myself in Vinnie’s bathroom. Hands trembling, I place them on either side of the mirror and take a hard look at what Roman could possibly want.

My emotions were out of control the second I discovered him watching me perform. Suddenly I was on a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows, alternating between wanting to jump his spectacular body and wanting to slap the shit out of his gorgeous face for coming back into my life. After seeing him kiss Brooke, I was so shook up that I called in sick to Vinnie’s for my next two shifts and canceled lessons with my four students. Of all the goddamned bars in New York, why did he have to walk into mine?

On the road to fame he became so untouchable and…severe looking. It was almost impossible to see the gangly teenage boy I fell for all those years ago who was just learning to play guitar. Standing near his massive body, immersed in his scent of spicy cologne and leather had me unnerved and painfully turned on. The rockstar persona fits him like a glove, just as I always knew it would.

I never should’ve agreed to meet him for a drink. What could he possibly hope to accomplish? Does he think we’ll reminisce before hooking up one last time? The only thing I see happening is that I’ll fall for his charm all over again and it’ll remind me why I love—loved—him. What good will that do either one of us? If I can’t protect my heart, I don’t want him coming anywhere near it. Especially if he had his dick inside Brooke.

But my feet are in motion before I can convince myself to be rational. Before I know it, I’m stepping into Stoner’s in search of the only man I’ve ever loved. The little dive bar is relatively quiet with only a handful of customers on bar stools and oldies rock and roll playing from a local radio station. As if it wasn’t already obvious the place is literally known for patrons who come stoned in search of food, a flag with a marijuana leaf and a Grateful Dead poster hang over the bartender’s head. The enticing scent of fried food as booze sloshes through my gut suddenly reminds me that I haven’t eaten dinner.

Roman slides out from a booth, a wide smile set on his beautiful lips. I’m helpless to stop my eyes from wandering down to the t-shirt stretched across his sculpted chest beneath the same leather coat he wore the last time I saw him. And Lord help me, those jeans…they accentuate every muscle of his legs and the large bulge between them. My heart skips a few beats when I realize he’s hard with the sight of me.

All at once I can’t breathe. What the fuck am I doing here? If I had an ounce of intelligence, I’d run the hell away from this man and never look back. I’ve written dozens of songs to express the heartache of leaving him and how he will always have the best parts of me. Yet here I stand, like a mindless bimbo, waiting for a sign to prove that we still belong together. I must’ve finally lost my mind.

When I meet his pools of green, lit with an intensity that causes my entire body to flush, the idea of running before it’s too late becomes paralyzing. There’s no denying how much my body wants him. The dark way he’s looking back at me, I can see how much he wants me too. I imagine sex with him would be fucking phenomenal compared to when we were young and awkward in our own bodies. But how could I survive sleeping with him once without craving more?

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he says in that rumbling voice I’d missed for so long.

“Still not so sure I haven’t.”

Dropping my gaze from his, I slip into the worn leather bench across from him and pull off my jacket, grateful he won’t be close enough to touch. Thanks to the tequila shots, I can’t be trusted around the strand of dirty blond hair falling down beside his handsome face, brushing against his chin. The need to tuck it behind his ear and trail my fingers down his sharp jaw is debilitating.

As he settles across from me, he motions for a passing waitress. Jutting out a hip, the skinny brunette grins, batting her fake lashes. “What can I get you this time, handsome?”

Wow. It takes a lot of nerve to openly flirt with a guy when he’s sitting with another woman. I’d call her out if I weren’t afraid Roman would take that to mean I still think of him as mine. Tendrils of panic slither down my throat when I’m struck with the hard reality. I do think of him as mine. And I probably always will. How can I allow myself to still feel that way after I’m the one who left?

Roman’s eyes swing over to me in a way too similar to how he’d look at me over the campfire. Like I’m the only girl in the world. Like he’s reading my thoughts and letting me know that I’ll always be his as well.

“Tequila mojito,” I wheeze out. “Top shelf.”

His gaze is still locked with mine when he orders. “And I’ll take another glass of Grey Goose, straight up.”

“Sure thing,” the waitress replies with a disappointed huff, swiping two empty glasses from the table. I feel her jealous gaze on me before she turns away, leaving us alone.

Looking down at my hands, my stomach twists and turns with unease. I want this beautiful man back in my life—so damn badly. But whatever we say to each other can’t be about the past. I can’t revisit any feelings that will make it impossible to walk away.

“So it must be exciting,” I blurt, curling my fingers around a salt shaker tucked against the wall. “Going on your first headliner tour.”

“Not sure ‘exciting’ is the word I’d use,” he grumbles. I look up to see him wiping a hand over his face before his expression intensifies. “There’s a lot of fucking pressure to do everything right.”

“You were born to perform. You’ll find a way to work through it.”

For a moment he studies my expression. Beneath the heat of his stare I’m vulnerable and exposed, as if wearing my heart on my goddamned sleeve. About the time I’m ready to bolt from the booth, he licks his lips and leans forward, his features lit with sincerity.

“I’d like you to come tomorrow night, Belle. It’d mean a lot if you were there for my first performance.”

Feeling ready to vomit, I pucker my lips and look away. “Stop calling me that. I’m no longer that girl from camp.”

“You don’t think I’ve noticed?” he replies with a dark, angry growl that sends a shiver down my spine. “You have no idea how much it fucking hurts to look at you and realize I missed out on so much of your life! It guts me to see how goddamned gorgeous you’ve become, and know you're no longer mine! I’d do anything to get you back!”

He wants me back? Heavy breaths fall from my parted lips as we engage in an intense stare-down. Knowing he’s still emotionally invested in us is a major turn-on. It also pisses me the hell off. It took me years to get over him. I didn’t want to stay away, but I had no other choice.

I snatch my jacket off the bench and begin to slide out. “I can’t do this.”

In a flash, he’s gripping my wrist and pleading with his beautiful eyes. “Belle, please. Don’t go. Not like this.”

Waves of tingling heat shoot up my arm from his touch, and all at once I’m transported back to the nights we made love on the shore of Lake Tahoe. Hands all over my body, whispers of how much he loves me as he filled me to the core. I’m useless to fight against the wave of sympathy that crashes into me. I hurt him. With a deep sigh, I shake my head. “I walked away from you. Why the hell would you want me there?”

“Because I wouldn’t have made it this far if you hadn’t believed in me when we were kids.” The look he gives me could very well be my undoing. “I never would’ve survived this long if you hadn’t come into my life.”

I’m unable to breathe as the waitress appears with our drinks, nervously glancing down at Roman’s grip on me as she sets the glasses on the table. “Vodka tonic and tequila mojito.” Then she gives me a terse smile, her eyes filled with concern. “Can I get you anything else?”

Roman stares back at me like he’s waiting for me to make the next move. It’s pointless to pretend that I don’t want to stay here with him and see where this could go. But I’m also scared to death by the possibilities.

I pull my wrist from Roman’s grip and glance at the waitress. “We’ll take a menu.”

She produces a piece of laminated plastic from her little apron and hands it over, giving me one last lingering look. “Give me a holler when you’re ready to order.”

Once I flash her a genuine smile, she walks away. Roman relaxes back against the booth, charm oozing from his every pore. It’s like he’s posing for a magazine spread without even trying. Desire ripples through my belly so suddenly that my nipples become rock hard. I bite down on my lips before a moan slips out. I definitely know from experience that it’s true what they say—you can’t always get what you want—but how do I deny myself another taste of my one true love now that he’s a beautiful, fierce man?

Annoyed that he has such an intoxicating effect on me, I tell him, “If you’re thinking this night is going to end with a hook-up, you’re wasting your time.”

He sits forward to reach for the menu, purposely brushing his fingers with mine. His brilliant smile returns, and I’m once again captivated beneath his stare. “How about we talk about where this is headed later? I’m starving. What’s good here?”

Shit. No matter how hard I fight this, there’s no chance of pushing him away.

He’ll always have a claim on my heart.

* * *

Over the next two hours, we slowly learn about each other’s new lives while sharing waffle fries and Stoner’s legendary wings. Somehow we manage to avoid discussing other lovers we’ve had, although I almost jump from the bench and cheer when he indicates that he’s single, and neither of us bring up the way things ended in Vegas. He has every right to demand an explanation, but he doesn’t. The conversation stays light and playful in a comfortable way that reminds me of the days when we were nothing more than best friends with a crush.

The cocky, confident kid I met at camp emerges as he tells stories of finding his band members after he dropped out of NYU. I don’t ask what happened to Juilliard, even though I’m disappointed to learn he gave up on that dream. Quite honestly, I’m not ready to hear that part of the story. At least not yet. I was once involved in that dream, and it hurts too much for the kid in me to acknowledge the loss. It’s like we’ve set invisible boundaries that neither of us are willing to cross at this point, and for that, I’m grateful. If we’re going to repair our friendship, it’ll take one baby step at a time.

But with every weighted look from those beautiful starry eyes, the sexual tension rises and I’m reminded how much I want more than his friendship. Several mojitos later, I’m scared as shit I’ll do something that I’ll regret in the morning. When Roman pays the bill and we decide to leave, I’m legitimately surprised that I don’t leave evidence of my desire in the booth.

Outside the sidewalks and streets are dusted with snow beneath the streetlights. From what I’ve heard it’s not completely unheard of for New York to see snow in early April, but it’s annoying as shit when I already miss the dry heat of the desert. Big, fluffy flakes continue to fall, quickly coating my jacket and eyelashes. When I turn to Roman, he’s pulling a gray knit beanie from his jacket and slipping it over his head. My knees shake once it’s in place. I’ve always had this unexplained fetish for hot guys in a knit hat. But Roman puts every other man to shame with his deep-set jaw, thick eyebrows, and beautiful, piercing green eyes.

“I suppose you…ah…need to get some rest…for tomorrow,” I stammer.

He shrugs casually with a little smirk playing on his lips. “It’s still early.”

Once again I’m paralyzed by panic. My attraction to him is so overwhelming that I almost wish he’d just go away. “It’s a little cold for a walk. We could hit another bar—”

“I’d rather go somewhere quiet so we can talk without being bothered.”

Whether or not he’s implicating we do more than talk, the idea of doing something more has me soaking through my thong. At this point it wouldn’t take more than a light brush of his fingers to make me come hard and fast. I suck in a shaking breath and take a step closer, setting a hand on his hard chest to feel his ragged heartbeats. Pupils widening, he sets his somewhat chilled hand over mine. A shiver ripples through me.

“What happened to you?” he whispers, running his fingertips along the thick scar lining my jaw. “Why do you seem so angry? What made you leave me?”

My throat thickens with tears. “It’s complicated.”

His gaze is heavy with regret when he slowly shakes his head. “I’ve missed you so damn much, Belle.”

Then his other hand hooks around my waist and he draws me in until our bodies are pressed together. Oh fuck, he’s rock hard. And he’s so damn handsome. Looking into his eyes, my fragile heart can’t take any more. He deserves to know the truth, the reason I had to leave. But it’s like my brain and lips aren’t connected when I say, “I missed you too.”

“I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you in Vegas. If that’s why you left, I understand. I deserved it. I’d do anything to take back the shit I said. I was young and so fucking stupid.” Eyes closed, he bends to lightly nuzzle his nose back and forth across my cheek. “I let go of the best thing that ever happened to me and I wasn’t man enough to realize it was a serious mistake.”

My heartbeat elevates from his touch and the sincerity of his confession until I’m sure I’ll pass out. I don’t know how I stop myself from pulling him down and kissing the shit out of his gorgeous lips. I don’t know how I stop my hips from thrusting into him in search of much needed friction against my tingling body. It’s impossible to focus on anything other than the glorious sensation of being in his arms, even if it doesn’t feel quite the same as it did five years ago. He’s still my Roman.

I close my eyes, lost in his intoxicating scent. “Why are you telling me all this now when you’re getting ready to travel across the country?”

“Because I lost you once and can’t stand the thought of it happening again. We could take things slow until I finish the tour. I could fly back whenever I have a few days off, or—”

“We can’t simply pick up where we left off,” I insist, pulling away from him.

“Why not?” His eyebrows crinkle together as he shakes his head. “I know it’s been a long time—too fucking long—but my feelings for you haven’t changed. I still want you the way I did when we were kids. And I mean I want all of you—your body, your heart, your kindness, your ability to make me laugh and lift me up when it feels like the world’s gone to shit. There’s no one else like you, Belle. I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel the way you always could. No woman could ever take your place. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone. You’re the only family I’ve ever known.”

With every sweet thing that spills from his lips, I become irrationally irritated. Was our relationship always this one-sided? Was it always about me being there for him? I never told him the shit I was going through at home because I didn’t think he could handle the truth in addition to his own problems, especially when he couldn’t do anything to help from so far away. He was always the one calling the shots, reaching out when he needed me the most. What if I was merely his security blanket all along?

“You’ve always needed me,” I say, nudging him backwards. “Do you even understand the difference between need and love? I gave you my heart once and you annihilated it when you questioned whether or not I was a whore!”

“You’re right, I fucked up. I hated that you hung out in that place when I wasn’t around and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.” When he reaches for me and I don’t struggle, he drags me back into his arms and pushes his lips into my snow-covered hair. “Give me a chance to prove that I don’t just need you. Let me show you how much I want you. Let me worship you the way you’ve always deserved. Let me be the man worthy of your love.”

Suddenly he’s clutching me to him in a way that feels desperate, and I’m useless to fight. The logical part of my brain knows this is wrong, but that part is overruled by the bigger part that says fuck it. I need to see if he can make good on his promises, even if it’s my final demise.

I’m transported back to the night when I was fifteen and agreed to be his girlfriend with one single word. Once again, it slips from my lips so suddenly that I’m not sure I really said it.

“Okay.”