Roman (Raleigh Raptors 2)

I hurried across the room, launching myself into his arms knowing he’d catch me.

He’d always caught me.

I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent, breathing a sigh at the feel of his solid body against mine. Loving that he didn’t try to pull away or speak or question this…he just held me.

“You’re too good to me,” I whispered, not daring to move my head from his shoulder.

He squeezed me against him. “I’m nowhere near good enough.”

I furrowed my brow, shifting against him so that I could meet his eyes. He’d said something similar when our mothers had visited, and I hated the words now just as much as I had then.

We were nearly nose to nose, and my heart raced against my chest that pressed against his. He could probably feel it. He held me that tight.

“You are the most amazing man I’ve ever known, Roman Padilla,” I said, making sure he heard every word. “And I will never, ever be able to repay you for what you’ve done. What you keep doing for me.”

But I would sure as hell try. I had an envelope full of receipts hidden in the drawer I’d claimed as mine. Once I started selling my paintings again, I’d pay him back. Little by little. With interest.

The emotional aspect though? How could I ever repay him for that? For the way he kept going out of his way to make sure that I not only found my feet again but found myself again?

“You’ll never have to,” he said, his breath warm on my cheeks. His eyes flickered from mine to my lips and back up again. Flames licked my skin at the energy that buzzed between us as he continued to hold me as if he’d be content to do that all damn day.

One inch of movement, that’s all it would take from me, and I’d learn what his lips felt like—

An alarm buzzed from his back pocket, and I jolted from the sudden sound.

Roman hissed but gently set me on my feet. “Practice,” he said after silencing the alarm on his phone.

“Right,” I said, slightly breathless. “First game tomorrow.”

Roman arched a brow at me. “Are you coming?”

I nearly choked at the words, my cheeks blazing red from where my mind had been moments ago. “I…um.. Roman, I don’t know—”

“It’s okay,” he said, waving me off. He motioned behind him. “I have to go.”

I nodded, my heart still racing. “Have a good practice,” I said, watching him as he headed for the door. “Roman?” I blurted, and he whirled around, his hand on the doorframe like he needed it to stop himself from rushing back into the room. “I…” the words built up inside me, a crescendo of confusion and need and uncertainty and fear. I blew out a breath. “Thank you for this.”

Coward.

Roman flashed me a smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Of course,” he said, then disappeared down the hallway.

I spent half the day in that studio, the urge to create on the tip of my fingers, but the storm of emotions in my soul shackling me in doubt.

Because the longer I stayed with Roman, the more emotions kept cropping up I couldn’t explain. Like that undiluted need when he was within touching distance of me or anytime he did something so incredibly kind I couldn’t even fathom how he knew. He always knew—the right thing to say or not say, the right place to go, the right way to bring me out of myself.

He’d always known.

Since we were kids.

Because we’d been friends since before I could remember.

And that wasn’t something that happened every day.

My heart sank, knowing that it didn’t matter what I felt. I couldn’t risk his friendship. I couldn’t cross that line between us. And, hell, he literally had women falling at his feet. The last thing he needed was his emotionally broken best friend begging him for affection.

It would be more than that.

I shook my head at the voice in my mind that begged me to reach out. Then I glanced at the studio again, and my heart melted.

He’d continued to go out of his way for me. For his best friend. To help me heal.

And I knew there was something I could do for him, beyond taking care of his house.

I just hoped like hell I’d find the courage to actually do it.

* * *

I flashed my badge at the security guard who waved me down the hallway. Excited chatter from the press and family alike echoed off the walls, the stadium buzzing with an energy I tried to siphon. I smoothed my hands over my jeans, my sneakers near silent on the floor as I upped my pace.

It had taken me over an hour to convince myself to come, to convince myself I was strong enough to be here. To face whatever being here would bring down on me. But knowing that Rick was always the last to leave the locker room gave me the security I needed . And even if he changed his routine—which I knew he wouldn’t—I’d deal with it.