Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Roman was across the room before I could respond. I stared at him, admiring the way his faded jeans hugged his fine ass while I processed his bombshell. And when he returned to the table to refill my mug, I zeroed in on his crotch…as one does. Christ, I was jealous of that denim, molded loving to his big, thick cock.
Okay, hang on. I didn’t know if he had a big dick or not. I just sort of assumed he did. Everything else about him was large, so it only made sense. I’d also assumed I’d be personally acquainted with his penis at some point during this trip. Since that wasn’t likely to happen, I figured I’d better get my ogling in while I had a chance.
I thanked him, blinking when he raised his brow. I smiled innocently, then narrowed my eyes, remembering I had a bone to pick with him.
“Ex-wife? You never said you were divorced, and you definitely didn’t say anything about being married to a woman.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “It never came up.”
“It should have! You didn’t have to lead with it, but you could have sneaked it in and filed it under ‘Things You Might Want to Know About Me.’ Now I feel like an even bigger schmuck, if that’s remotely possible,” I grumbled, tearing a slice of bacon into bits.
“That’s ridiculous. My failed marriage has nothing to do with you.”
“No, but not knowing it was part of your history—and one you’re still grappling with, if you’re grumpy over a fucking spoon—just goes to show that I really didn’t know you at all.” I shot to my feet with my hands in the air.
And…immediately sank into my seat when my sensitive stomach and head lurched in protest.
Roman frowned. “Did you take ibuprofen? I left the bottle for you on the counter upstairs.”
“No, I didn’t see it, and it doesn’t matter. I’m having a moment.” I clutched my temples and closed my eyes briefly.
“What kind of moment?”
“The kind where I realize this was never going to work. God, I am such an idiot.”
He drew in a deep breath, then pushed his chair away from the table and squeezed my shoulder. A click and rattle of a pill bottle later, he returned, setting two tablets in front of me.
“Take this,” he said in a low commanding tone. “And drink the water. You need it more than the coffee.”
“You’re not my dad,” I huffed, glaring like a kid who’d been told he couldn’t leave the table until he’d finished his dinner.
Roman laughed. “And yet…you called me daddy last night.”
Oh.
Wow.
I promptly choked on one of those pesky pills. It wasn’t pretty. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I gasped for air. Roman slid a water bottle toward me and patted my back. When I finally managed to swallow and catch my breath, I buried my face in my hands and groaned aloud.
“Oh. My. God. I will never, ever drink tequila again. Please scrub last night from your memory. I wasn’t in my right mind, and I’m not that guy.”
“Relax. We’ve been over that part. I told you…I like that guy.” He tousled my hair playfully.
I batted his hand away with a sigh. “I didn’t want you to like drunk me. Ugh. I know it was a mutual fail, but it’s a bummer ’cause there’s a part of me, that in spite of acknowledging things are different in real life and long distance would be an issue, hoped we’d at least end up—”
My jaw snapped shut. Whoa, what’s wrong with me?
I coughed, chugging half my water bottle while I tried to figure out why I was still here. It was time to go.
“Finish that sentence,” he commanded.
I froze. His voice had taken on a “not to be fucked with” tone that zipped through my veins like lava, hot and unyielding.
“As friends,” I squeaked.
Roman gave a lopsided grin. “That’s a nice sentiment, but something tells me that the guy who sang a Spice Girls song while stripping off his suit coat as he slid in his socks across the tile in my foyer would say something else entirely.”
“Well, that guy is a ho. I wouldn’t listen to a thing he says.” I munched on the last of my egg and bacon sandwich, loving his deep, sultry laughter.
He sobered, his eyes still twinkling merrily as he poked my bicep. “I like him. He’s honest.”
“Hmph.”
“So…tell me what you really hoped would happen.”
Caffeine, bacon, and ibuprofen had helped ease me from the brink of hangover hell, and the foggiest parts of last night had cleared, leaving me embarrassed, yet grateful. Roman had been a fucking saint. There was no guidebook for dealing with drunk-ass dorks you’d met on an app, but I knew most people wouldn’t have bothered.
He’d given me a place to stay, clothes to borrow, and fed me breakfast well past lunchtime. Roman was a good guy. And if he wanted the truth, I might as well give it to him. Being endlessly polite was exhausting, and he’d already witnessed too much of the “real me” anyway.