I winked at Roman, letting him know we were on the same page, then deadpanned. “He let me fall.”
“Bullshit.” Drew froze with a tray of ziti in his hand. He’d already shoveled way too much onto my plate. He looked to me and then to Roman. “I didn’t drop her, but I’m going to drop you if you keep starting shit.”
“Watch your language,” I said.
Roman just chuckled.
Dinner was far from peaceful. First Drew and I disagreed over politics, and then Roman, Drew, and Beck had a heated discussion about who was going to make it to the playoffs in hockey this season. It was loud, and we occasionally talked over each other, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed a meal so much.
After we finished, Drew insisted I couldn’t help cleanup and toted me back to the living room. Roman, who Drew had instructed to help clean up, cracked a beer and joined me instead.
“Want a beer?”
“No, thanks.” I slouched down on the couch and folded my hands over my stomach. “I’m too full from the twenty pounds of pasta and chicken parmigiana Drew piled on my plate.”
Roman took a draw on his beer, watching me over the top. “You two fight a lot?”
I smiled. “We actually do.”
“That’s his tell.”
Confusion must have been apparent on my face, because Roman set his beer bottle on his knee and elaborated. “We met in sixth grade. I stole his girlfriend—”
I interrupted. “The way Drew tells the story, he stole your girlfriend before you bonded over the chicken pox.”
“He told you about that?”
I nodded. “He did. It was an oddly sweet story. He told it with reverence.”
“Anyway, the two of us have been fighting since sixth grade. But he’s also my best friend. Him and his old man were closer than any father and son I’d ever met. They fought daily. It’s not a coincidence that he argues for a living, too.” Roman sipped from his beer and seemed to ponder his next words. “Wanna know how I knew it wasn’t going to work out with Alexa?”
“How?”
“They never argued. Not until the end when she started to show her true colors as the selfish bitch she always was. And that’s a different type of fighting than Drew does when he loves.”
“We’re not—”
Roman leaned back into the couch with an easy smile. “I know. I can see that neither of you have figured it out yet. Talk to me in a month or two.”
“There’s night construction on 49th, you should try 51st.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in the ass,” Drew mumbled as he made a sharp left turn.
We’d argued for a half-hour over my going home. He wanted me to stay at his place so he could help me get around. But with his son there, it wasn’t the right thing to do. Eventually he gave in, but we waited until after Beck went to sleep. Then Roman had stayed so Drew could drive me home.
When we arrived at my building, I made a half-assed attempt at arguing against him carrying me, then gave up. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I leaned in to enjoy it.
“You might want to think about cutting back on the burgers,” Drew teased.
“Watch it. Any fat jokes and I’ll be cutting back on all meat.”
“You’re full of shit. You like my meat way too much.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Maybe. But you’re going to be full of me in about five minutes, too.”
The elevator door opened. “We don’t have time for that. You need to get back so Roman can get home.”