Page 53 of Payback
“No!” I exclaim, hating the word and wishing there was another term to use. “Can we stop calling it that, please? I seriously hate that word. Let’s call it…lemons.”
“Lemons?” he volleys back.
“Yes,” I reply with a sombre nod. “They’re fresh and pretty and they make me feel happy.”
“Okaaay.” He stares at me like I’m a nut-job.
“And the answer is no. I have not lemon’d with other men.”
Roan pulls the duvet off the bench at the end of my bed. “Not even your ex?” He watches carefully for my facial reaction, which is a giant cringe.
“No…God, no! I nicknamed him Ghost Penis after our breakup because that’s about how it felt when we were together…Like you know he’s there, but you can’t feel him.”
“Ouch,” Roan says, watching me with great fascination. “But you were with him for a long time, right?”
“Five stupid years,” I answer and flop myself onto the duvet and drape my arm over my forehead. “I can only chalk it up to being young and naïve. I didn’t know that I could want more in my life, you know?”
He lies down beside me on his side, propping his head on his hand as he looks at me. “What kind of more?”
His question provokes a swirling tornado of thoughts because this “more” realisation is relatively new, only having formed when I decided to move to London.
“Like, since I moved to the States with my dad, I always just accepted what was given to me, even down to the family he created when he remarried. My stepsister was my best friend, but I realise now that, that wasn’t by choice. It was by convenience.
“And when it came to Ghost Penis, he just happened to be the guy who asked me out in college whom I said yes to. The thought of breaking up with him because I wasn’t madly in love seemed overly dramatic.
“But since coming here, I’ve watched my cousins interact with their spouses and each other, and it’s crazy all the time. When they’re all together, it’s complete madness. They’re always arguing and talking over each other, getting in fights about stupid things like whose piece of pie is bigger. Even Indie and Belle, who are best friends, mercilessly tease each other.” She pauses with a fond smile while thinking about her Harris family. Based on the warmth in her expression, I can tell she really loves them.
“They all have this love-hate relationship that is so wonderfully real, it’s refreshing. They may be annoyed by each other at times, but that candour they have makes it possible for them to love and respect each other through the supposed flaws. It made me realise that I want that kind ofmorein my life. More goals, more connection, more sex, more laughter…more craziness!” I look at Roan to gauge his reaction. “Do I sound crazy?”
“It’s what you’re going for, so I vote yes,” he replies with a laugh.
I shove his chest and he captures my hand with his. We watch our fingers slide in between each other’s for a moment before he says, “I think you deserve all themoreyou can find in life.”
I feel a warming comfort in his words that bring a contented smile to my face. “So, what do you want out of life?”
He purses his lips off to the side and, while playing with my hand, he answers, “I want to feel content, I guess. I want my mom to stop worrying about money. I want my sisters to stop worrying about appearances. And I want to stop worrying about my career.”
“Do you worry about your career a lot?”
He nods. “I have to. That injury to my ankle was scary and I’m such a bubble player as it is. I’m no young buck anymore. If I want to make it in soccer, the time is right fucking now.” He flattens on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a weighted look on his face.
“Well, the team moving to Premier League helps, right?”
“Yes,” he confirms, his jaw muscles ticking along with his thoughts. “And I’m going to prove myself next season. I’m going to train harder and keep my head on straight. The next step for me is a brand endorsement. That’s been my goal for ages.”
“Is that why you look so good on paper?” I ask knowingly. I work in public relations, so I know better than most that the best way to get a big, well-known brand to sponsor you is to never have skeletons in your closet. And the fact that what I did to him could be completely damning to his career is in no way lost on me.
He nods. “I don’t fuck up in my life because I can’t afford to fuck up. People depend on me. That’s why I don’t hang out in clubs and take random women home. I stay out of the gossip rags as much as possible. I’m not saying I’m a saint. I do have needs after all. But typically, if I bring a woman to my bed, I’ve gotten to know her enough to know that she’ll be staying for a few repeat sessions. And when we part ways after a few weeks, there won’t be drama.”
His words pierce through me because he has clearly worked hard his entire life to not put himself in socially dangerous situations, and one night of trusting me could ruin so much for him. He protects himself by being a serial dater with an end date. Judging by what I read in his file, I know that’s true. He’s dated some gorgeous models and even a sports reporter. High-profile people who would certainly seem like a long-term thing. But with every single one, they eventually parted ways after only a month. Always amicable. No drama. Just like he said.
So, why would I be any different? Relief comforts me a bit with that realisation. If this is in fact temporary, what good would come from telling him about the sex video? Surely one little secret can’t hurt our short-term relationship that much.
