by R. C. Martin
“We thought it would happen after Avery’s wedding,” Harvey tells us, pointing from himself to his wife.
“And I am always the guy who picks some random ass date just for the hell of it. They all hate it and give me shit every time. Well, how do you like me now?” He claps his hands and then rubs his palms together as he taunts them.
“Oh, put a sock in it, Pete,” says Grace, her sweet voice the opposite of threatening. “The point is, all of us were rooting for you. We’re so happy for you guys!”
“Hell yeah, we are. We’ll go out tonight and celebrate. Drinks are on Pete,” says Harvey.
“Hey!” cries Willow, turning to address our friends. “I just thought of a way for us to try and win our money back. Who’s up for another wager?”
“What now?” asks Trevor.
Willow pretends to clear her throat as she begins to back her way into her room. “What was that? Oh, yeah, I have a client. Gotta go.” She winks at us and points at Pete. “We’ll talk, later.”
“O-kay. Clearly, we’re not allowed in on this conversation,” Trevor begins to say as he resumes leading me down the hallway. “Don’t mind if we make our exit.”
No one stops us this time, but I can feel their eyes until Trevor shuts us into his room. He locks the door and before I can even think of a response, he discards our food and pulls me into his chest, pressing his lips against mine fervently. I have a vague recollection of me wanting to get him back for teasing me before, but I’m his and I can’t bring myself to deny him. To do so would be to deny myself. Instead, I cling to him and follow his lead.
He backs me up against a wall and kisses his way down my neck—the part of me that has belonged to him for a while now—as his hands go up my shirt—reacquainting himself with the parts of me that have recently been branded as his. “I want you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my ear. “God, I want you so much I can hardly stand it. What are you doing to me?”
“The same thing you’re doing to me,” I say, my voice quivering with yearning. My longing for him has been a part of me for so long, I can’t even remember when it was first born. It’s been locked up for years. Now that it’s been set free, I feel like it’s always there, right below the surface. Two minutes ago, I could contain myself. Now, his evident desire has heated mine past its boiling point and I feel completely out of control. “I’m yours. Take me.”
He moans and begins to devour my mouth, our tongues dancing to the rapid beat of my heart. He pulls away before I’m ready and reaches for his phone. I’m too out of breath to ask what he’s doing, so I watch and then smile when the room fills with music. He’s chosen his techno playlist, the beat fast and loud—loud enough to help drown out the sounds that accompany our shared pleasure.
“Now,” he begins to say, his hands gliding over my backside as he presses me against him, showcasing his need and increasing mine. “Where were we?”
Last night.
Last night, something changed. There was a moment. It was right after he kissed me. I wasn’t expecting it—or anything that followed.
Last night, there was a look. I can’t say what it meant. I’m not even sure I would be able to describe it if I was asked to. All I know is that those brown eyes have never made me feel the way they did in that moment.
Last night, Roman saw me. Not just the girl with the beautiful face and the enticing body; not just the girl who likes to play; not even the girl who’s best friends with his sister. No, he saw me in that moment and he wanted who he saw.
Last night, when I wasn’t paying attention, he dared to look inside of me—and I looked right back. What followed was the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had the pleasure of reciprocating. I never wanted it to end! It wasn’t just about the kiss. It was everything that led up to the kiss. The way he cuddled me without argument and kissed me without prompting. It was the way he touched me and the way he stayed in control and kept both of us from getting too carried away. It was the way he held me when Ashton walked in on us and the way he laughed with me as he tickled me senseless. It was the way he drew me close in his sleep.
Holy hell, that was amazing! I can’t give Daphne shit about her cuddle buddy anymore. I can see why she likes it.
Last night. It’s all I can think about. I’m sure this whole yoga practice would be a lot easier if I could manage to clear my head and focus, but I give up on that mission after the first fifteen minutes. I then proceed to make a fool of myself for the rest of class. By the time I’ve rolled up my mat, there’s a group of girls circled around Roman gushing about how much they enjoyed today’s session. Just like last night, I have an overwhelming desire to stake my claim. Last night, he accused me of being jealous and I laughed it off. Today, I’ll admit it.
They can’t have him because I want him.
What I’m supposed to do about that, I haven’t figured out yet. Let’s just say that falling for my secret agent is the biggest bitch I’ve had to deal with in a while. This was not a part of my brilliant plan. In fact, half the reason my plan was so perfect was because I knew there was no way either of us would develop any sort of legitimate feelings for one another. What’s going on between us is supposed to be pretend.
But that kiss…
That kiss was for US. There’s no doubt in my mind about it. Everything else that goes on between us? How the fu—how in the world am I supposed to be able to tell when he’s pretending and when he’s not? Do I really want this to be more than pretend?
I silence my heart and cling to my alter ego. As M, I can walk right up to my Double-O and take his hand without questioning whether or not he feels the spark I feel as our skin touches. I can claim him as mine because he is mine, regardless of all the things that might not add up between him and me. I can pretend like we’re the perfect, happy, new couple, because that’s exactly who we are.
He smiles down at me as he laces his fingers with mine and my heart rears its bitchy head, reminding me just how much I love the way he’s looking at me right now.
Holy hell, I’m in deep shit.
“Thanks for letting me borrow your mat,” I say, my voice more timid than I intended.
“Anytime, babe,” he tells me before pressing a kiss in my hair. He reaches for the strap of the rolled up mat and slides it off of my shoulder, putting it over his along with his second mat. “You did a good job today.”
I laugh, because I know that I didn’t. I’m in shape, that goes without question. I’m in the gym four times a week. But yoga is its own beast that I was not prepared for. I look around at his admirers, my jealously flaring up at the knowledge that they probably didn’t look like fools for the last hour, unlike me. “He’s lying,” I tell them. “I’m sure he meant it when he said it to you. He’s just being nice to me because he has to share a bed with me tonight,” I say, lifting a coy shoulder.
I know I’m being such a bitch right now, but the words come out before I can stop them. I peek up at Roman from beneath my lashes, curious to know if I’ll see the same warning look he gave me from behind the bar last night. Alternatively, I find that he’s smirking at me.
“You’re right. You had a rough go of it today. Keep the mat. Use it next time.” He winks at me and then shifts his attention back to his pupils. I don’t listen to what he says; instead, I lean into his side and wait for them to leave. “Ready to get out of here?” he asks as the last of them trickle out of the studio.
“Um, yes. Do you know that there were only two men in your class? I’m pretty sure at least one of them was gay.”
He throws his head back in laughter as he leads me across the room where he’s left his keys, wallet, and cell phone. “What, exactly, are you implying?” he asks, scooping up his things to drop them into the pockets of his gym shorts.
“You know exactly what I’m implying. Are all of your classes full of women ogling you?”
“Look, I can’t help it who shows up. It’s my job to teach, that’s all. Besides, they don’t all ogle.”<
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“Yeah, okay,” I scoff as we head outside. My stomach growls and I’m pleased to have an excuse to change the subject.“So, you know how your girlfriend would support your yoga habit?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, my boyfriend would take me for brunch afterwards. Come on,” I say, tugging him toward the corner. Just across the street, there’s a restaurant that serves the best decadent pancakes in town. One of those babies will be sure to help wash away any and all evidence that I exercised a few minutes ago. Since it’s always crowded, we’ll probably have to wait forever to get a seat, but I’m in good company so I don’t care.
“Wait, you want to go to Morning Glory?” he asks, stopping dead in his tracks. He’s stronger than me, so when he stops, I’m stopped, too.
“Don’t tell me you’re not a fan?” I whine. “We’ll break up right now if you do.”
“No. It’s not that. It’s just—I haven’t been in a long time,” he tells me, looking over at the busy storefront with a frown.
“All the more reason we should go,” I say, squeezing his fingers in encouragement.
“I used to go after yoga with Addie. It was kind of our thing.”
My heart drops. At first, I’m disappointed that he’s thinking of another girl right now. And Addie of all people—the same girl the last guy I fell for was in love with. Then I feel annoyed that Roman’s made me think of Beckham; which, of course, makes me angry that thoughts of Beckham still make me feel any sort of hurt at all!
“Hey.” He pulls me toward him and draws our hands behind my back so that he’s holding me in a one arm embrace. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he says, distracting me from my thoughts. He reaches up to smooth my furrowed brow with his fingers, the familiar act causing a small smile to grace my lips.
As we look at each other, silence settling between us, I’m reminded that he and I both got hurt; at the same time; by people who were probably never going to choose us in the first place. If anyone understands how hard that was, it’s him. All those months ago, Roman and I weren’t friends. In fact, right after it became clear that I was never going to have a chance with Beck, I probably was a bigger bitch than ever. Rome was always a target. I knew he’d bicker back, unlike Daphne, who loved me too much to fight with me when she knew I was hurting.
The point is, I can’t hold it against him that MG reminds him of Addie. I get it. There are places that still remind me of Beck, too. But I had to move on—so should he.
“We’re going,” I say resolutely. “The Tap Room used to be where Beckham and I hung out and I got over it. Now, you’ll get over this—with me. Come on.” He nods once and then surrenders to my lead.
We stop by his car first, so he can stow away our yoga mats, and then we continue to our destination. I was right about the wait. There are people sitting and standing just outside the front door and along the sidewalk in front of the entrance. Since it’s nice out, Roman suggests that we stay outside. I manage to snag the last available chair in their small patio while he goes inside to put our name on the list. It takes him longer than I would have expected, but then he comes out with a steaming mug of something and I see why.
“I didn’t peg you for a black coffee kind of girl so I had them put some milk and sugar in it. Is that okay?”
Oh. My. God. I think I’m in love.
“That’s for me?” I ask, reaching for the mug.
“Since we didn’t have time to stop this morning,” he explains. “I didn’t want you to have to wait another forty minutes.”
I take a sip and close my eyes as the warm liquid slides down my throat. He’s right about me not taking my coffee black. I would probably use less sugar and more milk, but I don’t complain. It was so sweet of him to think of me. “Thank you,” I say, looking up at him.
“You’re welcome.”
“Here, sit down,” I tell him as I stand.
“I’m okay. The seat is yours.”
“The seat is ours. Come on, just sit so I don’t have to keep looking up at you.” He does as I ask and then I sit on one of his legs, resting an arm around his shoulders as I take another drink. When he circles his arms about my waist, my heart flutters.
For a moment, I just enjoy being here with him—like this. I have no idea what’s going on between us. We’re becoming more comfortable and familiar with each other during the times when it’s just him and me—when we are free to be ourselves. Something tells me to hold onto it for as long as it lasts. However, there’s another part of me that makes me wonder if I’m being reckless and stupid. I’m not prepared for this, prepared to fall, prepared to pick up the pieces of my heart should it shatter.
Roman wouldn’t break my heart—would he?
“What are you thinking”
I don’t answer him right away. I’m certainly not ready to be honest with him about the things I’m starting to feel. Not when I’m unsure how he feels. I am curious about one thing, though. “What happened between you and Addie, exactly?”
“What happened between you and Beckham?”
I shoot him a playful glare, as I hate when he answers my questions with his own questions. “I asked first.”
“I brought you coffee.”
I hum a laugh and take another sip. “Okay, you win.” I inhale deeply and exhale slowly, hoping I can get this out as fast as possible. “We were friends. Or, I guess, we are friends still. Sort of. It’s all very bitchy.”
“Complicated?” he asks with a lopsided smile.
“Exactly,” I say, returning his expression. “The thing is, I just went after him at first because he was cute. We kept running into each other and, I don’t know, I thought that meant something. We started hanging out a lot and I really started to like him. I didn’t know about Addie,” I continue, looking down into my mug. “I knew there was a girl and that it was complicated, but I didn’t know it was Addie and I sure as hell didn’t know that he wanted to marry her.” I shrug, ready to be done rehashing the past. “It would have saved me a lot of heartache if I had known,” I say softly.
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” he mutters, holding me tighter.
“I remember how close you were with Addie.” I bring my eyes back up to meet his. “Another reason I never suspected anything. After all that shit hit the fan, I kind of gathered she never kept you in the dark.”
“No. I knew about Beckham. I knew she hoped they would get back together. I fell for her anyway. She fell for me, too.”
“Oh,” I whisper, surprised by his admission. Suddenly, I feel worse for him than I did for myself. No matter how much it sucked to be rejected by Beckham, he never lied about his feelings. I was only ever his friend. I can’t imagine how horrible it would have been if he did have feelings for me and he chose someone else anyway. “I didn’t know.”
“We met just a couple days after they broke up and she needed a friend. It was stupid of me to let myself go there with her. I mean, I liked her but I didn’t have to do anything about it. I wouldn’t have if she hadn’t given me the tiniest sliver of hope. But she did. Even still, I should have known better. I just…” He shrugs but doesn’t finish his thought.
“You just what?” I ask, sure that I want to hear what’s going on inside of his head.
“I just hadn’t felt that way about anyone since Katie. It felt good to have that again. Even if just for a little while.”
“Yeah,” I murmur with a nod. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“Oh, come on,” he grumbles.
“What? I do!” I argue, offended that he would doubt that I’m telling the truth.
“No—sorry—it’s not you,” he says, rubbing a hand down my back. “Your stalker is here.”
“Wait, what?” I swivel my head to survey the crowd but I don’t see anyone that I know. When I do a double take, I spot them as they make their way down the sidewalk toward the restaurant. Eddalyn and Judah. “Oh, shit.” I look down at myself, appalled that my boss is about to
see me like this.
I’m in my hot pink tennis shoes with my short, white running spandex and my pale pink, racer-back tank top—the one with the built in bra. I’m definitely showing more skin than I’d like Judah to see. He’s got a gaze that burns and it’s warm enough out here already. Not to mention my hair, which is up in a ponytail, preventing me from any attempt to hide the fact that I have almost zero makeup on right now.
“Rome, I look awful! You rushed me out of the house so fast I don’t even have concealer on.”
“I don’t know what that means,” he laughs. “But you don’t look awful. You look like you’re out for a casual breakfast after a workout with your boyfriend.”
My lips curl into a smile as the feeling of contentment pushes aside my anxiety. I like the way he just referred to himself as my boyfriend.
Wait—what?!
I shake the thought away and my anxiety returns as I realize that we’re about to step back into character. Roman is not my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend. Although, if I did, and he looked like Roman and he talked like Roman and he kissed like Roman—
I groan, irritated with my scattered mind.
“Stop,” Roman insists, taking my chin between his fingers. I align my gaze with his, seeing as how there is nowhere else for my eyes to look with my face being held captive. Not that I’m complaining. “You are gorgeous. Do you hear me? I like you just as you are.”
The air in my lungs escapes me in a shocked sigh. Never—never—has he ever paid me a compliment like that. As I search his dark brown eyes, looking for something that tells me he didn’t mean it—that he’s just pretending—all I see is that look—the same one he gave me last night. I can hardly breathe as I stare at him, allowing his words to sink in. Boyfriend or not, those words were for me. Here. Now. With no makeup and no jewelry and no heels or sexy dress, he thinks I’m gorgeous. Such accolades from this man?
I know that I’m beautiful. I can see it when I look in the mirror; I can see it in the way men stare; I can feel it every time someone works up the nerve to come flirt with me. But that’s my public face—the me I show the world. The way I look right now, dressed down and carefree, this is not the version of me that I let very many people see. After Mack, it just became easier to not let anyone see anything besides the girl who could own any room. Up until a couple weeks ago, who Roman knew me to be was just a pretty face who loved his sister and flirted with any guy who would buy me a drink. Who he sees me to be now, whatever he’s managed to come to understand about me, he thinks I’m gorgeous. I’m positive that I’ve never been more flattered in my life.