Chapter Twenty-One
Lola
You having a good time, Firebird?
The best time.
Don’t you want to be dancing?
I like it here, with you. It’s like we’re on the edge of the world.
Careful. You might fall off.
If I did, you’d catch me.
- Conversation between Lola, age 18 and Roman, age 25, at Lola’s birthday party
I’m tired,dusty and I want to curse the world for being height-est. Maybe this is my karma for all the stupid things I did as a kid. Hell, I probably deserve much worse.
The idea was to cover the whole wall with the T-shirts I’ve collected from around the world. The ones at waist height wereeasy enough but I started to get into trouble after the second row up.
Now, I’m balancing on the top of a paint can, on top of a ladder, trying to flatten out the T-shirt against the wall before I staple it, when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” I call out around the ruler in my mouth.
The door opens just as I go up onto tiptoes to press down on the stapler.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I jump at Roman’s voice, spinning around to find him scowling up at me. And in my continued efforts to live out a rom-com, I have less than a second to take in his beautiful, furious face before I lose balance.
I grab onto one of the T-shirts, but it tears off the wall under my weight. The paint tin crashes against the floor, the lid popping and left over blue paint splattering across the dust sheet, in a pretty fine impression of what’s about to happen to me.
Except then Roman’s there and my stomach hits his arm with an oomph. The air vanishes from my lungs. I choke, trying to steady myself as his forearm crushes the space under my ribcage. Fuck, so much for the bridal style catch you see in the movies.
I blink, slowly finding my breath as Roman’s large, muscled body surrounds me.
His heavy breaths flutter against my hair and I sink into his hold.Okay, maybe this isn’t so bad.
Just as I’m starting to enjoy it, Roman lets out a soft curse and turns me around, backing me up against the wall. His hands flex around my waist.
For a moment, we both just stare at each other. My heart picks up and I don’t know whether it’s because I just almost died or because I’ve not used to being this close to Roman.
His hands tremble as he holds me. Warm, apple-cider breath flutters over my face. I open my mouth to thank him, but he beats me to it.
“I am going to strangle you,” he hisses, looking down from where he towers over me.
I smile despite myself. “Seriously, Rome? You’ve got to think your murder plans through better. You could have just let me fall and then you’d be scot-free. Nada. Sure, you might need therapy for witnessing a traumatic death by ladder. The sound of my neck snapping might wake you up at night but?—”
My little diatribe is cut off when Roman places his hands either side of my head and leans in closer. “So not the time for jokes, Firebird.”
He runs his gaze over me, checking for injuries.
I scrunch my toes on the dust sheet and draw my bottom lip between my teeth. I’m only in a little vest top and a pair of short shorts. The T-shirts I’ve already managed to attach to the wall are soft against my shoulders as I squirm under his inspection.
Roman’s still cataloguing every inch of my body, his gaze alone sparking tingles all over my skin.
“You know,” I say, “it would be easier to check for bruises if you took my clothes off.” I’m not being serious, but Roman’s eyes snap to mine, the black of his pupils drowning out the blue.
