Cousins: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 1) (20 page)

"If it works out," she says. "I'd love to meet him someday."

***

I FEEL A PECULIAR SORT OF energy as soon as we enter Java and I can't shake it. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation. I don't know. But whatever it is–is making me feel on edge and jumpy, and I'm making Sloan bear the brunt of it.
 

"This coffee is gross." I scrunch my face in an exaggerated manner from the bitter taste. "Why do we insist on spending good money on this crap?" I realize that I sound like Juliette right now.

Sloan smiles at me while waiting for the barista to finish making some sort of caramel espresso drink with tons of whipped cream on top. It's totally unfair how she can drink all that sugar and never gain a pound.

"Are you that freaking nervous hooker? It's just Jagger." She pinches my cheek. "Awww, you're so cute."
 

I smack her hand away.
 

"Honestly. What grown business owner names their coffee shop Java The Hut?" I ask annoyed.

"Calm the hell down Bitsy. Everybody loves Star Wars, and I think the name works. So do a million other college students in this city."
 

"They're not even old enough to know who Jabba The Hut from Star Wars was."

"And neither are we, but we know! Everyone's seen Star Wars." Sloan points towards the other side of the room. "Make sure to grab the club chairs over there by the window. I'll get up when Jagger arrives."

One of the things that drives me a little nuts about Sloan is that she is constantly injecting herself or her strong opinions into every area of my life. She makes it her mission to fix me as if I'm a perpetually broken gadget. I'm pretty sure this whole "Jagger likes Elizabeth" kick she's on is her way of getting me over Ethan quickly. I don't know what she's so worried about. The moment I realized that he was alive and well and purposely not contacting me was the moment I got over him. I may not be the smartest cookie in the cookie jar when it comes to men, but I'm not that pathetic.

I expected Sloan to drop me off at Java and go about her business, but what was I thinking? She's probably going to spy on me the entire time I'm talking to Jagger. Making this whole meet up a lot more awkward than it already is. Of course Jagger did send a group text. Maybe he is expecting to see both of us and have coffee in a group. Maybe it's better that she is here. I don't want to assume anything.
 

As per Sloan's instructions, I attempt to swiftly walk across the room (without spilling any coffee) and grab the three leather club chairs in the corner, as good seating in Java is hard to come by. For whatever reason beyond my understanding, the coffee is horrible, but Java is popular. Juliette was right. She probably does make better coffee at home. One redeeming quality about the place though is that it is quaint. It's a small neighborhood coffee house with beautiful bay windows and cozy seating (when you can find one). There are colorful oil and acrylic paintings by students from a neighborhood art school that cover much of the exposed brick walls. I love how the vibrant yellow, blue, and green colors from the paintings pop against the brick red backdrop. And then of course Java also bakes fresh daily. So it always smells like banana and zucchini bread–which I love.

As we sit and kill time talking about one of Sloan's ex-boyfriends and just how much of a Grade A jerk he is, the uneasy feeling is lingering like a weight on the back of my neck. I keep turning over questions in my head in an effort to identify the source. Is there something important I'm forgetting? My keys? My wallet?

Sloan snaps her fingers twice in front of me. "Bitsy are you listening to me?"

I jump to full attention. "Absolutely. Dillon is going to regret losing you." Blah. Blah. Blah.

"I stopped talking about him a few minutes ago," she says with a slight attitude and turned up lips. "I'm talking about the new territory I'm up for at my job."

"Oh really?"

"What's wrong with you for real?"

I look at my watch.

"He's not even late yet Bitsy. We're early."

"I'm just in a weird mood I guess, or maybe I'm more nervous about Jagger than I thought I'd be."

"Its just coffee. You're stressing for no reason. He already likes you."

As we move on chatting about how Sloan is going to ignore Dillon's calls, the recent police shootings on the news, and the latest celebrity gossip– I feel a pair of very familiar eyes staring at me with a fierce intensity. Sloan notices soon after.

"Oh boy." She says after bowing her eyes down.

It's Roman.

As soon as I notice him, he walks over towards us with long, confident strides and a face that I can't read. He looks like he either wants to fight me or fuck me. I take a long gulp of my lukewarm coffee, while I try to figure out what he wants with me and how to stop my stomach from swishing around like a front load washer.

"Ladies."

That's the most he's said to me in an entire week.

"Hey Roman." Sloan replies unenthusiastically.

I just stare at the lid of my coffee cup.

"How are you Elizabeth? Missed you this morning."
 

Sloan gives me a slight kick in the shins, because it is taking me entirely too long to respond to his question.
 

"I'm good Masterson."

The corners of his beautiful mouth turn up into the sexiest grin ever.

Sloan clears her throat. "I didn't get to ask you the other night Roman, but I wanted to ask you something about that first night at The Lotus."

"May I sit? I mean were you expecting anyone else?" He asks in an accusatory tone.

"Well–" I start to say.

"Have a seat." Sloan gestures her hand towards the empty chair.

Roman plops down and leans into the chair with his long muscular legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed across his chest. There is something so sexy about how he leans back in the chair that heat starts to swarm all through my insides and down to my core. I am annoyed with him for being such a baby all week, but I am also still very much attracted to him. No matter how annoying he is, I still desperately want his hands all over me.

"So about the club," she continues. "Do you know what happened that night we met you? Since you're running it now, I thought you'd have the inside scoop."

Roman's mouth tightens for a moment, but then he answers.
 

"There were a couple girls arguing and it got heated. Someone pulled out some pepper spray and the ceiling fans basically circulated the shit all around the club."

"People got hurt right?"

"Yes."

"Interesting," Sloan says. "None of it was on the news. I swore there was going to be a whole big story on the evening news or at least the next day but there wasn't."

"Philly is a big town. Perhaps there was a bigger story that night."

"How hurt were the people?"

"A woman died. Another two were in critical condition for about two weeks." Roman says somberly.

I shudder. That's horrible and we had no clue. How hadn't we heard about this? Why hadn't he told me?

"Oh my God, how wasn't that reported? I wonder if I knew any of them?" Sloan continues jabbering on and on. I kind of want her to be quiet now. She tends to eventually say something inappropriate if you let her rattle on too long. "Were you there partying Roman? Doesn't seem like your kind of scene."

Yep, now I really want her to shut up.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He asks sitting there with his muscular arms folded in front of him and staring her dead in the eyes.

"I mean..." Sloan hesitates. She's searching for the correct thing to say and stumbling over her words. I don't blame her. Roman looks both equally menacing and amused.

"I just mean that–"

He gives Sloan a quick dismissive once over. "Look I get what you're trying to say, but you don't know me. You don't know anything about my scene. Don't speak to me as if you do."

"Sorry." She says quietly.

"It's cool." He turns his attention back to me in a very obvious way. It was purposely dismissive to Sloan, but I have to admit that she sort of deserves it, and frankly I'm just happy that the cold war between us is finally thawing.

"So Elizabeth, who are you meeting here?"
 

My eyes grow wide. Damn Juliette.

"Who said I'm meeting anyone? I'm here with Sloan."

"I'm not stupid little cousin. You’d rather be in bed and have your head inside that laptop than drinking some damn latte on a Saturday morning. Who are you meeting?"

Fuck it. "Jagger."

"Is this a date?" He asks snidely. "The Lotus wasn't enough for the week?"

"It's just coffee Roman."

"Then I can stay."

"What?"

"You have a problem with your cousin getting to know your friends? He's a good friend of yours right?"

I turn to Sloan. "Can you excuse us a minute Sloan?"

"Absolutely." She grins.

After Sloan is out of earshot, I give Roman a piece of my mind.

"Whatever this big brother, kissing cousin thing you're doing is getting tired. I know Jagger better than I know you. Hell, I know the girl who made my coffee just now better than I know you! You don't speak to me all frackin' week, and then you waltz in here asking me questions about who I'm meeting? How dare you."
 

Roman leans in much closer to me, and I grip the sides of my chair to hold myself steady. Anytime there's close proximity between us, I feel like I'm going to self combust.

"Did you miss me Duchess?" He asks in the low gritty voice that I'm beginning to desperately crave. "Is that why you're so pissed? Because I ain't going to lie, I missed the shit out of you too."

Don't ask him. Don't ask him.

"So why the silent treatment all week?"

Weakling!

"You told me you couldn't. You asked me to stop this. I'm trying to stop."

"So coming to Java to spy on me. This is you stopping?"

My phone vibrates.

Jagger: I'm around the corner.

I pause to look up at Roman for a moment and then start typing. It's not a group text this time, so I know I have to respond. He's definitely coming to meet me.

Me: Only been here ten minutes. See you when you get here:)

"Was that him?" Roman asks gruffly.

"Yes." I say while scanning the room for Sloan and keeping a close eye on the door.

"Why are you so nervous?" He asks tightly.

"I'm not. I just don't think it's a good idea if you're here when he arrives."

"And why the fuck is that?"

"You know why."

"Did you know that my apartment is close by?"

"Really?" I thought he actually lived closer to City Hall.

"You want to see it?"

No Elizabeth.

"When?"

"Now."

"Roman, you know I'm waiting for Jagger."

"Have coffee with him, then meet me at my place in an hour. I want you to take a look at my desktop. I think I have a virus or something."

"I'm not a computer expert. I hire people for that."

"You know more about that shit than me. Just take a look. If I have to hire someone then I will."

This is SO not a good idea.

Correction. I know that this is a really bad idea, but I need Roman to leave right now, and saying yes will probably be the only thing that will get him to leave. Plus I have to admit that I'm curious. I'd love to see his place. It's probably frackin' inspirational. So I start to rationalize.
 

I'm just going by his apartment.
 

It's not a date or a booty call.
 

It's just me helping him out with his computer. I'd do it for anyone else. I'd do it for a stranger. So why not him?

You know why Elizabeth.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Elizabeth

Roman is just a man.

Flesh. Bones. Beauty.

That's the mantra I've been repeating to myself in order to mentally prepare for entering his building. For daring to be alone with him in his uber-masculine presence. You would imagine that I could control my internal systems when I am in front of this man, but my circulatory system has a mind of it's own.
 

My blood is racing.
 

My pulse pounding.
 

And there's a scary ass Alaskan Malamute named Mr. Tibbs staring me down like I'm a piece of chicken (and not in the good way!), while I am sitting in Roman's living room with my mouth closed, my knees shut, and my eyes completely mesmerized by his inked back. This is not the first time that I have seen him without a shirt on, but to say that Roman's body is a feast for the eyes is an understatement. I love looking at him every single time. He's like a Christmas present that has been carefully unwrapped for my viewing pleasure. A treat for the eyes.
 

Roman was distracted with something when he answered the door in nothing but a pair of snug fitting, worn jeans that hung low on his waist and a cell phone in his hand. That's probably why he didn't notice how I practically lost my breath, when I took a look at how his chiseled pecs flexed as he motioned for me to come in.
 

But there's something about a man's back, especially this man's back. A broad, strong one with sloped shoulders that looks and probably feels as if it could carry the weight of the world across it. Magnificently adorned with an intricate and patterned tattoo that covers the entire span of it. I've never seen anything like it in my life, and it is on full display as he moves his way around his professionally designed stainless steel kitchen, brewing some sort of latte concoction. Something with chocolate, espresso, milk and a dash of rum or some sort of alcohol. Something which is probably going to taste just as delicious as he looks.
 

From what I know about Roman so far, I realize that with certain things, he goes about them with a great deal of calculation. He wouldn't be making this drink if he hadn't perfected the recipe. He wouldn't have asked me come here if he didn't have a very specific reason, and it's certainly not to take a look at his computer.