Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Chrissy
A polite knock on the front door startles me awake. I can feel my hair going in all sorts of directions. The tapping continues, and I shove my face into my pillow. I made myself at home on the couch last night and kicked Zack to the loveseat across the way. It’s not my fault he has long legs. I like to stretch, dang it. He can suck it up.
The noise echoing from the front door continues, and I groan.
“Zack, get the door.” I hurl a spare pillow across the room, hoping it hits my target.
An obnoxious snore is the only response, which only means that asshole won’t be waking up anytime soon.
Flipping over on my back, I reach for my phone on the table and check the time. With a grumble, I sit up and stomp toward the door. “Who the fuck has the audacity to knock on someone’s front door at seven in the morning?” I ask as I swing the front door open, quickly regretting my actions and choice of words.
“Morning, Wildflower,” Rome says, beaming his flawless smile at me.
With wide eyes, I start to close the door, but he grabs the edge of it and chuckles. “Not happy to see me? I thought you were a morning person.” He steps inside and drops his voice once he sees Zack is still asleep on the couch.
“I normally am, but I was out past my bedtime.”
Spinning around, Rome takes note of my appearance and crinkles his eyes. “Love the hair.” He tousles it and chuckles.
“I’m going to murder you,” I try to threaten him, but my lips betray me.
“You would never.” He grasps at his chest, playing innocent. “You’d be bored without me.”
Well, he isn’t wrong . . .
“Did you need Ash? He and Gwen are still passed out, along with the rest of the neighborhood.”
“No,” he replies.
I can’t help but tilt my head. Why is he here at seven a.m. on a Sunday if he doesn’t want Ash?
“Did you need Zack?” I ask, and he shakes his head in response. “Gwen, Max?”
“Nope.” He rocks back and forth on his feet while shoving his hands in his dark blue jeans pockets. If he doesn’t want them, does that mean...
“Me?”
“No.”
What the fuck?
“I’m confused.” I sigh. “If you don’t want anyone in this house, why are you here?” His eyes flick over to the kitchen, and I get the hint. “You’re hungry.”
“Bingo, Sherlock.” Rome strolls into the kitchen.
When he’s out of sight, I jog up the stairs as quietly as possible. When I pop into the bathroom, I cringe when I catch my reflection. My hair is indeed going in different directions, and my eyes have dark bags under them. I work a comb through my curls to try and tame them, even though I won’t be able to get them perfect until I shower. They need to be less, well, all over the place.
Once I manage my hair, I splash cold water on my face and jump up and down to wake myself up. Looking into my blue eyes, I repeat the affirmations Mom cemented in my brain from middle school.
“You are strong, kind, and beautiful. I love my hair, my eyes, and my nose. You are a badass.” I might’ve added that last bit myself, but Mom would approve.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I remember I’m not wearing a bra. Gritting my teeth, I look around for something, anything, to cover my breasts that I’m sure anyone can see through my white shirt. My eyes land on Ash’s door, and my lips turn upward.
I sneak toward his door and open it, praying those two love birds are decent. The last thing I need to see is my best friend and her boyfriend going at it. They’re both hot, but I’m not into that kind of stuff.
With a quiet sigh, I peer around the room and thank the universe that Ash isn’t as tidy as Max is. I grab a stray crewneck hoodie and give it a quick sniff test before putting it on. I can’t help but smile at the two of them as they sleep peacefully.
After closing the door with a muffled click, I take the steps back downstairs and walk into the kitchen. I snicker when I spot Rome head first in the refrigerator.
“Don’t touch that fancy yogurt. Max swore he’ll end your football career if you do that again,” I warn him.
Rome turns around, and I snort at the sight of the opened yogurt and spoon in his mouth.
“Too late,” he says as he licks the spoon clean.
“Oh, Rome,” I laugh.
“Don’t tell him?” he asks with a mischievous smile.
I pretend to zip my lips with my fingers.
“That’s my girl.” He clicks his tongue and swings back around to face the fridge.
My girl.
Did he just call me that? Do I need to get my ears checked out? There’s no way Rome Carter just called me his girl. Excuse me while I go faint.
Rome puts the yogurt back, closes the refrigerator door, and then looks through the cabinets. Sucking on the spoon that’s in his mouth, he reaches for the chocolate chip cookies. My eyes fall right on his toned ass before they linger over the skin that is exposed under his shirt. His forearm muscles bulge under the sleeves of his simple forest-green T-shirt. His hips sway back and forth as he starts to snack mindlessly on cookies.
A goofy grin spreads across my lips as naughty thoughts circulate in my brain.
What would his skin feel like against mine? How would he feel between my legs? I bet Rome is the type of guy who ensures you finish first. And fuck, do I need that right now. Rome has been haunting my dreams. I find myself daydreaming about him, losing myself in these lustful thoughts. Maybe I’ll get over him if I can get him into bed...
“Earth to Chrissy.” Rome pulls me back to reality. His cheeks redden as he beams.
“Yes?”
“I think your blood sugar is low. You just blacked out. Here—” He leans across the kitchen island and offers me a cookie.
I take it from him, trying to ignore the heat that spreads into my fingertips from brushing against him. Taking a bite out of the soft cookie, I realize that fucking Rome won’t be enough. That man stitched his way into my heart like no one has ever done before.
It started in the library when he first called me Bubbles. After that, it was our back-and-forth texting. He would check in on me and make me smile without knowing that I needed it at that precise moment. We would send one another pictures and laugh for hours.
The thing is, I don’t know anything about him, and it’s infuriating. I’m an open book, and then there’s Rome, shoving cookies in his face and housing his secrets in a vault. I don’t know his favorite food, color, or subject. I saw very little of him in high school. Even then, he was always surrounded by other jocks.
“Take another one. I don’t like that look you’re giving me.” Rome raises his brows as he offers me another cookie.
“What look?” I take the snack from his hand and bite into it. “I’m not giving you a look.”
“You were squinting your eyes at me, and your nose wrinkled upward. It does that when you’re in deep thought.”
“And how would you know that?”
Rome lowers his gaze with a small grin.
“I didn’t mean to give you a look,” I say to try and ease his worries. “I have resting bitch face.”
Rome’s eyes flick back up. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair starts to fall over his forehead. I resist the urge to rake my fingers through his gorgeous blond hair, stand up, and walk to the cabinet.
“How do pancakes sound?” I ask, knowing for a fact he’s still hungry.
“That sounds great. Thanks, Wildflower.”
Wildflower . Just take my heart, Rome. For my sake, be still with the flirtatious remarks. I can’t take much more of it.