Chapter Eleven
Josie
There was absolutely no reason for my heart to stop when my phone buzzed.
I was standing behind the counter at Scoop & Swirl, filling the toppings bar before opening, when I glanced at the screen.
Rome
Just his name was enough to make my stomach flip, which was ridiculous.
I opened the message. Club party Saturday. Want to come with me?
I read it once.
Then twice.
Then a third time because apparently I enjoyed confusing myself.
My first thought was that he sent it to the wrong person. My second thought was that he was being nice. My third thought was that I was an idiot because Rome didn’t seem like the kind of guy who accidentally texted women.
Still... I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
Then I shoved my phone into my apron pocket.
I wasn’t ignoring him. I was...thinking. There was a difference.
The bell over the door jingled, and I pasted on a smile.
Thinking would have to wait. It didn’t, though.
All day, while I scooped ice cream and rang people up and wiped down tables, my mind kept circling back to the message.
Want to come with me?
Not want to meet me there. Not want to stop by.
With me. Like he wanted me by his side. I nearly dropped a scoop of mint chocolate chip because of that thought.
Rome was twenty-nine. Tattooed. Built like trouble.
And I was... Me. Thirty-six. Divorced. Curvy. Fat if we’re going to get technical here.
A woman who still had moments where she looked in the mirror and heard Bruce’s voice reminding her she wasn’t enough.
I hated that I still heard him.
Hated it.
I wiped down the counter for the third time in an hour.
Rome didn’t want me.
Right?
I frowned.
The answer should’ve been easy.
At four o’clock, I saw him.
His motorcycle rolled into the lot across the street, the engine rumbling low as he parked in front of Bad Habit.
I was cleaning tables near the windows and I pretended not to look. Though I failed immediately.
Rome swung off the bike and pulled off his helmet. He was in his typical attire of black T-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. His dark hair pushed back from his face and as usual looked like trouble in human form.
He also looked annoyed.
Not angry, just irritated.
He unlocked the shop and disappeared inside.
I stood there with a rag in my hand, and my stomach fluttered. “Down, girl,” I muttered to myself.
The older woman sitting near the window looked up. “Pardon?”
“Nothing.” I practically ran back behind the counter and tried to not look toward Bad Habit.
The message sat unanswered all day. Every time I checked my phone, there it was. Every time I started typing a response, I deleted it.
What if he was joking?
What if I said yes and he realized he’d made a mistake?
What if… I stopped myself. I was spiraling, again and I hated spiraling.
By closing time, I was exhausted from my own thoughts.
I locked the register, wiped down the counters, and flipped the chairs onto the tables.
The sky outside had turned that dusky blue that always made Main Street feel smaller.
I walked toward the front door to lock it, then froze.
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.
“I know we’re getting to know each other here, babe,” he said, voice rough, “but I don’t play games.”
Babe.
The word shot straight to my stomach.
“I wanted to text you.” His hand tightened slightly at my waist. “So I texted you.”
I stared at him.
Actually stared.
Because...
Oh.
Oh.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
Rome watched me take it in. Watched the shock cross my face, and then his expression softened. Just a little. “So,” he said quietly. “You got an answer for me?”
I bit my bottom lip and immediately his eyes dropped to my mouth.
My pulse skipped. “If...” I cleared my throat. “If you’re sure you meant to ask me.”
Rome closed the distance between us and both hands settled at my waist, warm and steady. His thumbs brushed the fabric of my shirt. “I want you there with me, Josie.”
No hesitation.
No games.
No pretending.
Just the truth.
I stared up at him. At this man who crossed Main Street every day. Who brought burgers. Who gave me my first tattoo. Who kissed me like I mattered.
He wanted to take me with him.
Me.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Rome went still. “You mean that?”
I laughed softly. “Yeah.”
The look that crossed his face stole my breath.
Relief.
Satisfaction.
Something warmer.
His forehead dropped to mine.
For a second, neither of us moved, then I looked at his mouth.
A rough sound rumbled out of his chest. “I can’t fucking wait anymore.”
Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t careful this time. It wasn’t tentative.
It was Rome.
Certain and hungry. Like he’d been thinking about this all day, too.
My hands slid up his chest and over hard muscle beneath soft cotton.
His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer until I could feel the steady beat of his heart.
I melted into him because apparently my body had decided Rome was safe. His beard scratched softly against my skin, and his hands stayed at my waist. Respectful and steady, but his grip tightened every time I kissed him back.
Like he was surprised I wanted this too.
I wanted this. God, I really wanted this.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing harder.
My cheeks felt warm, and my lips tingled. Rome rested his forehead against mine. Neither of us spoke for a second, then he smiled. And somehow that smile hit me harder than the kiss.
“I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow night.”
I blinked. The party. Right. I nodded. “Okay.” My voice came out breathless.
Rome chuckled. He pressed one soft kiss to my lips that was as sweet as the ice cream I served.
Then he stepped back, and I immediately missed his warmth, which felt like something I should probably examine later. Much later.
He walked toward the door, unlocked it, then glanced back at me. “Lock it behind me.”
I nodded, still trying to remember my own name.
Rome gave me one last look and then walked out into the night.
I followed him to the door, locked it, and stood there watching.
He crossed Main Street. Unlocked Bad Habit, looked back once, and caught me staring. A smirk crossed his lips and then disappeared inside.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes.
Well.
Maybe...
Just maybe... Rome really did want me.
And that thought was equal parts terrifying and wonderful.