Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel (8 page)

I follow next to him. I'm relieved he didn't ask why. I didn't have a plan for that. I don't have a convincing excuse for why I asked to ride along with him instead of the others, other than just plain wanting to.

That's when I knew. We've conveyed it a dozen times with our eyes, but that is the exact moment I knew for sure.
I am so fucked.

I thank Roman for the ride back as he pulls into the lot.

"No worries."

"That's me, over there." I show him.

He drives to where I point, harshly puts the car in park, and looks at me. His eyes, they are daring me. He already knows. What's the worst that could happen now? It's physically tiring to wonder. If he doesn't like me, well then we will only have to awkwardly work on a speech together for the next few weeks. No big deal, right?

I turn my whole body toward him and suck in a deep breath.

"I find you incredibly attractive I don't know why but I'm drawn to you." I spit the words out fast, running them together, before I change my mind. I hope he understood.

Say something, say something
, I think to myself. He sits there, chewing on his bottom lip, aghast. Staring at me, and saying nothing. Time to get out of his car.

"Okay, well thanks again for the ride," I spout, trying not to appear as mortified as I am. "See ya Tuesday, I guess." I make an extra effort to be as un-weird as possible while I open the car door, so I can get the hell out of here and fast.

"No, wait. Bu— Rigbee wait, I … uh … I think …" He lowers his head, shakes it and then clears his throat. "Okay, wow." He exhales a low whistle.

"It's fine, really. I'll go." I pull on the handle and open my door again. As I'm about to step out, I hear him groan,

"Wait."

I pull my leg back in and sit statue-like against the seat.

"What?" I study him, as I anxiously await his dreaded response.

"Here."

He takes out his cell phone and then looks at me. His eyes catch the low glow of the sunset making them appear warmer. Dusk looks good on him. I'm momentarily mesmerized. They are dark and deep and make me believe there are more layers to Roman then he lets on.

He continues looking at me, phone in hand, but I haven't been able to speak. I think he's waiting on me, though my brain isn't quite registering the difference between real and unreal right now.

He clears his throat again. "Well, can I get your number?"

He doesn't laugh, or sound cocky and annoyed about me being a complete dork right now. He seems … nervous almost. Not nearly as much as me.

I falter, "Oh, of course. Yes, here."

My number is what he was waiting on. Duh. I give him my number and open the door to leave. For like, the third time.

"I'll give you a call." He nods and watches me step out of his car. I'm hoping he doesn't register my inner excitement.

"We're going to have to get together for the speech," he listlessly confirms.

And realization dawns on me. Of course, the speech is why he stopped me for my number. He still has to work with me. I do the only thing I have left in me, before I give up completely. Before shutting the door, I lean down, and in the sexiest voice I can pull off, I say, "Looking forward to it." And I wink.
Kill me.

I expel the breath I was holding and walk away. I don't panic or choke. I said what I thought. I can't control the way I react to him.

I look over my shoulder and back at him. He's pulling out of the parking spot. Already, he's on the phone with someone, smiling and laughing like nothing significant just happened. I want to be someone who makes him look like that. I shake my head free of my tangled thoughts. Roman is such a conundrum.

I think about the coffee date the entire drive home, going over our conversations and making sure I didn't say anything stupid. The actual coffee-date part went fine. The normal “let's talk about politics and religion because we're seniors in college and we think we're supposed to”, but all we're really spewing is bullshit. Roman spent the majority of the time trying not to look in my direction. Every time he talked, he made a point to direct his focus on one of the guys. He wouldn't even look at me when I was the one talking. He would always conveniently take a drink of his coffee instead.

I did learn he's a pro paintball player. I don't know much about the sport. I didn't even know it was a sport, or got to professional level anyway. It sounded impressive, though.

Doesn't matter. For me, coffee was the cover for my real intention: asking Roman to be my partner for this god-awful speech I've been dreading. And then I actually did. I tried to sound like it wasn't a big deal, and I just didn't have a partner yet, but I'm not sure he bought it.

When he didn't answer right away, I was sure he was going to say no. Then a low and never-sounding-so-sweet "Sure" fell from his lips. He'd done nothing but ignore me or spout quick one-word responses to me like he was annoyed, but he'd agreed.

I don't know why I care so much. I don't even know him, and that's the craziest part of all. I have this gut feeling there's a reason. More to him than what's on the surface.

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he goes home to tell his friends about the clueless girl who won’t take a hint. But for now, I'm going to revel in the fact that I have a shot at getting to know the guy I can't stop thinking about, and that is incredibly exciting. And terrifying.

The feeling is so unfamiliar to me; I have never acted so crazy about anybody before, much less somebody I don't know. Someone who comes off perfectly indifferent.

Maybe I can do our speech without him noticing my problem. The last thing I need is to give him one more reason to steer clear of me. I don't want to tell him about it. I want him to look at me like I'm normal, not some damaged girl who will eventually be too much to handle.

I ended up getting the phone call the same night. I almost didn't believe he was going to call at all, let alone so soon. I'm giddy as hell as I go to answer. Until I wonder about why he would call so soon. Could he have changed his mind? Changing his mind would be a real possibility. AFI's "Flight of the Phoenix" blares the last line of the chorus through my phone speaker, and I know voice mail is about to click on. I hastily answer.

"Hello?" I sound too apprehensive. I wish I had a redo.

"Hey, it’s Roman. Did I call too soon?" Strange as it sounds, I can hear the smile in his voice.

"No, you're fine. I'm glad you called."

"I thought we could get started on our speech."

I can't help but feel disappointment he had to point the fact out.

He catches my silent chagrin, because he adds, "I also thought maybe we could get dinner first, and, you know, get to know each other."

The last thing he said sounds more timid. Something's changed. He wasn't being detached and disinterested.

"Sounds great, actually," I squeal, with too much enthusiasm.

I can't be sure, but I think I hear him puff out a breath of relief.

"Tomorrow afternoon, so we have time afterward to start working, sound good?"

"Perfect," I agree, with a huge smile he can't see.

"I'll come to you. Give me your address, and I'll pick you up at around five."

"Perfect."
Again? Can I not think of another word to say?

We hang up, and I throw my arms in the air and yell out a girly, "Yes!" I am going on a date with him. I can't believe this is happening.

Still clutching my phone, I begin dancing and jumping all around like a ballerina on Adderall. I'm in a mid-air fist pump when the sound of Enzo's laugh-cough startles me to a stop. He looks tired as hell. He had a long day of classes.

"Whatcha doin’?" he asks, with a smirk in his tone and on his face.

"Nothing," I sing-song, knowing I'm caught.

"Nothing my ass. You are totally blushing; your cheeks are so red."

"Yeah, well at least I wasn't caught jacking—"

"Ah! Okay, okay I give." He pushes his palms out in front of himself, signaling me to shut up. "If you don't wanna tell me yet, fine, but I think I like this look on you. Just sayin’."

"His name is Roman," I confess. "He's from my poli-sci class."

"I knew it!" He excitedly points at me. "You don't get mushy looks on your face by talking to your mom."

"Don't push it, or I won't tell you anything," I warn.

He raises his hands in defense. "Got it. So when will I get go meet him?"

"Tomorrow, actually, if you're around. We're going to eat and then coming back to work on our project."

"Sweet, you know I'll have to check him out and make sure he's good enough for my Bee." He plops onto the couch next to me.

"Check him out, huh? Yeah, I was doing a lot of that also. Before I got the nerve to ask him out."

And I get a pillow to the face again.

"Seriously?" I shout.

He chuckles and then attempts to fix my hair he and his pillow mussed up.

"That was for the 'me checking him' out comment,” he explains, "but you asked him out for real?" he asks.

"Sure did."

"Nice! I like assertiveness in the females," he proudly remarks.

"Really, you don't think I was too forward or stalkerish?" I ask.

"No, absolutely not. Believe it or not, us guys get shy too. We appreciate girls letting us know if they are interested. Most of the time, we have to go in blind, and rejection is horrid. Even for those of us without social anxiety problems."

And there it is. I somehow knew the subject would come up. He slaps his hands on his legs, to make the action of standing up seem more dramatic, and walks to the fridge. He bends down to grab a soda. He continues to look around the fridge, probably for something to eat, and yells with his back still turned to me, "Good luck tomorrow, can't wait to meet him."

Then he grabs an apple and a string cheese and heads to his room, without noticing how what he'd said made me feel. Fuck anxiety. I did just fine. I even got a date. I'm getting better, I can feel it. But I don't need reminders.