Rome was crossing the street.
Toward me with long strides and his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. His jaw was tight, and his expression irritated.
And somehow, that made him even hotter.
“Whoa, boy,” I whispered.
I could lock the door and pretend I hadn’t seen him. Turn off the lights and hide in the freezer.
All perfectly reasonable options.
Instead, I stood there watching him because I could tell myself all day long that Rome wasn’t interested in me, but he was walking right toward me, and suddenly I wasn’t so sure anymore.
Rome reached the door.
I pushed it open, and the words we’re closed sat on the tip of my tongue. They never made it out.
He stepped inside, and warm air rushed in around him. The smell of leather and soap and Rome filled the shop. Then his hand settled lightly against my stomach.
My breath caught.
He walked me backward one step and then another.
I went willingly.
He reached behind himself without looking and locked the door. Flipped the OPEN sign off, and the red glow disappeared.
My pulse jumped.
Rome kept walking me backward until my hips bumped against the ice cream case.
He stopped until he was close.
Really close.
I looked up at him. “Hello to you, too,” I managed.
Rome stared at me. Dark eyes and an unreadable expression except for the irritation. That I could read just fine.
“Did you get my message this morning?”
I nodded.
His eyebrows lifted. “And?”
I swallowed. “I thought maybe you meant to text someone else.”
Rome blinked. Then blinked again. Like he genuinely couldn’t process what I’d just said. “Someone else.”
I shrugged helplessly.
He stared at me another second.
Then huffed out a laugh.
Not amused, but in disbelief. “Josie.”
The way he said my name like I was being ridiculous. Which, honestly, fair.
