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"You're huge." I feel my cheeks heating when he smirks, but it's true. "I'm serious. Have you always been this big?"
"Yes," he says, leaning back. He throws his arm casually over the back of the bench. "I've always been big. And no, I didn't play football. I wasn't into organized sports."
"Oh. What were you into?"
He eyes me for a minute. "Fucking," he says bluntly.
I blink at his candor, and he shrugs.
"I wasn't a good kid, Mila." He isn't upset or embarrassed about his past. He's just telling me the truth. "I slept around. I smoked pot, fought, and raised all kinds of hell."
"Oh." I swallow, trying to imagine him as a rowdy teenage boy. I can almost see it in him. I always thought he was so self-contained, so quiet, but when he's fucking me, I see that wildness peeking out. More and more, I see it even when he's not inside me. "Can I ask you a question?"
He nods.
"You were really young when you got Tahani's mom pregnant."
He nods again.
I want to ask him what happened, but the words are stuck in my throat. I know what Tahani told me, but I want to hear his version. Why was he with someone like her mom? Lucinda McPherson is uptight, uppity. Roman isn't like her at all.
"I was sixteen," he says when it becomes obvious that I'm still searching for the right words. "I was running with a rough crowd, getting into all sorts of shit. My parents sent me to my grandfather for the summer, hoping to get my head out of my ass. Lucinda wanted to piss off her parents, and I was perfectly fine with helping her accomplish that. We spent a few months together before I went back home to Los Angeles." He shrugs like that's all there is to the story, but there's more. I know there is.
"She didn't tell you that she was pregnant?"
He tenses at the question, anger sweeping through his expression. "She didn't say a fucking word," he says, his voice hard. "I don't think she planned on me ever finding out about Tahani."
"That's what Tahani says, too," I whisper. Lucinda didn't want him to know that they had a kid. He never would have known if Tahani hadn't tracked him down. I think Tahani will always resent her mom for keeping her away from Roman. Watching him, I think he'll always resent it too.
"Once I found out she existed, I didn't give Lucinda a chance to keep me away. She could have tried, but it wouldn't have stopped me. Tahani's my daughter. I had a right to know about her. Had her mother forced my hand, I would have pushed the issue. I would have fought for custody." His eyes flash, anger swirling through those blue depths again. "I wouldn't have lost. I never do."
The way he says that like it's a fact of life…I believe him.
"You're a good father," I say, and then pause when a waiter appears with bowls of chips, salsa, and guacamole. He sets everything on the table and then takes our drink orders before disappearing into the kitchen. "Tahani adores you."
Roman flashes me a smile, some of that tension melting away. "She had me wrapped around her little finger in a matter of days," he admits with a laugh. He sounds so proud, it's honestly adorable. "She was a little hellion, just like I was."
"Is that why you bought the condo here? To be closer to her?"
He nods and grabs a chip before scooping up some guac with it. He pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before he swallows. "I hate that I lost so much time with her," he says then. "I didn't get to watch her grow up, and I wanted to be a part of her life. Plus, I like it here. It's quiet."
"You said that earlier," I remind him. "About the restaurant."
"Eat," he says, scooping up more guac and then holding it out to me.
I lean forward and take a tentative bite. As soon as I do, I moan. It's some of the best I've ever had.
"Jesus," he mutters, watching me lick my bottom lip. He shakes his head as if to clear it.
"Why?" I ask my question from earlier again before popping another chip into my mouth.
"Why do I like it?" He waits for me to nod. "I can relax here."
"You can't relax in Los Angeles?"
His eyes are darker, desire and something else—an intense longing that makes my heart ache for him—peeking out as he shakes his head. He doesn't say anything as the waiter returns with our drinks. The young man takes our order, jotting it down in his little notebook before asking if we need anything else.
Once he's out of earshot, Roman speaks again, his voice soft. "In Los Angeles, there's always a fucking target on my back. It's hard to relax when you might not make it through the day in one piece."
