Arabelle Vine, a 22 year old photographer in Seattle Washington, is happy with her current life. She has friends, a great family, and a job she loves. But Arabelle wants to be more than just content with her life. She wants excitement, and she wants...
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I laugh under my breath as I watch Roman slowly get out of his uber. He goes around toward the trunk, glancing up at me standing on his doorstep.
A huge smile graces his lips as he looks at me, his eyes covered by dark sunglasses to block out the harsh light of the sun. He has a minor concussion, a slightly bruised rib that should be better in a few days. I notice the small white bandage that lays across his fractured nose.
He pulls his duffel bag out of the trunk, setting it on the ground. He closes the trunk and waves to the Uber driver. The Uber driver pulls away, but not without getting another glance at the famous Roman King.
"What are you staring at? Come help me women!" Roman playfully shouts.
"What? Can't do it yourself? I tease, "if I remember correctly you are the pro boxer?"
"Yes, but I am incredibly injured. Come on beautiful help a poor soul out."
I chuckle and make my way down the stairs. As soon as I'm within arms reach, Roman pulls me into a tight hug, nuzzling his face into my neck.
"I missed you, Beautiful." He sighs into my neck, running his hands through my hair.
"I missed you too, Ro."
I pull away slightly and take him in, "Dean really did a number on you." I brush my knuckle over a small bruise on his jaw.
"Yeah, but not as much as I did on him." His jaw clenches as he speaks.
"Yeah, what was that all about anyways?" I question, bringing my hand up to his hair. "What got you so angry?"
"Let's go inside first." He pulls away from the hug, and reaches for his bag.
But before he can have a firm grip on the handle of his duffel bag, I pull it out of his grasp.
"Wha-"
"Did you, or did you not ask me to help you with your bag?"
"I was kid-"
"Hush, you poor soul." I tease, making my way up the front steps.
Before I can grasp the doorknob, Roman is one step ahead of me. He turns the knob, his chest right against my back. The smell of his cologne instantly relaxing me. He swings the door open, nudging me inside his warm and cozy home.
His hands firmly grip my waist, flipping me around so my back is against the front door. "God, I missed you so much." He mutters against my lip. "Been dying to kiss these lips, and taste you again."
