Chapter 8 Rome
ROME
I’m only in the fucking prologue, and I already have a question.
Do women really think men are this deep?
—Text from Rome to Ryker
Sugar and coffee and warmth assault all my senses as I step into Sweet Temptations from the slush-filled freezing cold clinging to Main Street. December wasn’t too bad this year, but January has been off to a fucking brutal start.
“Your hubby’s brother is here, Lex,” the young cashier with bright purple hair calls out to my sister-in-law before I even get to the counter, instead of helping me herself.
Without giving me a second glance, she stares back down at the book in her hands as Lexie steps through the swinging doors of the kitchen, a piping bag full of what looks like chocolate frosting in one hand and a dusting of white powder on her cheek.
“Looks like you’ve been demoted, Rome.” Lexie’s grin is a little evil, and I love it because this woman gives my little brother so much hell. “What’s up?”
“How have I been demoted?” I stick my finger out and wait for her to squeeze some chocolate onto it.
My mom has owned this place longer than I’ve been alive, and I know for a fact that frosting is delicious.
I suck it off my finger, and a noise that sounds like a strangled cry leaves the cashier before she excuses herself and hurries into the back. “What’s her problem?”
Lexie sighs like she’s talking to a child who needs slow words. “You’re hot.” She circles her finger in front of me like she’s sizing me up or something. “And tattooed.” Another sigh. “And let’s not forget you have the total bad-boy thing down to a science.”
“And?” I ask, not following whatever trail she’s leaving.
“And you just sucked chocolate off your finger.” Oh yeah. There’s definite frustration in that tone.
It’s too fucking early for this, and I just stare, still not following.
“Good grief, you’re also a moron and totally oblivious when you want to be. What do you want, Rome?”
I mean, she’s not wrong.
“You think I’m hot?” I tease, reaching for the frosting again before she smacks my hand away. I fucking love fighting and training and treating my body like a goddamned temple, but I miss sugar.
“Not as hot as Lucky.” She grins, and her eyes get all glassy as she steps back.
The hell . . . ? I feel a little dirty. Like my sweet little sister-in-law is having a sex dream about my brother right in front of me. It’s my turn to clear my damn throat, strangled sound be damned.
“Fine,” Lexie huffs, not thrilled with the interruption. “You want your normal coffee order or something else?” She doesn’t wait for my answer before she turns to the machine behind her and grabs a coffee cup.
“Dude. Keep your sex dreams about my brother away from me. It’s gross.”
Her laugh is evil, and I do my best to ignore it as I spot the cake sample plate next to the register. It’s like dime-bag-sized cakes. A little hit of sugar.
What Hudson doesn’t know won’t hurt me. I reach over and grab a triple-chocolate-fudge piece from the display.
A display sitting next to a thick book with a pink cover and gold letters.
A cover with golden stars shining behind the golden-foiled title.
And there, under the title, sits the author’s name.
I’d seen it the other night.
Seen this cover and hadn’t thought anything about it.
Not exactly my typical reading, but whatever.
But now . . . That name.
Theia DeLaurentiis.
A flash of memory assaults me, strong, as if it were yesterday instead of a night two years ago. Un-fucking-forgettable of a night as it was.
“That’s a pretty name . . .” Her voice. Her eyes. Her . . .
Dillan looking at me with soft eyes, asking me about my favorite constellations. My favorite Titans. “Do you have a favorite?”
“I have a few. Theia is one of my favorites. She’s the goddess of the sky and is said to have given sight to the world. She’s also the mother of the moon goddess, Selene.”
“She sounds pretty important,” she whispered.
“Impressive is more like it,” I told her and wasn’t sure if I was talking about Theia or Dillan. “So tell me, principessa . . . what’s your book about?”
“Hello . . . Rome.” Lexie looks at me with a bottle of half and half in her hand. “You want cream in this?”
I shake my head, still lost in the memory for a moment.
Until I’m not. Until . . . “Hey, Lex?” I take the book from the counter to get a closer look.
It’s heavier in my hands than I expected.
Thick. I flip it open and scan the front and back for any information about the author, but there isn’t a single mention.
“This is the book we’re reading for book club, right? ”
Lexie walks back over, holding my coffee and staring at me in horror. “Roman Beneventi, if you crack the spine of that book, I’ll dump this entire cup of scalding-hot coffee over your head.”
“What?” I ask, taking a step back, confused but not stupid enough to piss her off when she looks completely serious. “What the fuck, Lex? What’s with the threat of violence?”
She puts the coffee down and carefully takes the book from my hands. “Respect the book, Rome. We don’t crack spines. We don’t dog-ear pages. We treat them like shelf trophies. They’re to be read and loved and gently handled.”
I watch as she carefully closes the pages, brushes her hand across the cover, and lovingly sits it back down next to the register.
“Uh . . . Okay.” I don’t tell her, her crazy is showing, a little scared she’d throw the damn coffee at my face. Her brand of crazy must work for Lucky, and that’s all that matters, I guess. “That’s the book though, right?”
With narrowed eyes, she sighs like dealing with me is exhausting her. “Haven’t you started reading it yet?”
“I have.” I actually like it too. Not that I’m telling her that. “But I’m reading it on my iPad. I downloaded that Kindle app the other day,” I admit sheepishly. “And I swear to Christ, Lexie, if anyone in book club leaks this shit to the press, I’ll kill them.”
“Sure you will, Titan.” Her smile goes from kinda crazy back to normal as she slides the coffee across the counter and pushes a napkin with another cake bite next to it. “Go get the hardback from Dillan. It’s your first book club book. You need a shelf trophy.”
Oh, you can bet Dillan’s sweet ass, I’m going to Hopeless Romantics next.
“That sounds like a great idea, Lex. Thanks. See you later.”
Dillan
My stomach sinks, and hours-old coffee churns in its depths as I read the last line of my email . . . again. Because apparently, I’m a masochist, and once wasn’t enough.
Damn it.
I’ve got less than two months left.
How did I get here? Seems to be a recurring question lately. One I don’t have an answer to. One that scares me to death.
I look up from my email as the bell chimes above the shop door, and my breath catches in my throat. Seriously? I don’t even utter the word out loud, and yet I can still hear the pouty little whining sound in the way I think it.
Just when I thought this morning couldn’t get worse, in walks the devil himself.
Wearing jeans that cost more than my favorite special-edition hardbacks—the ones with sprayed edges, gorgeous end pages, and pretty ribbon foiling—paired with a gray Crucible hoodie with the logo stretching around his enormous bicep, and the combination creates such a delicious sight.
And that’s before the backward hat. That damn hat is like the cherry on top of a decadent sundae. Shame the ice cream is rancid.
“Psycho.” I smile sweetly as I greet him.
“Princess.” He smiles back with that big fat stupid smile of his, and just like that, my earlier email is forgotten, and I focus all my energy on the giant ass in front of me. The one moving farther inside my shop.
“Why are you here, Rome?” My pulse pounds in my ears like it does whenever he’s near, blocking out common sense but unfortunately never dulling the overwhelming anger.
He walks around Hopeless Romantics, like it’s his first time in my shop, and I groan when I realize it is. I still hate him, but now I want to impress him too, and that pisses me off.
And like he can read my damn mind, he smiles at the beautiful white custom shelves filled with colorful romance novels. “This is an impressive amount of books, Ryan.”
If it were anyone else, I’d thank them.
But it’s not anyone.
It’s him.
And what did he expect from a romance bookstore?
The shelves are filled with every genre of romance book from contemporary to sports to billionaire to paranormal, and one of my favorites, shifter. I watch in silence as Rome looks at each section, taking it in with a cocky smirk, and realize I’m too pissed he’s in my space to even lash out.
But when he stops in front of the pink shelves along the back wall of the shop . . . the one filled with every stunning special-edition sprayed-edge romantasy book I could get my hands on to sell . . . the shelf I keep stocked with all the romantasy books, my heart sinks.
I hold my breath as he continues to ignore me and fingers the spines of New York Times bestsellers, a few books that have been optioned for movies, and one that is a literal international phenomenon.
He doesn’t stop on any of them though.
That would be too easy, and this man is anything but easy.
No . . . he waits to stop until he finds the exact one he’s looking for.
Fucking. Book. Club.
More carefully than I expected, Rome pulls out A Crown of Stars and Ruin and turns.
“I’m here to get my copy of the book club book.
” His voice drips heavy with sarcasm as he holds the pink-covered book up and tilts it in his hands, watching the way the lights catch the foiled detailing, cataloging the constellations behind the title.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I’ve never heard of this author before . . . Theia DeLaurentiis.” He says the name like a puzzle he’s trying to work out. “I wonder if she’s a distant relative.”
“She’s new,” I answer quickly. Too quickly. Not wanting to fuel his fire. “This is her debut.”
“Is she local?” He stalks toward me from the back of the store, his eyes tracking my every move while his long legs eat up the distance between us. “DeLaurentiis isn’t that common of a name.”
“Yes, it is. The food network woman is related to a whole Hollywood family full of them.” Great. Way to sound defensive. “Why are you really here, Rome?”
I need to focus on getting him out of here. But with every step he takes closer, it becomes easier to focus all my frustration over so many things directly on him. This man, who hurt me more than he’ll ever know, makes for a very easy target.
Fuck. Him.
If he wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight.
Rome lays the book on the counter next to the register, his cocky attitude never wavering as he pulls a fifty from his wallet. “I’m here to get the book club book, Dillan.”
Even the way he says my name is cocky and intrusive. The crisp bill is slapped down on the counter, and Rome takes the book before I even have time to put it in a bag. “I’ve got a feeling I’m really going to like it.”
“I’m sure you will.” I contemplate telling him he can’t have it. That he doesn’t deserve it. But ultimately I give in and ring him up because if I refuse to, he wins.
Great. The best comeback I have is agreeing with him?
Fucking fantastic.
“Where’d you say the author was from?” His question is pointed, but I ignore the point and shrug like I couldn’t care less.
“I don’t know. I don’t follow all the authors I stock.” Not a lie. Well, not completely. “I don’t think she’s on social media.”
“Sure she isn’t.” He scratches the stubble on his jaw, and the memory of what the stubble felt like on my skin hits me like a freight train barreling out of the station before I can push it back down into the little box I keep locked up tight with all the rest of my memories of that night.
Memories I only let out in the quiet darkness when I’m alone and need a little help getting myself off.
Okay . . . not going there.
Not right now. Not in front of him.
“Looking forward to talking about this more, Ryan.” I can’t tell what he knows, but he definitely thinks he knows something. A cocky confidence oozes out of every pore. That confidence used to be hot. Now it’s just annoying.
“Let me know if you need help with the big words, Beneventi.” I wiggle my fingers in a wave, hoping he gets the hint. But Rome Beneventi never took any hint that didn’t hit him over the head first.
Heat fires in his eyes as he takes his change. “See you soon, Dillan.”
Kaleigh walks in as Rome walks out and looks between the two of us, fanning herself. “I’m all for your little I don’t need a man in my life decree. But seriously, Dillan, that man looks like the kind who wants to get you off at least twice first. You’ve gotta see that.”
If she only knew.
Bad Ass Book Club
Ryker
Okay, wait. So this dude commands shadows. Am I reading that right?
Jamie
The other threw a sword the length of a football field and still killed that thing with three legs, and you’re stuck on the shadows?
Lucky
Right? Could you imagine if our kicker was that accurate at that distance?
Ryker
Fuck. That’d be nice.
Lexie
This is book club. No football talk allowed.
Kaleigh
And no knocking on the shadow daddy.
Jamie
The shadow what?
Kaleigh
Shadow daddy. Trust me. It’s hot.
Rome
Uh-huh. Hot is when you touch her with your hands. Not fucking shadows.
Lilah
Oh, you sweet summer child. Keep reading.
Dillan
I’d take shadows over your nasty-ass hands, Beneventi.
Ryker
I volunteer as tribute.
Dillan
Eww.
Ryker
Why eww?
Dillan
I watched you whip it out and pee in the ocean when you were ten, Ryker. You can keep your hands and shadows to yourself too.
Jamie
Really? When he was ten? Pretty sure I saw him do that last summer.
Kaleigh
I thought Dillan and Ryker were related. Cousins?
Dillan
No, that’s Jamie. We’re not related to the Beneventis.
Lexie
Except by marriage.
Kaleigh
Then who are the Beneventis related to?
Killian
Me.
Ryker
And the Kingstons.
Kaleigh
Incestuous little group you’ve got going here.
Dillan
You’ve got no idea.