‘I’m not interested. You’re the only lady I need in my life.’
The sentiment is supposed to be sweet, but the way Granny snorts makes my cheeks heat.
‘That’s bloody sad. Get out there and get yourself a life. You can’t let one heartbreak ruin your future. She was an idiot anyway. You’re wasting your life on some stupid ideas that you had as a young man.’
‘Granny—’
‘I mean it. You can’t hide from heartbreak. The Band-Aids you’re using won’t stick forever.’
Ignoring the way her words twist my guts, I change the subject, needing to escape the conversation.
‘So, have you been out partying? Tearing the dance floor up with the bingo ladies?’
Granny tuts, but lets the inquisition rest.
‘Age brings odd timekeeping, Roman. I’m up half the night these days. But it’s fine, Jimmy keeps my lap warm, and the tea will lull me back to sleep in an hour or so.’
Since Gramps passed, guilt eats me up whenever I think about Granny. Maybe I could move back in with her, at least part-time. I could keep the apartment for a bit of space…
‘I can stop by tomorrow, I’ll bring some of those biscuits you like, and maybe a new jigsaw puzzle?’
‘Maybe I should bring you biscuits and puzzles. You’re just as single as I am. If you’re coming, at least have the decency to bring rum and cake. I’m not a doddery old lady yet.’
I can’t help but laugh at her fire.
‘Deal. Rum and cake it is.’
‘Make it chocolate. Double chocolate at least.’ Iinherited her love for chocolate, so it won’t be a chore to go and share a cake date with her.
‘I’m going to hit the hay,’ I say, tiredness setting in. ‘Try not to party too hard.’
‘Someone has to! Love you.’
‘You, too.’
Her jibes about my singledom wouldn’t be so bad if I loved my single life. If my apartment didn’t echo with emptiness. It needs more.
I need more.
But seeking that future means sacrificing the things I have. It’s not worth it. Not when love can tear you a new arsehole without warning.
Sinking back onto the couch, I lose myself in the tidal wave of digital praise.
THREE
MAGGIE
The grumbleof Roman’s bike alerts me to his presence before he pulls into the back alley behind our building.
God, even the deep, resonating sound sends my stomach into a tizzy. So kind of him to loudly announce his arrival and departure every day. Super handy for a wannabe stalker.
Not that Iwantto stalk him. Obviously. Ihaveto. To get evidence of his lady visitors and his passwords. Essential surveillance that doesn’t excite me at all. My stomach bubbles as I peer out the rear window, watching as Roman parks his bike.
‘Shush,’ I tell my belly, ‘He’s not even that hot. It could be any man I take home; it’s not like I picked him for a reason. He’s just close. An easy target.’
The way my thighs clench when he gets off his bike, decked out in leather with the black visored helmet,calls me a liar. Every move seems practised, like he knows he’s a walking pile of totty. How can he brandish the nonsense he does online, yet have the gall to walk around like the eye candy in a music video?
Dark hair tumbles over his eyes as he removes the helmet, and my mind wonders what it would be like if he kept it on…
