Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Why is my heart sinking? Why do I care if my fun little vacation fling will live in Denver or LA or Timbuktu when she goes back to reality? I need to slow my roll and stop assuming it’s a done deal I’ll wind up in LA. For all I know, Cameron won’t be able to get what I’m worth there and I’ll wind up in Minnesota or Tampa or God-knows-where.
Also, even if I do wind up in LA, I wouldn’t have time for a romantic relationship with Iris or anyone else. I’d have a new system to learn. New teammates to bond with. And most of all, my son within driving distance for the first time in his young life.
“What about you?” Iris asks, chomping on a crab cake. “Do you like living in Delaware? Is that your final destination, you think?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Delaware was a necessary lie, since even my first name, standing alone, is synonymous with Baltimore and the Crusaders. Surely, if I’d told the truth, Iris could google “Roman” and “Baltimore,” and my name, face, and bio would pop right up. Just because the lie was necessary, however, doesn’t mean I’m not feeling guilty about telling it.
“I’ve actually been thinking about moving,” I admit. “Not sure where yet. That’s TBD.”
“Well, like you said, you certainly can’t beat the weather in Southern California. But the cost of living is really high, so many not.”
“Maybe. Yeah, I’ve still got some moving parts to figure out.”
Iris pauses, apparently expecting me to provide further details. When I don’t, she picks up her drink, and says, “If you do wind up moving, would you relocate your gym or open another location?”
Holy hell. My web of lies is becoming exhausting. “Not sure yet.”
Iris pauses again. And when I don’t say more, she takes a sip of her drink and murmurs, “Well, I hope all the moving parts work out for you, Roman. Exactly as you’re hoping.”
Chapter 15
Iris
After our romantic lunch date, Roman and I quickly change into hiking gear in the restaurant bathroom before heading across the street to a small grocery store. The plan is to pick up a few snacks and sports drinks for today’s next adventure: a two-hour-round-trip hike that supposedly boasts a “must-see” waterfall and jaw-dropping ocean views at its turnaround point.
According to Roman, who’s done the hike before, it isn’t well-known by tourists. It’s more of a local’s thing. So, we likely won’t encounter too many hikers on the trail. That’s a plus. Nobody’s recognized me thus far today, and I’d like to keep it that way. I think it was so sweet of Roman to try to keep me as incognito as possibly today during our date.
“You’re gonna love this hike,” Roman says, taking my hand as we head toward the market. “It’s one of my favorite spots on Earth.” Over lunch, Roman told me about how he and some friends did this same hike a few years ago, and his obvious excitement to share it with me sent butterflies into my belly. I can’t believe how much effort, time, and money Roman is putting into our amazing first date. The helicopter tour alone would have been the best date of my life—but on top of that, he also treated me to a romantic meal, and now he’s taking me to one of his favorite spots on Earth, too?
Why?
The question pops into my head, unbidden.
Why is Roman pulling out all the stops like this? He’s a gym owner, after all—probably not a gazillionaire. So, why spend this much money and time on a nobody he’ll never see again after this week? I’m sure the dangling carrot of easy sex probably has something to do with it—and, of course, I’m more than happy to supply the easy sex, if that’s all that’s motivating him. But I have to think this gorgeous, charming, charismatic man could get sex any time he wants from every gorgeous woman he meets. So why me?
I’m not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever’s prompting Roman to act like my very own Prince Charming, I’m grateful for it. After less than a full day, I’ve already nearly forgotten about my troubles. But still, being grateful for something doesn’t mean I’m not also confused about Roman’s motivations.
We make it to the market and immediately start perusing an assortment of protein bars and trail mixes on a front rack. But before we’ve made any selections, a woman in her mid-forties or so practically hurls herself at Roman and screams, “Oh my gosh! Is it really you? You’re my all-time favorite player, Roman!”
As the woman grips Roman’s broad shoulder with excitement, he visibly stiffens. With his mouth tight and his dark eyes flickering to me, he says, “You want a selfie? Let’s go over there.” He gestures toward the other side of the store. “The lighting is better there.”