Page 34 of Payback
I touch the backs of my fingers to my hot cheeks and reply, “I feel like an asshole because I know so little about you.”
Roan shrugs his shoulders. “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything.”
He takes a drink of his beer, so I take the opportunity to do the same before replying with the first question that comes to mind.
“What’s your family like?”
A broad smile stretches across his face. “You want to meet my mom, mooi?”
I shake my head nervously. “No, that’s not what I meant. This is such a bad idea. I haven’t dated anybody in two years—”
Roan leans across the table, cutting me off. “I was raised by a strong, beautiful, single mother after my dad died when I was three. My mom found a new husband when I was about eight, which resulted in my twin sisters. He was a decent guy when he was sober, but he turned out to be a mean drunk toward her. It sucked. But after years of emotional abuse, she finally divorced him, only to fall back in love with her true passion in life…Dance. Ballroom dancing to be more specific.”
I blink at him, surprised by his candid response. “I remember you mentioning the dancing thing at the wedding.”
He nods around a drink. “We lived in a flat above the dance studio where she works, so I was always around it.”
The image of a younger version of Roan dancing with his mother in a studio brings a small smile to my face. My smile falls when I think about growing up without a father, though. “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. Do you remember him at all?”
He gets a tight look on his face. “Not really. He was South African and met my mother when he was going to med school in England. He was evidently a brilliant man because it was no easy feat to get out of South Africa for education in those days. After apartheid ended, they made the decision to move to Cape Town and open a medical clinic. He barely got the clinic open before he had a heart attack.”
“I’m so sorry, Roan,” I state quietly, staring down at my wine glass and feeling guiltier than ever for not seeing what a unique person Roan was when we first met.
“That’s life sometimes,” he replies and drums his fingers on the table. “So, what about you?” he asks, diverting my focus from my drink to him.
“What about me?” I volley back.
“I shared. Now it’s your turn. I know you’re related to the Harrises, but what’s your family like back in America?”
His question makes me cringe.
“That bad?” he asks.
I shrug. “Well, let’s just say that I feel more at home with the London Harrises than the Chicago Harrises.”
His eyes soften as I take another drink. “So, it is that bad.”
I nod my confirmation around my glass, feeling horribly insensitive for complaining about my own family when his father isn’t even here anymore. “It’s fine.”
He watches me for a moment, taking in my body language. “Is this not something you want to talk to me about?”
“Not really.”
“Fair enough,” he replies and slaps his hand on the table. “Let’s make out instead.”
“Make out?” I bark out an unexpected laugh at the sudden shift in conversation. He pins me with a flirtatious look as I ask, “What are we, sixteen?”
“I’m twenty-seven,” he replies with a lift of the brows. “How old are you?”
I narrow my eyes. “Twenty-six.”
“Look at how much we’re learning about each other already.” He reaches over and wraps his large, warm hand around mine in an intimate way that I feel in several more intimate parts of my body.
I swallow nervously, feeling bad for how little I’ve shared after he opened up so easily. I steel myself before stating, “My father is an emotionless workaholic who has been divorced three times and has still not called me once since I moved to London.”
“Ouch,” he replies, his brow furrowing. “And your mom?”
I shrug. “She’s nice enough, but she’s currently backpacking through Europe so her cell service is dicey.”
