“You’re going to hate me by the end of this trip.”
“Read the rules.”
I begin reading the rules. He is a madman.
Rule #3: No personal details. Keep it professional. “You already broke your first rule when you stood half naked in my living room.”
His thumb rubs his bottom lip. “Read the rest.”
I continue reading. “Either you have control issues, or you tie up women and swing them around a room.”
“What the fuck?” His laugh sounds heavy and sweet.
“All these rules are crazy. Rule #9: Keep the past in the past. We are not going to be talking much about our past, Roman.”
“You never know.”
“I agree to Rule #7: Don’t catch feelings. I can’t see the both of us catching anything other than a cold.”
Watching Roman drive shows me that he is a man who strives for perfection. He moves with precision, turning correctly into each lane and stopping when the light is red.
“Why aren’t you spending time with your family on Christmas?”
I frown, thinking about my father and the last fight we had. “My parents and I are not seeing eye to eye, so this year, I decided to stay home.”
“I feel that.” The car is filled with classical music once more.
“Can we please change the music?” I beg.
He grunts. “Sure.”
I grab my phone and connect to the speakers. The sound of parang fills the car.
“What the hell is that?”
“Parang.”
“Pa—what? Where are you from?” He cries.
“Oh, Trinidad; I was born there, and now I live here.”
Roman’s green eyes move over me like he’s watching me for the first time. “You are from the islands.”
“Yup.”
“I hardly hear an accent. I hear it in little things, but—”
I hold my laugh in. “I code-switch.”
He rubs the side of his face and says nothing. My hands tremble. Does he have a problem with me being Trinidadian?
“What’s the problem?” I mean, if he wants to put me out, he can.
“Nothing; in fact, my mother would love that. She would find you exotic.”
“God, please, no. Something about the word ‘exotic’ creeps me out.”
“Sorry. And this music, is it Spanish?”
