Smiling, I walk around the desk and give Georgia a big hug, whispering in her ear. “I love you for volunteering, but honestly…I want you and my dad to go out and have fun tonight. It thrills me to see both of you so happy with each other.”
Her fingers dig in to give me an acknowledging squeeze, then we pull back from each other. She cocks her head at me and asks, “But to be serious for a moment, it doesn’t bother you I’m dating your dad, does it?”
“God no,” I exclaim quickly. “Why would it?”
“Well, because he’s all stuffy and uptight, and I’m totally corrupting him and will continue to do so. I just want you to know that if you feel the need to step up and protect his virtue, I’d understand it.”
And for a brief moment, I forget about my worries with Roman and let out a snort of crazy laughter. Grabbing Georgia, I pull her back into a hard hug and tell her, “I hope you do corrupt him. He needs some fun in his life.”
“Amen, sister,” she murmurs to me, and we break apart again.
Turning toward her office door, I casually toss over my shoulder, “If Roman shows up, tell him I said ‘bite me.’?”
“Do you really want me to tell him that?” she asks skeptically.
“No,” I say grudgingly over my shoulder. “You can just tell him I got tired of waiting on his supreme highness to grace me with his presence and I’m going home.”
“I won’t say it quite like that,” Georgia says with a laugh. “But I’ll let him know where you are.”
“See you tomorrow,” I tell her with forced cheerfulness as I walk out of her office.
—
By nine o’clock, I have my pajamas on—a snuggly fleece set done in butter yellow with little white sheep on them—and a pair of fuzzy socks. I make a cup of hot chocolate in my Keurig. It’s a little watery and not all that great, but I’m too lazy to make it the old-fashioned way. Besides, it sort of fits my current mood of frustration and annoyance, so I’m going with it.
I’ve decided on one of my favorite movies, Love Actually, because I’m still an eternal optimist despite my frustration, and I settle in on the couch with a soft knit blanket my mom made for me several years ago. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but it still smells a little like home to me.
The hesitant knock on my door comes just as I turn on the TV, and taking stock of my immediate feelings, I’m honestly not surprised. I knew he’d show up at some point.
With a sigh, I put the remote down on the coffee table and push up from the couch. As I cross my small apartment, I wonder what I’ll get with Roman. Maybe he’s drunk after deciding to go out and drink with the boys, and he lost track of time and forgot he had a date with me. Maybe he had something important come up that prevented him from contacting me, although in fairness, I wouldn’t know if he’d been trying recently, as I turned my phone off the minute I got home.
When my hand touches the knob, I steel myself to maintain my irritation with him, knowing that one soft look will melt my anger, and swing the door open.
I’m met with anger on etched all over his face. “Is there a reason you’re ignoring my calls?”
“Didn’t know you called,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “Turned my phone off.”
“Seriously?” he asks with both eyebrows raised. “That’s how you’re playing this?”
“Yup,” is all I say.
“Can I at least come in?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“Sure,” I respond with another shrug, then step back from the door so he can enter. “But let’s make this quick, as I have a hot date tonight with Hugh Grant and Liam Neeson.”
“What?” he huffs as he turns on me, clearly confused.
“Oh, you wouldn’t know anything about them,” I say sweetly. “Two men who clearly have their priorities in order.”
“Jesus fuck, Lexi,” he growls at me in frustration. “I’m sorry I’m late—”
“By three and a half hours,” I growl back at him.
The anger dies in his eyes and apology softens his face. “I’m really sorry. I laid down to take a nap after practice. I even set my alarm on my phone, but I fucking forgot to turn the vibrate off. I just didn’t hear it.”
I don’t say a word, but I’m not about to let him know at this point I’m actually relieved he’s here and it’s a simple matter of not hearing his alarm, causing him to oversleep and miss our date. But I’m going to let him squirm a little more.
“I woke up about an hour ago and immediately tried to call you,” he continues to explain. “But you wouldn’t answer.”
“Phone was off,” I remind him.
He gives me a tiny glare and continues. “I rushed right out of the house and went to The Grind. Georgia told me you weren’t there and I had to listen to her read me the riot act. Then I came here.”
Roman sounds so frustrated, so completely out of sorts, as I think this may be the first time he realizes that relationships aren’t always fun and games, that my anger completely fizzles and I have a moment of profound sympathy for him.
“Was Georgia really tough on you?” I ask with a compassionate smile as I move toward him.