Page 12 of The London Chance

I coughed, chugging half my water bottle while I tried to figure out why I was still here. It was time to go.

“Finish that sentence,” he commanded.

I froze. His voice had taken on a “not to be fucked with” tone that zipped through my veins like lava, hot and unyielding.

“As friends,” I squeaked.

Roman gave a lopsided grin. “That’s a nice sentiment, but something tells me that the guy who sang a Spice Girls song while stripping off his suit coat as he slid in his socks across the tile in my foyer would say something else entirely.”

“Well, that guy is a ho. I wouldn’t listen to a thing he says.” I munched on the last of my egg and bacon sandwich, loving his deep, sultry laughter.

He sobered, his eyes still twinkling merrily as he poked my bicep. “I like him. He’s honest.”

“Hmph.”

“So…tell me what you really hoped would happen.”

Caffeine, bacon, and ibuprofen had helped ease me from the brink of hangover hell, and the foggiest parts of last night had cleared, leaving me embarrassed, yet grateful. Roman had been a fucking saint. There was no guidebook for dealing with drunk-ass dorks you’d met on an app, but I knew most people wouldn’t have bothered.

He’d given me a place to stay, clothes to borrow, and fed me breakfast well past lunchtime. Roman was a good guy. And if he wanted the truth, I might as well give it to him. Being endlessly polite was exhausting, and he’d already witnessed too much of the “real me” anyway.

“Fine.” I primly patted the corners of my mouth with my napkin and set it on my empty plate. “I’d hoped we’d spend the week fucking like bunnies.”

Silence.

“You did?”

“Hell, yes. I had it all figured out,” I replied matter-of-factly. “We’d start with a romantic candlelit dinner making goo-goo eyes at each other and spend hours filling in all the blanks. That’s probably where you’d share that you had a pet frog named Willie when you were a kid, collected rocks, and fess up about the starfish-shaped birthmark on your left ass cheek. Oh…and you’d probably share that you were bi and divorced. Previously married to awoman. Afterward, we’d—”

“Hang on.” He crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. “Let’s get a couple of things straight here. I never make goo-goo eyes at anyone. Ever. I had dogs and cats like normal people when I was growing up…and a hermit crab named Hermie. My only collections are albums and books. And those are accidental collections because I’m not the kind of monster who’d willingly part with the Mötley Crüe records I’ve owned for half my life. I have a heart-shaped birthmark on my right thigh, not my ass…thank you very much. And yes, I’m bi and I was married.”

“Why aren’t you still married?”

“Not your business. But I’ll tell you this…I was a fucking idiot ’cause I really thought she was the one.”

I hadn’t expected that truth grenade. It left no room for humorous anecdotes or polite segues, which irked me a little ’cause who admits to Hermie the hermit crab, Mötley Crüe, and a heart-shaped birthmark all at once?

“I’m sorry,” I said gently.

“Don’t be. It’s better to find out your marriage isn’t destined for a long run in the early stages. But…it wasn’t fun.”

“I bet. I’ve never been married, but I’ve done the breakup thing. It sucks. You sure you don’t want to tell me what happened? You’ll never see me again anyway.”

“She cheated on me with her trainer.”

“Oh.” I swallowed hard. “That’s…terrible.”

“Yeah. It’s been a few years now. I’ve moved on. But I admit, I was angry for a while. I uprooted my life to be with her. I left my home, my family, my friends, and followed her to London when she got transferred for work. We bought this flat and agreed this would be our base. We’d travel Europe and Asia, then move home when we were ready to start a family. I couldn’t drop my clients in Canada to concentrate on starting over here, so…”

“You did the long-distance thing.”

He made a goofy pointing gesture and winked. “Bingo. I thought we were good at it, but I was a fool. One day, I noticed a charge from a spa in the Lake District on her credit card statement for a weekend she was supposed to be here in London entertaining her sister. I called the hotel and…the truth came out.”

“Fuck. That’s…terrible.” It was a lame observation, but I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“It sucked,” he agreed, raking his fingers through his hair as he leaned forward. “I didn’t intend to tell you any of that, but you asked. Maybe it’s better to be completely honest, though. The truth is…I wouldn’t attempt a long-distance relationship again.”

“Oh. Right. I mean, who would?” I hedged with an awkward half chuckle.