“Hmm?”
“You called her Katie on the way out.”
“She told me her name while we were taking a photo. I make it a habit to immediately use someone’s name after they’ve supplied it to me. That’s the kind of thing people remember, you know?”
I mean, he’s not wrong. But I’ve never heard anyone express name recall with strangers as a conscious habit they’ve cultivated. Then again, I’ve never met a gym owner with high-profile clients before, so I bet Roman’s got lots of habits and tricks that have helped him succeed in his career.
Finally, we reach Roman’s car. As he reaches into his backpack for the keys, I say, “I was impressed that woman remembered you from your college playing days. You must have been a great player for her to remember you after all this time.”
Roman opens and closes his mouth, but in the end, he remains silent while stuffing our snacks and drinks into his pack. As he does that, I get situated into the passenger seat of his car, and after a moment, Roman slides into the driver’s seat and silently pulls the car onto the road.
I can tell Roman’s feeling humble about his playing days. Which means I should let it go. But I can’t seem to stop myself from probing further. “Did you do something particularly memorable on the field in college?” It’s either that or the womanin the market recognized Roman solely based on his highly memorable face. Given how gorgeous Roman is, I don’t think option number two is a stretch. “What’s up, Roman? Come on. After everything I’ve been through, I can’t handle any more secrets.”
Roman inhales a deep breath. “I didn’t ask her why she said I’m her favorite player. I have no idea why she said that.” That’s all I’m going to get apparently, much to my chagrin. He’s stopped talking.
Over the years with Brandon, I admit I sometimes fantasized what it’d be like to be in a relationship with a classic “strong, silent type,” instead of with a chatty guy who always had something to say on every topic. Well, now that I’m sitting next to one, I can honestly report: As sexy and mysterious as the type might be, they’re also a tad bit frustrating.
In the silence, an idea slams into me. What if Roman was a star player in college, someone who was a shoo-in to go to the NFL, but his big dreams got snatched away by an injury? When Roman was explaining the draft to me yesterday, he said injuries can play a big part in a player’s ultimate journey in the NFL. Did he base that not only on his clients’ experiences but also on his own?
That would explain Roman’s reluctance to talk about his college playing days. Also, why he wanted to get the hell out of that store and doesn’t want to talk about it now. Because the whole situation is still too raw and painful for him to talk about. Whenever random, well-meaning people in Orchard Blossom ask me how I’m coping without my mother, I never want to talk with them about her, and certainly not about the circumstances of her self-inflicted death, so I can definitely relate to the urge to shut down and quickly move the conversation along.
“Would you mind pulling up the name of the trailhead?”Roman asks, motioning to my phone in the cup holder. “As I recall, the trailhead is a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of thing.
I salute. “You’ve got it, Pilot.”
Roman tells me the name of the hike, and I plug it into my navigation app.
“How close are we, Copilot?”
“One point two miles.”
“Keep an eye out, okay?”
“I’m on it.” Am I, though? As long as I’ve got my phone out and Roman’s laser-focused on the road, now seems like a perfect chance to search the internet using every clue I’ve learned thus far about Roman.
I peek at my handsome driver again, and when I’m certain he’s not paying attention to me, I input everything I know:Roman, University of Texas, Austin, tight end, football player, gym owner, Delaware.To my disappointment, though, my search brings up some random guy named Chad Roman—a strawberry-blond dude with a goatee and light eyes who bears zero resemblance to the dark-haired, dark-eyed Adonis sitting next to me.
No shade to Chad Roman, though. Age thirty-seven. He seems like a successful guy. Apparently, he was a phenom at UT Austin who then went on to become a superstar, longtime tight end for the Minnesota Marauders, until a knee injury sadly forced him into retirement two seasons ago.
Undeterred, I search the same list of terms again, except adding “injury” and “injured,” in case my hunch about Roman is correct, but my addition doesn’t change the ultimate result.Chad Roman, Chad Roman, Chad Roman.Every link, article, and photo is aboutthatparticular tight end from UT Austin.
Did nobody write about Roman the Tight End for UT Austin back in the day, or has too much time passed for Roman’s write-ups to remain anywhere near the top of the internet slush pile—at least, without me knowing Roman’s last name?
I suppose it makes sense Chad Roman is the only one coming up. He’s the player who went on to get drafted into the NFL, not Roman. He’s the one who then became a superstar player in the league, while Roman faded into football obscurity and opened his gym. The thought makes my heart pang for Roman. No wonder he doesn’t want to talk about his college playing days. For a kid who grew up dreaming of NFL glory, not making it into the pros, for whatever reason, must have been a tough pill to swallow.
“Hey, Copilot,” Roman says. “Is that the trailhead?”
I jerk my gaze up from my phone to find Roman slowing the car and pointing to an almost imperceptible clearing in the thick rainforest alongside the highway.
As the car passes the spot Roman’s indicating, I quickly swipe from my browser to my navigation app before sheepishly confirming, “Yeah, that was it. Oops.”
To my relief, Roman chuckles. “You hadonejob, Copilot.”
“Sorry, Pilot. My mind wandered for a minute there.”
Roman pats my thigh. “No worries, sweetheart. Let your mind wander as much as you need.”
My shoulders soften.Sweetheart.Brandon wouldn’t have reacted like that if I’d messed up in the same way. He’d have chastised me for getting distracted after he’d expressly told me to pay attention.
