Nobody's Girl

THE FIRE

ROMAN

Roman never asked where I was.

He asked where I was going.

There was a difference.

Adrian wanted to know whether I'd eaten.

Roman wanted to know whether I'd gotten into trouble.

Adrian worried about whether I was okay.

Roman assumed I was probably responsible for whatever had gone wrong.

It should have irritated me.

It did.

That was the problem.

I was sitting in my car outside a bookstore on Saturday afternoon when Roman called.

I watched his name flash across my screen for three rings before answering.

“Hello?”

“You're avoiding me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Hello to you too.”

“Where are you?”

“Out.”

“That's not a location.”

“Congratulations. You know geography.”

He laughed.

I hated how much I liked that laugh.

“Tell me where you are.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you sound bossy.”

“I'm always bossy.”

“Exactly.”

There was a pause.

Then he said, “You're wearing the green dress.”

I froze.

I looked down at myself.

Green.

“How do you know what I'm wearing?”

“Because I saw you.”

My head snapped toward the bookstore.

Nothing.

People moved along the pavement, carrying shopping bags and talking into their phones.

“Roman.”

“Look to your left.”

I turned.

He was standing across the street.

Black shirt. Dark jeans. Sunglasses. One hand in his pocket.

Smiling.

I immediately ended the call.

He crossed the road.

I watched him approach my car with the particular confidence of a man who had never once considered the possibility that someone might not want him there.

He stopped beside my window and tapped twice.

I lowered it halfway.

“What?”

“You hung up on me.”

“Yes.”

“Rude.”

“You're stalking me.”

“That's a strong word.”

“You literally followed me.”

“I happened to be nearby.”

“You live forty minutes from here.”

“Coincidence.”

“Roman.”

“Sloane.”

I stared at him.

He smiled.

I hated that smile too.

“What do you want?”

“Lunch.”

“I've eaten.”

“Coffee.”

“I have coffee.”

“Then I'll sit with you while you drink it.”

“No.”

He bent slightly so that his face was level with mine.

“Why are you so determined to make everything difficult?”

“Because you make everything difficult.”

“That's not true.”

“You once argued with me for twenty minutes because I said your favorite movie was overrated.”

“It was an important conversation.”

“You called me ignorant.”

“You were being ignorant.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then I started laughing.

Roman smiled like he'd won something.

“See?”

“See what?”

“You like me.”

I stopped laughing.

“Don't flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

I rolled my eyes and started the car.

Roman stepped away from the vehicle.

I lowered the window further.

“Goodbye.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Whose?”

I looked at him.

His expression hadn't changed.

But something in my chest had.

“That's none of your business.”

His smile disappeared.

For one second, Roman looked almost serious.

Then he stepped closer to the car.

“That's the thing about you, Sloane.”

“What?”

“You're always leaving.”

I didn't have an answer for that.

So I drove away.

---

I met Roman eight months after Adrian and I started dating.

I remember because Adrian had been away for work.

I remember because I had been lonely.

And I remember because loneliness had always made me reckless.

It was a Thursday night.

I'd gone out with some friends after a terrible week and had no intention of meeting anyone.

Then Roman walked into the bar.

He didn't notice me immediately.

That was probably what caught my attention.

Most men noticed me.

Roman was busy arguing with his friend about something at the counter, gesturing dramatically with a glass in his hand.

I watched him for perhaps thirty seconds.

Then his friend looked in my direction.

Roman followed his gaze.

Our eyes met.

He looked away.

I blinked.

He actually looked away.

I laughed.

My friend beside me noticed.

“What's funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Who are you looking at?”

“No one.”

She followed my gaze.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Whatever you're about to do.”

I took a sip of my drink.

“I'm not doing anything.”

She gave me a look.

I ignored her.

Ten minutes later, Roman was standing beside our table.

“Hi.”

My friend looked at me.

I looked at him.

“Hi.”

“I'm Roman.”

“I didn't ask.”

His eyebrows rose.

Then he smiled.

“Okay.”

I smiled back.

And that was it.

That was how it started.

No dramatic collision.

No drink spilled on anyone.

No ridiculous line.

Just a man who seemed completely unaffected by my usual charm and a woman who suddenly wanted to know why.

Roman didn't make me feel safe.

He made me feel awake.

There was a difference.

With Adrian, I could sit quietly for an hour and never feel like I needed to fill the silence.

With Roman, silence felt like a challenge.

He questioned everything.

My opinions.

My choices.

My assumptions.

Sometimes, especially when he was being particularly irritating, I wanted to throw something at him.

Sometimes I wanted to laugh.

Sometimes I wanted to leave.

And sometimes I wanted to stay just to see what he would say next.

Roman had a way of making everything feel like a dare.

Including me.

---

“Are you going to tell me why you're angry?”

I looked up.

Roman was sitting across from me in a café, casually drinking the coffee he'd somehow convinced me to let him buy.

“I am not angry.”

“You tossed your scones aside.”

I looked down.

My scones weren't in front of me.

I pulled them back.

“I'm eating.”

“Are you?”

“Yes."

“Did the scones hurt you?”

“Don't be annoying.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

He leaned back.

“Fine.”

I narrowed my eyes.

He raised his hands.

“I'm quiet.”

“Thank you.”

For approximately eight seconds, he said nothing.

Then.....

“You look tired.”

I groaned.

“Roman.”

“What?”

“You can't even be quiet properly.”

“I'm trying to understand why you're upset.”

“I'm not upset.”

“You've been staring at those scones like they owe you money.”

I sighed.

I didn't want to tell him.

Not because it was a secret.

Not exactly.

But because Roman had a way of getting underneath things.

I could tell him I was angry about something small, and twenty minutes later we'd somehow be discussing something I'd spent years avoiding.

He was dangerous like that.

“You know Adrian,” I said.

Roman's expression changed.

Only slightly.

But I noticed.

Of course I did.

“What about him?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why mention him?”

I took a sip of my drink.

“Because I can.”

“You can do lots of things.”

“Exactly.”

He studied me.

“Did you fight?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Sloane.”

I looked at him.

“Why are you so interested?”

His answer came immediately.

“Because I'm interested in you.”

Simple.

Direct.

Infuriating.

I looked away.

Roman didn't.

I could feel his eyes on me.

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't mean them.”

He was quiet.

I looked back at him.

His expression had changed.

“That's a strange thing to say.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I mean them.”

My stomach tightened.

I hated moments like this.

The ones where the jokes disappeared and Roman became honest.

I knew how to deal with his arrogance.

His teasing.

His temper.

His constant need to challenge me.

I didn't know what to do with tenderness.

“Roman…”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Turn this into something complicated.”

I almost laughed.

“You are telling me not to make something complicated?”

“Yes.”

“That's hilarious.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

He leaned forward.

“Then listen to me.”

I did.

“I know you have someone.”

My heart stopped.

Not completely.

Just enough.

My fingers tightened around my cup.

Roman continued.

“I've known since the beginning.”

I stared at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Adrian.”

His name felt different in Roman's mouth.

Too familiar.

Too dangerous.

I swallowed.

“How?”

Roman gave me a small smile.

“You talk about him.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“When?”

“Little things.”

I said nothing.

“You compare restaurants to places you've been with him. You mention songs he likes. You once told me about a stupid argument you two had over whether pineapple belongs on pizza.”

I stared at him.

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything you say.”

My chest tightened.

He continued.

“I'm not asking you to pretend he doesn't exist.”

I couldn't speak.

“I'm asking you to stop pretending I'm stupid.”

There it was.

The thing about Roman.

He didn't need to shout to make me feel cornered.

I looked down at the table.

“It's complicated.”

“Of course it is.”

“Roman.”

“What?”

“You don't understand.”

“Then explain it.”

I couldn't.

Not because I didn't have an explanation.

Because I had too many.

I loved Adrian.

I loved the safety of him.

The history.

The familiarity.

The way being around him quieted something inside me.

And Roman,

Roman was different.

Roman made me feel like I had no idea what I was doing.

Like I could throw away every carefully constructed plan and simply see what happened.

That wasn't nothing.

It was just different.

“I'm not asking you to choose,” Roman said.

I looked up.

That surprised me.

“Then what are you asking?”

He held my gaze.

“Honesty.”

I almost laughed.

Of all the things Roman could have asked for.

“You don't want honesty.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You wouldn't like it.”

“Try me.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

And for the first time since I'd met him, I wondered whether Roman was asking me for something I didn't know how to give.

Not because I didn't have the truth.

Because I had too many truths.

My phone buzzed.

I glanced down.

Adrian.

Dinner tonight?

I locked the screen.

Roman had seen it.

He didn't ask.

He didn't need to.

“Go,” he said.

I frowned.

“What?”

“Go to him.”

I stared at him.

“You're angry.”

“Obviously.”

“Then why are you telling me to go?”

“Because I'm not going to compete with a man who doesn't even know he's competing.”

That hurt.

More than I wanted it to.

“Roman.”

He stood.

I looked up at him.

He reached into his pocket, dropped a few bills onto the table, and stepped away.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Just like that?”

He looked at me.

And there was something in his eyes I'd never seen before.

Not anger.

Not jealousy.

Something worse.

Disappointment.

“You're always leaving, Sloane.”

He walked away.

I sat there for several seconds.

Then I looked at my phone again.

Adrian's message was still waiting.

Dinner tonight?

I typed:

Of course.

I stared at the message before sending it.

Then I did.

And that was the first time I realized something uncomfortable.

Adrian knew there was something I wasn't telling him.

Roman knew there was something I wasn't telling him.

And somehow, I was still the one convincing myself that I was in control.