“The Graveyard?” I don’t know what that means. Is she referring to Roman? Plus, what is Willow saying? Why are those words—those lies—leaving her mouth? She’s implying with every syllable she mutters that I am, in fact, Roman’s fiancée.
Fran nods, taking Willow’s half-truths as fact without one little question. And what did her friend meanTheGraveyard doesn’t relationship? Roman was always popular, always friendly. He was like joy inside a teenage boy. And Roman always had a girlfriend. It was a little annoying if I’m being honest. The guy couldn’t walk two feet without a new girl throwing herself at him.
“Since you were kids? That’s so sweet,” Fran says. “Have you seen—” She begins, but Callum Whitaker, number ten, and Zevulun Hayes, number five, walk up behind the two, distracting our interrogation team.
“Willow,” I whisper, repaying her with a pinch to her arm. “What are you doing?”
“Go with it.” Her brown eyes flick from the women to me. “Roman must have his reasons,” she whispers.
He must.
Roman wouldn’t say something like that to ajournalistof all people unless there was a reason. Right?
But then, do I know Roman anymore? After Brice—after graduation—Roman left, and we never heard from him again.
Roman puts an end to his current interview and starts our way. I swear, even with Fran and Rosalie distracting me, I hear the wordweddingamongst one of his last words. He stares ahead, his look fierce, until his eyes fall on me. He softens—immediately. His tender gaze almost seems to apologize on his behalf.
I grind my teeth, my jaw clenched, staring at the heartthrob boy who became very much a striking adult. Yep, Roman grew up well. Besides the whole lying to the world about me bit, I have to believe he’s still the same old Roman. Only buffer. With more facial hair. And thighs that could peel an orange.
I swallow and remove the image of Roman peeling anorange with his leg muscles. I’m not sure what that would even look like, but right this minute, my brain is doing its best to conjure the picture. Remove all that, and I’d guess he’s the same sweetheart he always was. He wasn’t a liar. He was a friend to everyone.
Jogging the last few steps into the group we’ve formed, Roman chokes out a breathless, “Stella, can we talk?”
“Graveyard,” says a man hurrying up behind Roman. The man slaps his back and grins like a goof while waggling his brows. “Engaged? Did I hear that right?” He speaks with a slight accent and a cocky expression on his face.
Roman stiffens at the man’s touch. His smile is more of a grimace as he says, “Good news travels fast.”
“Yeah, it does,” the man says, and I recognize him now. I searched the Red Tail’s roster online during our drive over. Lucca Cruz is the only Brazilian on the Red Tails team. “Callum heard you, Sawyer heard him, he told Tru, and Tru told me.” He beams as if he’s solved some tricky riddle. “I can’t believe The Graveyard got a girl to date him.”
“Hey,” I bark, more defensive than I should be. But this is Roman. I would have followed eighteen-year-old Roman anywhere—I mean, as long as my brother didn’t know about it.
“No offense, mystery girl.” The Brazilian winks at me. “I’m Lucca.”
“Her name is Stella,” Roman says, shrugging the man’s hand from his back. “And she doesn’t need to know you.”
Lucca holds up both hands in innocence, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “So sensitive. I can respect that.”
“Be straight, Graves,” Hayes says, standing next to Rosalie. “You’re engaged?”
Whitaker sets a hand on Fran’s back, and though theman is dripping with sweat, she leans into him. “And none of us knew?” he says.
I silently add,No one, not a soul, not even the supposed bride.
“For real,” Fran says. “All this time, I could have had a wedding planning buddy. Geez, Roman.” Her tone is playful, and it’s the first sense of softening I see in Roman since his teammates started asking questions. “When is the big day?”
“Soon,” Roman says, and I almost choke on my swallow. He doesn’t even glance my direction with the words. “Very soon. Uh, so, long-distance. I haven’t seen Stella in a while. So?—”
“Oh,” Rosalie says. “Right. We’ll leave you two alone.” Her hand slips into Zev’s and she tugs him behind her.
“Sure, we’ll go. For now,” Fran sings before looping her arm through Callum’s and following after her friend.
Once the troops are out of earshot, I screw up my face and turn on Roman.
“I know,” he says before I can utter a word. “But hear me out.” He sets one gentle hand on my shoulder. It reminds me of the opposite—his gruffness with Lucca, his frown at Zev. I’ve never seen Roman like that. And since when did the man need to lie about his love life?
“I’m listening.” I plant one hand on my hip, attempting not to breathe in his woodsy scent. I do my best to stay grounded, to keep my weak knees strong and my head clear. I tell the fifteen-year-old girl living and crushing on Roman Graves inside of me to chill out, to grow up.
“Alone?” he says, glancing over at a quiet, very observant Willow.
