The Romantic (The Vers Podcast #2) Read Online Riley Hart

Categories Genre: Contemporary, M-M Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Vers Podcast Series by Riley Hart
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Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
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“I asked you for none of that except the last one.”

“Lies!”

We got in line, and he immediately started rubbing his hands up and down my arms again, generating a spark of heat that seemed to flicker inward and ignite there. He was just being nice. We needed to get close to each other, to become friends, if we were going to really sell this whole in-love-with-each-other thing. “You don’t have to, Elliott. If it’s a fear of yours, I don’t want to push you.”

“Now he says so.” Elliott gave me a dramatic eye roll. “You’re too pretty not to get your way, and you know it.”

Actually, I didn’t, but I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t nice to hear, even though I knew he just wanted in my pants and that’s all it was.

It was our turn, and before I could, Elliott paid for our ride. We climbed in. The second we started moving, he closed his eyes, and guilt swamped me. “Are you really scared? We’ll be okay. I’ll protect you,” I teased, which got him to open them again. We’d been the last ones let on, so at least we didn’t have to stop every two seconds to let someone else in. I took his hand, and Elliott let me.

“A kiss would distract me…”

“Keep dreaming, husband.” I hadn’t expected to use the moniker, but it had rolled off my lips anyway.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” We were quiet for a moment before he added, “It’s mostly the getting on. Somehow, I’m okay now. I guess it’s hard not to be when you have this view and such a beautiful man beside you.”

Heat rushed to my groin, which was concerning. Um…no erections for Elliott. Bad, bad, bad dick. Get down. “You never give up.”

“I’m just speaking the truth.” He leaned close, his mouth next to my ear. “And you like it.”

“Who doesn’t like compliments?” Why the fuck was my voice so raspy?

Elliott laughed.

“We’re attracted to each other. That’s nothing new.” And maybe I had this weird thing where I seemed to like it when Elliott called me beautiful. No big deal.

When the ride was over, he jumped out of his seat the second he could. “I never thought I would touch the ground again.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He pumped his brows. “Race you to the beach.”

“Huh?”

“Go!” he said and bolted.

It took me a second to realize what was happening, and then I was running too. It was silly, and I couldn’t figure out why I was doing it. Some people looked at us like we’d lost it, and others were clearly unhappy about us running on the pier, but I kept going, chasing after Elliott, laughter bubbling in my chest and dancing from my lips with cold puffs of air.

He won because he cheated. I bent over, trying to catch my breath, and then…I was laughing again. For whatever reason, I couldn’t stop. Elliott was laughing too, and a group of people made a wide circle around us as if unsure if we were stable, which only made me keep going even harder. It felt like our evening in Vegas, only sober.

“That was strangely fun,” I said when I could speak again. I didn’t know why exactly, but the whole night had been.

“You bring out the sixteen-year-old boy in me.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

He winked. “It is.”

We watched each other. Elliott’s brown eyes were slightly glassy from the cold air and running. Mine were probably the same. Fuck, he really was handsome. His dark hair was thick, and I wondered how it would feel between my fingers. He kept a short, stubbled beard that would feel a-fucking-mazing against my inner thighs—totally not what I should be thinking.

His forehead wrinkled as if he was asking a silent question which was probably, Why the fuck are you staring at me like you want to jump my bones, so I looked away. “I should go.”

“We.”

“Huh?”

“We should go. We live together, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Because he was my husband. “I have to be up early for work.” Which duh, he knew because I was always up early.

“Declan meeting you tomorrow?” he asked, making conversation.

“Yes. Not at opening, though. We have breakfast a few times a week.”

We took the bus back to Beach Buns, where we’d left our cars. And then I drove to his house—our house?—the whole way trying to convince myself this hadn’t been a date…and that I certainly hadn’t enjoyed it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Elliott

Dad had to go away for work that weekend after all, so we hadn’t met my parents yet. But the relief was short-lived, as this weekend there was no escaping it. I woke up that morning to the sound of a vacuum, which at first threw me because I’d been sleeping hard and had forgotten I didn’t live alone. Once that piece of truth made its way into my head again, I remembered I lived with Parker, who hadn’t cleaned much of anything other than the kitchen since he’d moved in.


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