Chapter 8

Eight

Roman

"Vivian called me."

Sam leaned on her door frame and crossed her arms over her chest. Roman had dressed for his run, but he hadn't actually done any running yet. Vivian Harris, Sam's boss, had called him the previous evening about pickleball. He might have wondered how she got his number, but Love Beach seemed to him like a tight-knit community. He had met neighbors and exchanged numbers with people, so her call didn't alarm him.

"Did she recruit you?" Sam asked with an amused smile.

"I might go check it out."

"I'd ask you how you got my address, but I'm assuming it was probably the same way Vivian got your number."

He shrugged and tipped his head. "Probably. Are you a runner?"

"No. I walk. A lot. And I do yoga, but I don't run."

He propped his hands on his hips and swung his gaze around to look at the quiet street in front of him.

"How about a walk?"

"How about you do your run?" She arched her eyebrows and continued before Roman could admit to the disappointment he felt, "And then come back, and I'll fix you breakfast."

Letting his hands fall to his sides, he nodded. "I don't think I can say no to that."

"Perfect. I'll see you in a while."

Roman jogged down her steps and walked to the street, the heat of her gaze on his back. He certainly hadn't planned on meeting someone when he moved to Love Beach, but then he hadn't counted on someone like Samantha Walker. Casually pretty and genuinely warm and friendly, she struck Roman as someone who wouldn't cling. Or nag. Or even take things too seriously. Hell, maybe they hit it off, and they were just destined to be friends. Roman didn't mind that idea, though he didn't believe it, either.

While he wanted to share book talk and drink wine she poured for him, while he would like for her to join him on a walk, and while he thought going to a concert on the beach with her would be fun, Roman wanted to unbutton her blouse. Her jeans. Unwrap the beautiful, unexpected present she was in his life.

He had spent several nights thinking about her now, and unless he had completely lost touch with women, with how the whole game worked, Sam was interested in him, too. The thing he needed to be sure of before anything happened was that they were on the same page.

Friends with benefits, he guessed. Nothing more. But nothing less. The idea of taking Sam to bed and exploring every inch of her sweet body with his hands and his mouth, the idea of burying his dick so far inside her she could taste him, made him so hard, his dick hurt like it hadn't since he was a kid. Since he'd first met Cathryn and started pursuing her.

But if taking her to bed, if making love would somehow change the fun, easy dynamic they had already developed, Roman wasn't sure it would be worth it. If he needed an orgasm badly enough, he could find porn anywhere these days, and if he needed the real thing badly enough, he was a grown man. He knew where and how to find it.

He started running a block from Sam's house, which happened to be a block from the beach. Today, he would push himself to his limit to exorcise his mind of those thoughts. Until he knew Sam wanted the same thing he did, it felt rude and distasteful for him to be imagining the feel of her breasts in his hands and his tongue on her nipples.

The beach would be more crowded when summer started. He didn't mind the thought. Roman used to be a social man, until he burned out in his career, always with the worries of his ex and his daughter weighing him down. Maybe here in Love Beach pickleball was for old people, but damned if he didn't want to do it. He would meet more people, and the physical exertion would be good for him.

He had seen the ads for the gambling boats, too. How could he miss them? Roman had never been one to throw away money, but he was intrigued. He and Cathryn had gone to Vegas a few times before things got rocky. They had blown through a bit of cash and enjoyed the atmosphere in several casinos, but they had both preferred the shows to the slots and the blackjack tables.

His phone rang as he ended his run. He had gone quite a way down the beach, and his shirt stuck to him now like a second skin. He slowed to a walk, wondering if he should run home and change before going back to Sam's place. Then again, no matter what would come of them—if anything did— nothing would happen today.

The number on his screen twisted his gut muscles in a firm squeeze. He blew out a sharp breath and tapped the screen. It had been nearly three weeks since he had talked to Luca. Now was as good a time as any to catch up.

Or more accurately, listen to her rail and vent about how fucked up her life was. Again.

"Hey, Luca."

"Dad."

He shifted his gaze to his right, hoping the steady roll of the waves would keep him calm.

"What's going on?"

"Well, I mean, you moved to South Carolina, and now I never talk to you."

He pulled in a slow, deep breath, nostrils flaring at the same time the scent of salt and sea reminded him he was in his own space now. He couldn't control Luca's behavior; he could only control the way he reacted to his daughter's words and actions.

"I called you last weekend," he reminded her. "Left you a voicemail."

"What's it like there?"

This was different—Luca asking about anything to do with his life or anything other than her own life.

"It's pretty," he answered as he walked. "I just finished a run on the beach."

"I wrecked my car," she announced, as if he hadn't just answered a question she asked him.

Roman sighed. "How bad is it?"

"The car or me?" There was the vicious girl he knew and told himself he loved.

"Were you hurt?"

"Broke my clavicle."

He wanted to ask if she had been drinking or if she was high, but he wasn't willing to start that argument on his way back to Sam's.

"Ten stitches in my forehead."

"Luca."

"Wasn't my fault this time," she told him. "A guy turned right in front of me. He got the ticket."

What did he say to that? That's good? Because it was, but he also knew that would start an argument.

"When did this happen?"

"Last weekend."

"And you're just now calling me?"

"I was with someone for the week," she explained. He didn't feel any better knowing that.

"Does your mom know?"

"No."

"Good. Don't tell her."

Cathryn might handle the news with aplomb. Maybe she would offer their daughter more sympathy than he had. Then again, if Luca hit her with news like that on a bad day, she might spiral and end up in the ER herself.

"Can I visit you? At your beach place?"

At the corner now, eyes on Sam's neat little front porch, Roman took a deep breath. Of course, he wanted to see Luca. But he wasn't sure either of them were ready for a visit, a face-to-face visit .

"Of course."

"When?"

Before he could reply, he heard a loud explosion of music on her end of the line, and then he heard a deep male voice saying something to her. Roman closed his eyes, wishing away all the thoughts in his head now.

"Gotta go, Dad."

The line went dead. Roman sighed again and tucked his phone in his pocket. As calls from Luca went, it wasn't bad. But as calls from Luca always did, this one made him a little sick with worry. That same old stress crept into his shoulders as he stopped at the foot of Sam's porch. Maybe this wasn't a good time to be here. Not now, not after the phone call.

The door suddenly opened, and Sam stood there watching him trying to decide what to do.