Jock Romeo (Jock Hard 6)

Emotional attachment.

Emotional connection.

She likes me a lot.

Like. Said in a weighty way that implies much more.

I add and subtract and multiply these sentiments over and over in my head, trying to come up with an equation that makes sense in my brain. Lilly is effervescent and beautiful and full of life, and she’s choosing to be with someone like me to break her guy detox with. I am an intellectual who values science and engineering and logic over athletics and physical fitness. It’s not that I don’t believe I need to be physically fit, but I don’t obsess over it, and occasionally? I have a dad bod.

Lilly isn’t done pouring her heart out. “I like you a lot, Roman. I mean…with all my heart. You are my friend. You make me feel beautiful and smart and…” She fiddles with her fingers, twisting a gold ring she wears on the index of her left hand. “I don’t know.”

She glances up at me bashfully, beautiful in my mom’s navy pajamas that are a bit too big on her, expression tugging at my heart.

It constricts, pumping.

I am not built for this; I still have lots of work to do on myself and confidence to gain before I’m completely comfortable confessing all my wants and desires to a pretty girl I have feelings for—but for Lilly, I will have to try.

I clear my throat, shifting closer to her on the mattress, leaning back so we’re not far apart.

“I haven’t had many relationships at all. The majority of them were based on curiosity.” That sounded bad. “Based on friendship, mostly—I’ve never been…” in love.

Say the words, Roman.

Say anything—she’s waiting. Staring at me, actually.

“Um.”

No, not that.

“I’ve never had a romantic relationship is what I’m trying to say.”

There.

Better.

Lilly nods in understanding. “I have, but they weren’t filled with…” She searches for the right adjective. “Respect.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…I always had respect for the guys I dated, but I don’t think any of them respected me. I don’t suppose many guys our age know what that looks like, know what I mean?”

Yeah, I know what she means.

Mutual respect is one of the hallmarks of a strong relationship, and let’s be real, when you’re dating dudes who smash their heads together as a full-time hobby, they’re not thinking about ways to bond with their girlfriend. They’re thinking about the next big game—the next win. The next championship.

Don’t blame them, but isn’t it a scientific fact that most men aren’t emotionally mature until they’re like, forty years old?

That doesn’t bode well for you either, mate—Jack’s voice pops into my head.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” she asks quietly.

Friends. The kiss of death or the kiss of possibility?

“Yes, we’re friends.”

“Do you trust me, Roman?” Barely a whisper.

Do I?

I think I trust Lilly—I must. “Yes. Do you trust me?”

She nods. “I trust you more than I trust anyone. Is that weird?”

“No.” Sometimes you just…know. Sometimes you get a sense of who someone is without having known them at all. I want to have someone I can say anything to, share my day with and my frustrations. Tell my ideas to. Sit and talk cross-legged on the bed with them at night, in my parents’ house, after a holiday dinner.

Lilly is that someone.

“Do you remember what was going through your head the first night we met?” she asks, repositioning herself so she’s lying back, head on the pillow.

“Sure. I remember thinking ‘What’s this pretty girl doing wasting her time talking to a nerd like me?’”

She sits up. “Roman Whitaker, don’t talk like that.”

I shrug. “You asked what I was thinking, and that’s what was going through my head. That and watching the time. Essentially I was counting down the hours until I could leave.”

“Yeah, same.” She sighs, lying back down. “If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”

I hum. “I’m not sure I would live anywhere else, but I’m sure I’ll settle somewhere farther away once I get job offers.”

Lilly rolls her eyes. “Was that an actual answer?”

I laugh. “I don’t know, was it?”

“Not really.” She sighs again, patting the spot beside her. “I’d live in Arizona. I love the heat.”

When I crawl up the bed and settle in next to her, her hand finds my head and begins absentmindedly playing with my hair.

“Do you want kids?” I blurt out the question. Kids? Honestly, Roman, you’re asking her if she wants kids? She’s twenty-one, for fuck’s sake. Jesus, I wish I could facepalm myself without making it too obvious I feel like a freaking idiot.

“Yes—how ’bout you?”

“Sure. At least two, but who knows.”

I pause as I think of another question.

“Favorite beverage?”

Lilly scrunches up her face. “Is it lame to say lemonade?”

“No, that’s cute.” I look over at her, and our eyes meet.

“You know,” she says slowly, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin of my earlobe. “This feels like the first night we met, when we sat at the top of those stairs and asked each other questions because neither of us wanted to be at that party.” She pauses. “I wondered what it would be like to kiss you. Your glasses were so cute.”