Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
ROMAN
The little rascal is hungry, and I fucking know it.
She can lie until she’s blue in the face, but I know for a fact that she needs something to eat right now.
There’s no way she doesn’t when I factor in what time we showed up for stunt practice and how many calories I’m sure we burned doing all that work.
She needs to eat, and for some reason she’s being fucking stubborn about it.
Well, that’s fine. Two can play at that game. I take my time slowly enjoying the breakfast sandwich, drawing it out to get her to admit she’s wrong. There’s no way she can’t smell how amazing this is. I look over to her, and she’s trying desperately to avoid making eye contact with my plate.
“You can have a bite, you know,” I say, holding the sandwich out toward her.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she says into her coffee mug before taking another sip. It’s ridiculous, I can see her fighting the urge to make a face at how bitter it tastes. I’m a fan of the food here, but I’m also the first to admit that their coffee is overpriced, and half the time gets burned to shit.
I decide I’m not taking no for an answer on this one.
“Do you have any dietary restrictions or allergies?” I question before my next move.
“No, it’s not that, it’s–”
“Great,” I say, spearing a perfectly fried potato from my plate and extending it toward her. “Then you’re going to take a bite.”
Fire flashes in her eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me just fine, Sparky.”
“Sparky?” she fumes.
“You’re not exactly disproving the name right now,” I remind. She’s cute, all flustered and shit. Her skin has a pinkish hue, and her dishevelled hair falling out of the bun makes me wonder what it’d look like after a different kind of vigorous workout.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at here but–”
I cut her off, unwilling to humor this bullshit.
“What I’m getting at is it’s weird that you haven’t ordered any food after that intense workout this morning.
We need to be fuelling ourselves properly to sustain all the stunt work we’re doing.
I don’t know what you have against hash browns, or sugar in coffee, but it’d be a crime not to try something that looks this good. Can’t we at least agree on that?”
Her death glare is her only response.
“One bite, and then I’ll drop it,” I agree.
“Promise?”
“Yes, fine, I promise, Jesus Christ,” I growl.
Reluctantly, she leans in toward my fork, parting her lips and taking a bite. Her eyes close as she chews, and she looks blissed out as she tastes the food. When she licks her lips, I find my gaze lingering there. That is, until she clears her throat.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I mutter, pulling the fork back to my plate. Aware that she doesn’t want to talk about it further, I give her an out. “So last time I checked, I’ve now planned two of our public sightings and you have yet to do one.”
“Aw, Roman. Are you sad I haven’t asked you out on a date yet?”
“Devastated,” I say with an eye roll. “But you should figure something out for two weeks from now. We want to lay off the public sightings for a little after the Violet Skies premiere so we aren’t photographed too much initially. Could come across as fake.”
“You’re saying we get a break from one another for two whole weeks?”
“I should be so lucky…” I mutter, popping a hash brown into my mouth. “Alas, we have more stunt rehearsals.”
“Right.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Look, about the trust fall stuff today, I’m sorry it took me so long to–” she struggled to find the right word.
“Trust me?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to like me, but I promise you can trust me with your body.”