Soulmates & Twin Flames

7 - Soulmates & Twin Flames

"It was a pleasure meeting you tonight, Abby. Looking forward to seeing you again on Monday."

There's something wrong with Roman's text, and I don't know what it is. I am not big on emojis or pet names, but his plain message makes my chest tighten.

Did I do something wrong? Am I missing something?

Our date had a rough start, but the dinner was magical, right? The city lights twinkling around us, the subtle wind, Roman's eyes burning into my soul, and his smile... I loved how we opened up our hearts to each other just like that. Okay, his cold side gave me shivers at first, but he was jealous—which was adorable, now that I think about it.

Just as I'm about to shove my phone into my bag, my screen lights up again. This time, it's a text from Olga.

"Why are there so many douchebags in Manhattan?"

I grin as the cab pulls over in front of my building, and shut the door behind me. Olga was supposed to have dinner with a guy she met at work. Looks like mine isn't the only date that's cut short tonight.

"Wanna come over?" I type and hit reply.

"On my way," she texts back.

Call me selfish, but I feel ten times lighter knowing that I won't be alone, sulking at home. Olga's coming over. My best friend. My person.

Sometimes I think we are soulmates—not the romantic kind. Neither of us swing that way. But just like there are many stars in our universe, I believe we have multiple soulmates, and Olga is one of mine.

I hurry upstairs, quickly change into shorts and a t-shirt, then throw myself on the bed.

Does Roman really have a meeting? Why didn't he come home with me? I thought we had a spark—a real connection.

I gasp when my phone buzzes next to my head. It's another text from Roman.

"Did you get home safely?"

And just like that, my worries disappear.

"Yeah," I reply with a stupid smile. "About to google you."

"Let me know if you like what you find," Roman types, and I wish I could see his face. Is he smirking or are his brows pulling together with worry? Why would he be worried, though? Does he have a sex tape or something?

My cheeks flush and I choke on my own breath. God, I hope Roman has a sex tape. I don't care about watching him with another woman. I just want to see the pleasure on his face and hear his guttural grunts.

Fuck. What's wrong with me?

"I'm about to take my Tokyo call," Roman texts again.

I draw a deep breath and glare at the cracks on the ceiling. My therapist would tell me to take it slow. Stop overthinking. And definitely stop fantasizing about him.

"Tie or no tie?" Roman asks in his next text.

Wait, did he just send me a photo?

I click on the image in a rush. Roman's in a dark room, sitting in front of a laptop. The screen's pale light defines his sharp jawline, and his smirk is sexy as hell. I want to twirl his black tie around my hand and pull him in for a kiss.

A silent moan vibrates in my throat. Feels like Roman's sitting on my bed, looking down at me as I lay under him.

"You look hot," I reply, breathing heavily. "Keep the tie."

Three dots appear at the top of my screen, then disappear. Then they appear again, only to disappear once more.

Is he feeling the same heat as I am?