Casually Rubbing Parts

Chapter 9: Casually Rubbing Parts.

I spit out the cherry tomatoes in my mouth. “What?”

Roman remained smug and unbothered complimenting my mother's hairdo.

“That's a great question actually.” Lizzie added.

“Not like it's any of your business, Chloe, but I'm not.”

She just shrugged.

“Oh well, we were just curious. You know, Roman's way up up there and you're well, barely scraping by. If he's into you to the point of marrying you then… I guess we're right to wonder if you’re either trapping him with good sex or a baby.” Chloe dabbed the corners of her mouth with the napkin.

“Chloe!” Mother gasped.

“Can't a man be in love, blondie?” Roman drawled.

“It’s possible. But with my sister? That's difficult to believe.”

“Your sister's perfect. Too perfect. There's nothing difficult to believe. Unless you've got really low IQ which seems to be the case here.” Roman stated.

I laughed.

“Excuse you?” Chloe snapped, then immediately turned to dad. “Dad, did you hear that? He just called me unintelligent!”

“You defending her, son?”

“Always,” Roman said, without hesitation. His voice was smooth, but his stare had steel. “That’s part of the job.”

Dad smirked, almost impressed. “A man who stands up for his woman. I respect that.”

“Are you serious?” Chloe blinked.

“I don’t need defending,” I muttered, stabbing another asparagus.

“Of course not,” Roman said, gently. “But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me. It offends my sense of taste to watch someone insult you.”

Alyssa laughed. “Alright now, I see why she fell for you.”

My heart raced. “How couldn't I?”

Mom cleared her throat loudly and stood on her feet.

“Does anybody want dessert?”

“I think I'll pass.” Dean muttered.

“I'm on a no-sugar diet, sorry.” Chloe announced.

“Maybe next time.” Roman politely declined.

Aunt Thelma raised a glass instead, “To the Harts, may we never be normal.”

Everyone hesitated.

I clinked my glass against Roman’s. “To dysfunction,” I said.

“To chaos.” He grinned dangerously.

“Aunt Savannah, is this about the butt lube again?” Little Emily rubbed her sleepy eyes.

Mom choked on her wine.

Roman coughed into his napkin.

“Emily!” Alyssa shrieked. “Where did you hear that?”

Emily glanced around innocently. “You were talking about it earlier, mommy.”

Dean started laughing, Chloe slapped his arm, and I gave Emily a high-five across the table.

Mom rubbed her temples. “Why do I try?”

“Because it’s tradition,” I said. “We gather once a year, eat things no one actually likes, and emotionally regress to high school and joke with trauma.”

Roman leaned over. “Is this every holiday?”

“This is mild,” she whispered.

Dad threw down his napkin. “I'm calling it a night.”

I exhaled.

He pointed at Roman. “You still owe me the details of that hedge fund you started at twenty-four.”

Roman tipped his glass in dad's direction. “Yes, sir.”

I rolled my eyes.

The table slowly dispersed. The air thinned. Dishes clattered in the kitchen. I stayed behind to help clean up the table.

Dean lingered by the pantry door, just watching my every move.

I went to pass him, and he grabbed my wrist.

“You’re really with him?”

“You’re really marrying her?” I shot back.

“I know what you're doing. You don’t have to prove anything to me, Sav.”

“Oh, I’m not proving anything,” I said, yanking my hand back. “I’m making you wish you’d begged.”

And just as Dean opened his mouth to reply—

Roman appeared behind me, placing a steady hand on the small of my back. His eyes locked with Dean’s.

He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulled me close and glared at Dean.

“You good, man?” Roman asked, voice low. “Need some help finding your fiancée?”

Dean stepped back. “She's all yours, buddy. Just came to say hi to an old acquaintance.”

I hated the fact that his harsh words still affected me to this day. Old acquaintance? Is that what we were?

Roman kissed my temple. My body lit up.

“You done here? Let's go to bed.” He suggested.

We said quick goodnights and sweet dreams to the people around and retired for the night. Roman’s large had was wrapped around mine as we walked to our bedroom.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind us, finally giving us privacy.

I leaned against it, arms folded across my chest, watching Roman toe off his designer loafers like he owned the place—which, technically, he didn’t. Not yet.

“That was the most excruciating meal of my life,” I muttered, pushing off the door. “Between Chloe’s fake laughter, Dad’s Roman-worship, and Alyssa’s nervous wine refills, I’m honestly considering poisoning dessert tomorrow.”

Roman smirked, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing that frustratingly smug, annoyingly perfect body. “Come on. Your dad only brought up my hedge fund once. That’s restrained. I half expected him to propose to me.”

I flopped onto the bed, face first into the pillows, voice muffled. “He might as well have. He was practically fanning himself while you explained market volatility earlier.”

“I can’t help that I’m charming.” Roman peeled off his slacks with the slow confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He tossed them aside, now clad in nothing but black boxer briefs that did nothing to hide the situation going on below the waistband.

His hands dropped to his boxer briefs as if he was about to take them off. Then he stopped, and turned to me.

“Don't even think about it.” I warned.

“C'mon, sav.”

“I'm not sleeping next to you if you're going to be butt naked, Roman.” I insisted.

“You know I hate sleeping with clothes on.”

“You know I hate someone rubbing their warm, hard parts on me.” I deadpanned.

He just stood there like he was waiting for me to change my mind.

I lifted my head. “Can you not stand there like that?”

He quirked a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to model for a GQ spread. We’re supposed to be fake-engaged, not starring in a Calvin Klein ad.”

“Don’t blame me,” he said, climbing onto the other side of the bed. “This body is just a bonus in the fiancé package.”

I rolled onto my back, sighing. “Why is there only one bed? This is a six-bedroom house. You’d think my mom would’ve thought to separate us.”

Roman grinned. “She probably assumed we’re in love.” He made exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. “Which means she expects we’re already used to ‘casually rubbing parts together.’”

I choked on my laugh. “Oh my god. That phrase needs to die.”

He leaned closer, propped on one elbow. “You said it, not me.”

I gave him a look. “Okay, but like… hypothetically. On a scale of 1 to 10, how weird would it be if we did casually rub parts together?”

Roman didn’t miss a beat. “Define ‘rub.’”

My eyes narrowed. “Roman.”

“I’m just saying, context matters.” He smirked. “Accidental thigh graze? That’s a three. Intentional butt scoot? Solid six. Anything above waist-level and we’re hitting eights.”

I groaned and pulled the covers up to my chin. “You are the worst.”

He reached over and flicked the light off. The room sank into darkness, except for the soft moonlight cutting across his smug profile. “You love me.”

“Fake love,” I corrected.

“Still counts.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

Then—

“I can’t believe he compared your achievements to mine at the table,” I whispered.

Roman didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was softer, more serious. “He’s an idiot for doing that. You’re brilliant, Sav. He’s just too old-school to see it.”

I stared up at the ceiling, throat tightening. “You didn’t have to say that to her. About me being the most talented.”

“I didn’t say it for her.”

I swallowed. “Thanks.”

A moment passed. The bed creaked softly as we both shifted, trying not to touch but inevitably grazing arms and legs under the sheets.

I sighed again. “This is weird.”

Roman’s voice was low now. “Yeah. But not bad weird. We've done this a lot of times.”

More silence.

Then—

“Roman?”

“Hmm?”

“Try anything and I’ll shove my knee into your very expensive parts.”

He laughed under his breath. “Understood, Miss Hart.”

I reached over and smacked his chest. “That’s Mrs. Blackwood to you.”

Another beat.

“Savannah?”

“What.”

“…You’re kind of rubbing my thigh.”

I froze. “No, you’re rubbing my thigh.”

“Oh no. This is clearly your fault.”

We both turned at the same time, faces inches apart in the dark.

And that’s when the door creaked open again.

A voice called into the room.

My mother.

“Savannah? Are you two still awake?”

We both froze, like teenagers caught in the act.

I shouted, “Yep! Just… saying our bedtime prayers! Separately!”

Roman, biting his lip to keep from laughing, whispered, “Ten out of ten awkward.”

I hissed, “Shut up.”

And then my mom’s voice came again, far too cheerful. Obviously satisfied with my lie.

“Chloe and Dean want to take you two out for brunch sometime, for a double date. Said they want to catch up. What do you think?”