“Runts are what we call the leftover drunk people at the end of the night that no one claims. Sometimes we put them on the couch up here until they sober up and remember where they need to go.” He flips on a light, and the couch is the first thing I see. It’s old and worn, and I can tell it’s comfortable just by looking at it. There’s a stand with a flat-screen TV on it a few feet away from a king-size bed.
It’s an efficiency apartment, complete with a kitchen and a small dining room with a window that overlooks the street in front of the bar. It’s twice the size of mine and actually has a little charm.
“It’s cute.” I point to the counter in the kitchen when I see at least thirty coffee mugs lined up against the wall. “You addicted to coffee or just coffee mugs?”
“It’s a long story.” Roman flips through his keys again. “There’s a storage area behind this door. Last time I looked, there was a table, but I can’t make any promises.” He gets the door unlocked, and when he pulls it open, there are two six-foot tables stacked vertically against the wall. I help him as he pulls one out. “You need both of them?”
“One will do.” We lean the table against the couch, and then he closes and locks the door.
We both lift one end to carry it downstairs. “We can leave it at the bottom of the stairwell for now and then throw it in the back of Ledger’s truck tonight,” he says.
“Awesome. Thank you.”
“What kind of luncheon is it?”
“Just a potluck.” I don’t want to admit it’s for Mother’s Day. It would seem like I’m celebrating the holiday, and I don’t want to be judged.
Not that Roman seems like the judgmental type. He actually seems like a decent person, and he’s handsome enough that I’d probably look at him differently if I didn’t already know what it was like to kiss Ledger.
I can’t look at another man’s mouth without wishing I was looking at Ledger’s. I hate that I still find him as attractive as I did the first night I walked into his bar. It would be so much easier to be attracted to someone else. Anyone else.
Roman props the table up at the bottom of the stairwell. “Do you need chairs?”
“Chairs. Shit. Yes.” I didn’t think about chairs. He heads back upstairs, and I follow him. “So, how do you and Ledger know each other?”
“He’s the one who injured me playing football.”
I pause at the top of the stairs. “He ended your football career, and now you’re . . . friends?” I’m not sure I follow how that trajectory could have occurred.
Roman eyes me carefully as he unlocks the storage room door again. “You really don’t know this story?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been sort of preoccupied for several years.”
He laughs quietly. “Yeah. I guess so. I’ll give you the condensed version.” He opens the door and starts grabbing chairs. “I had to have knee surgery after the injury,” Roman says. “I was in a lot of pain. Got addicted to pain pills and spent every penny I made in the NFL on my addiction.” He sets two chairs outside the door and then grabs two more. “Let’s just say I fucked up my life pretty good. Word got back to Ledger, and he tracked me down. I think he felt somewhat responsible, even though what he did to my knee was an accident. But he showed up when everyone else bowed out. He made sure I got the help I needed.”
I don’t know what to do with all the information he just handed me. “Oh. Wow.”
Roman has all six chairs stacked against the wall before he closes the door. He grabs four and I grab two, and we head back down. “Ledger gave me a job and rented this apartment to me when I got out of rehab two years ago.” We set the chairs against the wall before walking outside. “I honestly don’t even remember how it started, but he’d give me a coffee mug on the weekly anniversary of my sobriety. He still gives me a mug every Friday, but now he just does it to be an asshole because he knows I’m running out of space.”
That’s honestly kind of adorable. “Hopefully you like coffee.”
“I survive on coffee. You don’t want to be around me if I haven’t had it.” Roman’s eyes lock on something behind me. I turn around to find Ledger standing between his truck and the back door to the bar. He’s staring at us.
Roman doesn’t pause like I do. He keeps walking toward the back door to the bar. “Kenna is borrowing a table and some chairs for a thing she’s having Sunday. We put them at the bottom of the stairwell. Grab them before you leave.”