Chapter 2 #2
“Okay, I get that,” I grumble, combing a hand through my hair. “But why are they still interested? I haven’t been to a club in over six months, which is like six years in Hollywood.”
“It could be a lot worse.” She shrugs. “At least they don’t camp outside your building or chase you wherever you go. You’re more of an opportunistic photo grab.”
“Could you break that down for me in non-PR terms?” I deadpan.
Her lips quirk. “Basically, if a pap is out and about and they spot you, they’ll take the shot. But they’re not going to actively seek you out. You need to watch your back in public, but they’re not disrupting your daily life.”
“Still…I can understand if I’m out and about with a celebrity, which barely even happens anymore. But when I’m alone? I really don’t get it. I’m just a computer nerd, trying my best to fly under the radar.”
She chuckles. “Except you’re the worst kind of nerd. I don’t think you’re capable of flying under the radar.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rosie twirls her index finger in my direction.
“Well, physically speaking, you’re the opposite of the computer nerd stereotype.
You’ve got the whole sexy, bad boy thing going on, with your leather jackets, the tats, and the Ducati.
The fact that you’re also smart, successful, kind, and funny?
Of course, they’re going to be interested in you, Logan.
You can’t possibly be that na?ve after growing up in LA.
Paparazzi love the pretty people, and you, my friend, are definitely a member of that club. ”
“Was that a compliment?” I ask, feigning confusion, but I’m strutting around like a peacock in my mind.
I’m not usually an arrogant shit, but a compliment from Rosie Morales is the best kind of high.
“Maybe,” she teases, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Depends on whether you use your powers for good or evil.”
I lean into Rosie’s ear. “In my experience, the people sporting halos aren’t having nearly as much fun as those who aren’t.”
She playfully swats me away, but I don’t miss the goose bumps scattering up her arms. “You’re an idiot.”
My mouth gapes in mock offense. “I’m wounded, Pip. Really.”
She lets out an adorable little snort-laugh. “I’m sure your ego is as big as ever, Logan.” Her gaze wanders down my torso. “Among other things.”
Well, well, well.
Is Rosie Morales actually flirting back?
My brain short-circuits for a second, caught somewhere between smug satisfaction and pure, unfiltered need.
I lean in closer. “Careful, Pip. You keep looking at me like that, and I might forget how to behave.”
She doesn’t back down. Instead, she tilts her head, lips curving into a slow, teasing smile that makes me wonder if she knows just how much power she holds. “Who said I wanted you to behave?”
Well, okay then.
Blood rushes straight to my cock, and if I stay here a second longer while she’s giving me those eyes, I’m going to do something reckless—like kiss the hell out of her and never want to stop.
The stool scrapes loudly against the floor as I bolt to my feet, grabbing my keys from the counter like they might save me from myself. “Let’s head into town.”
Her brows shoot up. “What?”
“The grocery store,” I clarify, quickly snuffing out the fire.
She’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “But…the food.”
I glance at her half-eaten eggs. “I’ll buy you a muffin. There’s a new drive-thru coffee stand on the way. C’mon, you know you can’t stop thinking about it now.”
The girl never turns down an offer for baked goods.
The excitement in her eyes tells me she has no plans on starting now. “Fine, let’s go, Mr. Impatient. But for the record, you’re acting like a crazy person. And I want two muffins.”
“Crazy about you,” I mumble under my breath.
She freezes for a beat, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink. “What did you say?”
I clear my throat. “I said, deal. Two muffins it is.”
Her brows pull together in mild suspicion, but she doesn’t press me on it. Instead, she grabs her coat from the hook by the door and slips it over her shoulders. “Are we going, or what?”
“Now who’s the impatient one?” I chuckle as I watch her hopping on one foot, trying to put her boots on. “Having trouble there?” I pull on the socks that were stuffed in my shoes, and slide into my Air Jordans, giving her a look that says, See how easy that was?
Her brown eyes narrow as she continues the little hop-shuffle-hop thing she has going until both feet are covered.
“Ass,” she grumbles. Rosie gasps as we step outside into the crisp winter air, the cold biting at our faces as snowflakes tumble from the sky.
“You can’t just dangle a muffin in my face and expect me not to bite.
Sheesh, it’s like you don’t know me at all. ”
My lips kick up in the corner. “I probably know you better than most, Morales.”
She bumps her shoulder into my arm. “If that were true, we’d be on the road already. Because someone who knows me as well as you think you do, would know I turn into a beast when I’m hungry.”
Her quippy response makes me grin. God, I’ve missed this. Her quick wit, the way she’s always ready to spar with me.
“Oh, trust me, I am well aware of that fact.”
Rosie skips ahead a little, flipping me the bird along the way. “Get a move on, Edwards.”
I take a second to appreciate the view—of her and everything around us. Freshly fallen snow, the quiet woods, the crunch of her boots on the icy gravel as we approach my rental.
I open the passenger door, and Rosie pauses before sliding in, eyes locking with mine. “Thanks,” she murmurs softly, her cheeks still a little pink from earlier.
I wink. “Anytime, Pip.”
I climb into the driver’s seat and press the ignition button, the heater humming softly as we make our way down the long driveway. Rosie flips through the radio stations, landing on some pop song that fades into the background of my racing thoughts.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her staring out the window, seemingly deep in thought.
But there’s a restlessness to her…her knee bouncing slightly, her fingers absently toying with the zipper of her coat.
Rosie’s always had trouble sitting still, but she’s learned how to hide it pretty well over the years.
Right now, though? She’s downright twitchy.
The more she fidgets, the tighter her lips press together, like she’s trying to stifle the impulse to blurt something out.
Sometimes, Rosie will start a sentence inside her head but finish it out loud—which is what I suspect she’s trying to avoid right now.
She calls it one of her many ADHD quirks.
I call it cute as hell. I love those brief glimpses into her mind, unfiltered and real, even in small doses.
I wish she’d let it spill because I need to know if she feels the same buzz I’m feeling. That undercurrent of energy between us has always been there, humming in the background. But when I opened the door earlier and saw her standing on the porch, it surged to life, impossible to ignore.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, forcing myself to focus on the road ahead. I’ve got three days, I remind myself. Three whole days with Rosie Morales. No distractions. No interruptions. And most importantly, no big brothers throwing death glares my way every time I look at her.
For the first time in years, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I have a chance to shoot my shot.
And I can’t fucking wait to see if I score.