Biker's Virgin

"Yeah...maybe next time." I smiled at that. It wasn't a promise or anything, but it was the way we always talked in the past about the places we wanted to see together. "I can't wait to get back. I fly in Friday. What are you doing then?"

"I don't have anything planned. Why? Do you need a ride from the airport?"

"No," he laughed, "I want to take you out."

"The night you get back? Won't you be tired?"

"Are you blowing me off, Ron?" I could hear the smile in his voice.

"No. I'm excited to have you back. I'm sort of mad I let you go."

"Four more days. You can last that long, can't you?"

"Just because I can doesn't mean I want to," I said. "I got spoiled having you back in town again."

"I'll make it up to you, starting with dinner when I get back." I'm going to need more than just dinner, I thought. I hadn't expected to miss him so much. I had just had breakfast with him yesterday morning and here I was, wishing I wasn't falling asleep alone tonight.

"I'm looking forward to it," I told him. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but it scared me. I wasn't sure that I should have been ,and I didn't know whether I was allowed to feel safe being that vulnerable. Years together before we split said that I could, but I just wasn't ready yet. If I said I loved him, it meant I was letting him back in, all the way.

"I'm going to miss you," I said quietly, giving him that since I couldn't say the other thing.

"I'm going to miss you, too. I'll call you tomorrow."

"I'd like that," I said, smiling. We said goodnight, and I ended the call. When would it end? Would I stop feeling like this was new and exciting again? I loved the routines and comfort we used to have, but part of me didn't want this dating and discovery phase to end. I put my phone away and got ready to fall asleep. The phone call had been just what I needed.

.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Roman

I sat staring at the wall in front of me. The book I had gotten to read while I waited was this murder mystery thriller title and almost fifty pages in wasn't really doing it for me. I felt like I had to commit to it now, though, since I was already invested. Plus, it was too late to go try to buy another.

I felt like airports were like hospitals, everyone in there was suffering a little bit somehow. I didn't dislike traveling, but it was a hassle sometimes. Today, I was just wishing I had managed to get myself an earlier flight than the one I had.

I thought about talking to Veronica, but I had been texting her all week. I wanted to see her already. We had a date tonight, was the light at the end of the tunnel as the week had dragged on. I didn't like the distance between us, even though it was necessary. Now that this was over, I was looking forward to some time with her. If I ended up hearing back from anyone, it would probably only be in a couple weeks or something.

Leaning back in my seat, I tried to get into the book. A man walking by came up and asked whether the seat I was using for my duffel was taken. I told him it wasn't and moved it to the floor so he could sit. He was in a suit and sat up straight in his seat. He was talking on his phone with one of those earpiece things that made people look crazy, walking around talking out loud on their own.

"Are you here from the regional combine?" I heard him say, then repeat because it turned out he wasn't talking on his phone anymore. I turned to look at him. He looked about late thirties or early forties, trim, normal-looking with short hair.

"Yeah, actually. I am," I said, a little surprised. Either that had been a good guess because so many guys were flying back home after the event so this place was rotten with us, or he recognized me somehow. If he did, that only made one of us.

"I'm Andrew. Andrew Richardson," he said, introducing himself.

"Roman Blake," I said, shaking the man's hand.

"I remember you," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I saw you at the combine. You had the bench press record. 42 reps, right? That was impressive."

"Thanks," I said, not sure why he felt like telling me all this. I knew he wasn't a player. He wasn't really built like one, and he looked like he had probably aged out maybe seven years ago. No offense meant.

"Yeah. I scout for a couple teams around here. How long have you played QB?" he asked. Shit, he really had been paying attention.

"Most of high school. For college, I started for two years."