Chapter 315 - 0315: Careful There, Shorty

Chapter 315: Chapter 0315: Careful There, Shorty

Lexy’s Point Of View

The sound of my own voice saying his name felt foreign, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

Roman.

That word had remained locked behind my teeth for a decade, frozen in the back of my throat like an old, sharp bone I could neither swallow nor dislodge.

The parking lot around us suddenly felt entirely too quiet, the distant hum of Houston traffic fading into a dull, white noise that vibrated against my eardrums. Even the usual sounds - car doors slamming, footsteps echoing off concrete - seemed to have vanished, leaving only the thundering of my own pulse. I could hear each beat, feel it in my temples, my wrists, the hollow of my throat.

I gripped my car keys so hard the metal edges bit into the meat of my palm, leaving angry crescents in my skin. The pain was sharp, grounding, but it did nothing to stop the trembling. I was shaking. I hated that I was shaking.

Here I stood, a grown woman, a business owner who had just brought a room full of brutal international suppliers to their knees, and one look at this man had me reverting right back to a terrified, defensive teenager. The transformation was instantaneous and humiliating. All my carefully constructed confidence, my hard-won poise, crumbled like sand between my fingers.

The words snapped out like firecrackers, sharp and defensive. "What are you doing here?" I took a deliberate step backward, my heel clicking sharply against the oil-stained concrete. "How did you find me? How did you even get into this section of the garage?"

Roman didn’t flinch. He didn’t move an inch. He just remained propped against the driver’s side door of my sedan, looking entirely too comfortable in a space he had absolutely no right to occupy.

The condensation from the glass bottle of pineapple juice dripped onto the hood of my car, each tiny splat breaking the tense silence between us like a metronome counting down to something inevitable. I watched those droplets slide down the glass, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second at a time.

His voice came out smooth, carrying that same thick, molasses-slow Texas drawl that used to infuriate me in the school hallways. "You always did ask too many questions at once, Lexy." He tilted his head, his dark eyes doing a slow, unhurried sweep from the top of my messy bun down to my designer heels, and then back up again.

The assessment felt invasive, proprietary, as if he still had some claim to examine me. "Though, I have to admit... time has been incredibly kind to you. You’ve become even more beautiful than I remembered. Look at you. A real professional powerhouse."

The compliment landed like a stone in my stomach, heavy and unwelcome. I didn’t want his approval. I didn’t want him noticing anything about me at all. I certainly didn’t want to acknowledge the small, traitorous part of me that registered how he’d filled out since high school, how the lanky teenager had become this broad-shouldered man in expensive linen.

Before I could process the words, his hand left the side of his hip. His long fingers reached out, his touch aiming directly for a loose, stray strand of hair that had escaped my clip and was dangling near my cheek. It was a familiar gesture... too familiar, too intimate, and my reflexes took over before my brain could stop them. The movement triggered something primal in me, a deep-seated need to protect the boundaries he’d violated so many times before.

Smack!

I slapped his hand away with enough force to make my own palm sting. The sharp crack echoed in the quiet parking lot. "Don’t touch me," I hissed, my eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. My voice dropped lower, more venomous. "Do not even think about touching me, Roman. You don’t get to just disappear for ten years and then show up in my parking lot acting like we’re old friends sharing a casual drink."

The anger felt good... cleaner than the confusion, safer than the memories threatening to surface.

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, pulling his hand back and rubbing his knuckles with a lazy grin that suggested my resistance amused rather than deterred him. "Still got that bite, I see," he observed, the grin widening to show teeth. "I missed that."

My voice shook with a volatile mix of exhaustion and rising panic. "I am not joking." The professional armor I’d worn all day was cracking, piece by piece, exposing the raw nerves underneath. My hands trembled at my sides, and I clenched them into fists to hide the betrayal of my own body.

The day had already drained me... the endless meetings, the forced smiles, the constant performance of competence. I had nothing left to shield myself with now. "What do you want?"

As I stared at him, the expensive linen shirt and the polished demeanor began to melt away, replaced by the vivid, suffocating memories of our high school days. Time collapsed, and suddenly I was seventeen again, armed with nothing but anger and fear.

Back then, Roman was just as notorious as Jaxx. If Jaxx was the undisputed king of chaos... the boy who broke windows, skipped school for days, and left a trail of broken hearts and bruised jaws in his wake. Roman was the quiet, calculating shadow right beside him. He was no better than Jaxx, really.

They were a package deal, two sides of the same coin that terrified the faculty and fascinated the student body in equal measure. Where Jaxx was fire, Roman was ice... cold, controlled, and somehow more dangerous for it. Fire you could see coming. Ice crept up on you, silent and inevitable.

The ironic part was that Roman actually followed the rules on paper. He attended his classes without fail. He maintained a perfect GPA that made guidance counselors beam with pride. He never got caught smoking behind the gym or defacing school property. Teachers praised him, held him up as an example of what troubled boys could become with the right attitude, completely blind to what lurked beneath that polished surface.

They saw what he wanted them to see... the charming smile, the respectful nods, the homework turned in on time. But because he was always standing right next to Jaxx, sharing that same dark, untouchable aura of privilege and trouble, I had utterly despised him. I had grouped them together as the plague of our teenage years, two forces of destruction I wanted nothing to do with.

But Roman had a specific habit of targeting me, and that made him worse somehow. Jaxx’s attention was always elsewhere... on his next conquest, his next fight, his next thrill. He burned through people and moved on, barely remembering their names. Roman, though? Roman made it his personal mission to disrupt my peace whenever he could find me alone.

It was as if he’d made a study of my schedule, my habits, my hiding places, cataloging them with the same precision he brought to his schoolwork. He knew which bathroom I used between third and fourth period.

He knew I ate lunch in the art room on Wednesdays when Mrs. Chen had her planning period. He knew I took the long way around the science building to avoid the smokers. He knew everything, and he used that knowledge like a weapon, appearing exactly when I thought I was safe.

My mind involuntarily dragged me backward, tearing through a decade of suppressed memories, landing right in the middle of our senior year. The recollection came with such vivid clarity that I could almost smell the musty air of that afternoon, feel the weight of my backpack digging into my shoulders, hear the rain against the windows.

It was a rainy Tuesday in the old school library. The smell of dust, damp wool coats, and yellowing paper hung thick in the air, that particular scent of old buildings and older books that I’d once found comforting. Rain drummed against the tall windows, creating a rhythmic backdrop that should have been soothing but only made the space feel more isolated, cut off from the rest of the world.

I had been hiding in the back rows, far away from the noisy cafeteria and the groups of students who always seemed to take up too much space, trying to find a specific reference book for an advanced history essay.

The library was practically empty, save for the old librarian who was asleep at the front desk, her glasses sliding down her nose as she snored softly, her crossword puzzle abandoned beside her coffee mug. I’d chosen this moment carefully, watching the clock, timing my arrival, thinking I’d finally have peace.

The book I needed was on the very top shelf, tucked away in a corner where the fluorescent lights didn’t quite reach and dust motes danced in the gray afternoon light. Shadows pooled there, making it hard to read the spines, and I’d squinted up at the faded gold lettering.

I had gone up on my tiptoes, stretching my arms as far as they could go, my fingers barely brushing the spine of the heavy, leather-bound volume. My calves burned with the effort, my muscles straining, and I could feel my shirt riding up, exposing a strip of skin to the cool library air.

"Come on. Just an inch closer..." I had muttered to myself, straining against my own height, against the limitations of my body, against the unfairness of a world that put important things just out of reach.

My foot had slipped on the slick, polished linoleum floor. My balance completely evaporated, and for a terrifying second, I was falling backward, my arms flailing uselessly, ready to crash into the heavy wooden cart behind me loaded with returned books.

I could already imagine the bruises, the embarrassment, the noise that would wake the librarian and draw unwanted attention. The moment stretched out, suspended in that horrible space between safety and impact.

Out of nowhere, a solid, warm force caught me.

Before I could even scream, a large, heavy hand wrapped tightly around my waist, lifting me off my feet and pulling my back flush against a broad, solid chest. The grip was firm, possessive, completely arresting my fall with an ease that spoke of strength held carefully in check.

In the exact same breath, another hand reached high over my head, casually plucking the heavy history book from the top shelf with zero effort, as if it weighed nothing at all.

The ease of it made me feel small, vulnerable in a way I hated, in a way that made my independence feel like a joke.

I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird desperate for escape. The scent of cedarwood, rain, and cheap leather jackets flooded my senses, instantly telling me exactly who it was before I even looked up. That combination of smells would haunt me for years, appearing in unexpected moments... in department stores, on crowded streets, in my dreams when my guard was down and my subconscious could betray me.

"Careful there, shorty," Roman’s voice had rumbled directly against my ear, his breath warm and teasing against my neck, sending unwanted shivers down my spine that I desperately tried to suppress. The nickname dripped with amusement, with a familiarity I’d never granted him permission to claim. "Wouldn’t want you breaking a bone before graduation. Who would I pass my notes to?"