Page 70 of Resting Grump Face
“Put them on,” he growls, crosses his arms and avoids both mine and Bruce’s gaze. “They should be your size.”
They are, and they’re really comfortable and pretty too.
Which, for whatever reason, annoys me as much as it makes me happy.
He’s nice to me, then he disappears for days, then he shows back up and does cute stuff like this?
What an asshole.
I hate to admit that the gesture makes me more emotional than I would like. I am not a crier. Last time it took a very sad video of a one-eyed cat for me to cry. I definitely don’t cry because of something like this, no matter how thoughtful it might be.
So I wipe away some unrelated moisture from my eyes before anyone can see, and we continue up the stairs. It’s a lot of stairs. This building must have high ceilings, which leaves me with a lot of time to think.
Yeah, this is bad.
Not the high ceilings, or the stairs, but my hyperemotional mood.
Because that’s what this is. Just some unusual mood swings, not… actual feelings. Feelings for Mr. One Date And Separate.
When we make it to the 13thfloor, all of us are a little out of breath. I leave my high heels by the door and we enter Roman’s apartment. When he spots the three of us, he comes over and gives me a hug while ignoring both his brothers. The hug only lasts a fraction of a second, but I know how hard it is for him to bring himself to do things like this. Behind me, I can hear Bruce mutter,‘What the fuck was that?’as Roman leads me through his living space. It’s a bit like stepping into the mind of a mad scientist who has just discovered he's rich. There’s a telescope that’s almost as tall as me, a wall of what appears to be rare salts from around the world, and some portraits that are flipped upside down.
I spot a few people who are dancing on a make-shift dance floor to no music at all. At least that’s what it looks like until I realize all of them are wearing headphones.
“Silent party,” Roman explains, and hands me a pair as well. “There are a couple of channels you can choose between. I suggest the whale sound channel.”
On the kitchen island, there are several snacks, finger foods and drinks. Soggy fries, less soggy fries, dips and an ungodly amount of sodas, beer, champagne, wine and liquors.
“What would you like to drink?” our host asks.
“I’ll just have a beer.”
He points at a big bowl filled with bottles. “Regular, room temperature beer?” He points at another bowl filled with ice and beer. “Alcohol free, chilled beer?” His finger moves to the next bowl. “Room temperature beer that has been violently shaken to get rid of the carbonation? Oooor,” he points to the last bowl,“Chilled coke that has been filled into beer bottles so you can look like you’re drinking without actually drinking beer.”
“Interesting. You really thought this through,” I say, equally impressed and confused. “But do you also have regular, chilled beer?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would anyone want to drink that?” He looks at me for a second with a sly grin and then opens the fridge. “In here.”
Ryker is across the penthouse at the moment, putting his jacket on a hanger, but I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.
“Oh, hey,” I say, “before I forget: your gift.” I reach into my purse and hand Roman a small box.
“Wow, you shouldn’t have… wrapped it like this.” He looks at the result of my subpar wrapping skills. “Although I do like that you chose the obituaries as the wrapping paper. Nice touch on a day like this.”
“Thanks, they lie around everywhere where I live,” I explain. “Go ahead, open it.”
He doesn’t hesitate a second and tears the newspaper apart, then opens the box inside to reveal a pair of sunglasses.
“They’re called glacier glasses,” I explain. “Some people use them to block bright light, but that’s not really the reason I got them for you. They’re mostly to protect the people around you?—”
“From my mesmerizing eyes!” He tries them on and cranes his neck to look straight into a nearby light bulb. “Wow, it’s like a painkiller for my eyes. That’s such a thoughtful gift. Thank you so much, Sienna!” He takes the glasses off, hisses like a vampire and puts them back on.
Ryker joins us, pulls a thick envelope from his inner pocket, and tosses it in Roman’s direction. “As long as we’re doing presents,” he says and grabs a beer from the fridge as well.
Like a kid, he tears Ryker’s gift apart to reveal a pair of socks. I recognize them immediately. They’re the ones that were lying on the rocking chair by the fireplace.
Roman laughs out loud and holds one in each hand. They’re yellow and look like a bunch of fries, with the birthday boy’s face on the sides.
Roman is speechless and just stares at his brother.
