Page 114 of Rebound
I watch him roll out the dough and feed it into the pasta maker. The whole process is fascinating to me, as someone who rarely cooks because she’s bad at it. I can do the basic things to survive, but I’d never even attempt to make my own pasta and sauce.
“Are your parents going to be there tomorrow night?” I ask Roman.
All Titans, whether current or former, are invited to the annual Christmas party, as well as their family members. My parents always attend, and I’ve attended a few in the past. I’ve never seen Mr. and Mrs. Maddox there.
“No, they don’t attend the Christmas parties,” Roman says, eyes focused on the pasta he’s making. “I think the last one they attended was the one before my father retired. They only did it for appearances.”
“Do they know about us?” I ask quietly.
If I see his parents randomly walking down the street, how do I greet them?
Roman looks up at me, his face flat. “No. I try to limit communication with them as much as possible. In fact, my father and I have mostly been communicating through my agent. He’s been trying to get me to do this interview to ‘clean up my image’.”
I was wondering why Roman suddenly wanted to fit in with the Titans when he doesn’t even believe in team camaraderie. For a man who plays team sports, he really hates being part of a team. Is he trying to get along with the team now to ‘clean up his image’ without giving his father any leeway into his life?
“Do you want to clean up your image?” I ask.
“Fuck, no. There’s nothing to clean, and it’s an excuse anyway.” He turns to put the sliced pasta into boiling water.
“How is it an excuse?”
“When you or Drew get interviewed, do they ask about your dad?” Roman crosses his arms and leans against the counter.
I nod in agreement. “You think the interview is a puff piece for your dad, especially since he’s pushing you to do it.”
“Exactly. I have thirty-two years of experience that the man is incapable of thinking about anyone but himself. Especially since—” Roman stops, frowning a little as he turns to the stove.
“Since what?” I prod gently. I get up from the stool and walk around the island to stand next to him, placing a hand on his wide back. His muscles are tense under my hand. “Roman?”
“Especially since people believe I started playing hockey because of him,” Roman grumbles, and looks up at me, the intensity in his eyes knocking my breath away. “I started playing because of you, and your passion and determination on the ice. I started playing because I used to watch you play hockey with the other kids and I wanted to play with you.”
That’s not the answer I’m expecting. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the idea that I’m the reason he’s playing hockey. He built his whole career around me, because of me. I cup his cheek and arch up onto my toes to kiss him.
“I’m honored to have inspired you,” I whisper.
Roman’s smile presses against my mouth. “You inspire me every day, Blossom.”
He plates our dinner and as we eat, I tell him all about the brand deal I have to film and when the conversation inevitably turns to hockey and their upcoming away games, Roman doesn’t shut it down. He listens to me talk about the teams, about how the season is going, and he provides plenty of input. I tell him I’m looking forward to tomorrow night and he grumbles about having to socialize.
It’s the best date I’ve ever had.
THIRTY-SIX
ROMAN
At exactly seven, I’m standing in front of Lavinia’s apartment. Jules opens the door, wearing a long, burgundy dress, her hair twisted up into a knot, and wearing the tallest high heels. She looks like a femme fatale. Lavinia mentioned that Kai’s taking Jules to the party on a friend date.
“Lavinia is still getting ready, and Kai isn’t here, so you’re stuck with me.”
Jules disappears into the apartment, which I guess is an invitation. The apartment isn’t what I expected from Jules and Lavinia. It’s stark white, with furniture that almost looks like it would be uncomfortable to sit on. They both have such vibrant personalities; I assumed their home would reflect that.
“Do you want something to drink?” Jules asks from the kitchen. It’s an open plan living area, similar to my apartment.
“No, thanks.” I fidget with the cuffs of my shirt. I haven’t been to a Titans Christmas party since I was eight years old. Somehow, I ended up in the fountain, absolutely drenched, with Lavinia urging me to get out of it.
The flowers I sent Lavinia yesterday sit on the center of the kitchen island, and they are the warmest thing in the room. Iwanted to get her more flowers and then wondered if it would be overkill.
“Was your apartment decorated by someone who lost their soul in a bet?”
