Chapter Fifteen
Josie
I woke up smiling, which was annoying.
Not because I was against happiness or anything dramatic like that. I just wasn’t used to opening my eyes and immediately replaying the night before like it was my favorite movie.
The motorcycle ride.
Rome holding my hand in the clubhouse.
The way he’d looked at me when Brandi called me her like it was an insult.
The way he kissed me on my porch.
And then... I’m gonna make you see what I see.
I groaned and threw my pillow over my face. “That’s not fair.”
The pillow offered no opinion. Neither did the ceiling when I tossed the pillow aside and glared at it.
Rome had somehow bulldozed his way into my life in less than a month. I still didn’t know his favorite color or what he ate for breakfast, but I knew he drank his coffee black, hated olives, loved double chocolate fudge, and looked at me like I was something precious.
I didn’t know what to do with that because men didn’t look at me that way.
Not men like Rome.
I rolled over and stared at the clock.
Nine thirty.
Shit.
I bolted upright. I was supposed to open Scoop & Swirl at ten.
Ten minutes later, I was dressed, hair in a messy ponytail, coffee in hand, and speeding toward Main Street while mentally calculating how quickly I could make waffle cones.
The answer was apparently very quickly when fueled by panic.
I unlocked the front door of Scoop & Swirl and, with two minutes to spare, the first batch of cones was off the press.
Victory.
I should have taken those two minutes to take a breath, because the next three hours were insane. Everyone wanted ice cream, and they were coming in droves.
At one thirty I was able to take a breath, and cleaning the milkshake machine when the bell above the door jingled. “Welcome to Scoop & Sw-” The words died in my throat.
Rome walked in wearing a black Henley, black jeans, and black boots.
Black was becoming my favorite color.
He carried a coffee tray in one hand and a white bakery box in the other Rome set the tray and bakery box on the counter. “Coffee.”
I stared. “For me?”
“Nobody else here I care about, babe?”
“Shh,” I hushed him, though my heart did a little flip knowing he thought about me. I looked inside the bakery box.
I opened it, and big cinnamon rolls covered in frosting looked back at me. My stomach growled and I looked at him again.
“You forgot breakfast,” he accused matter factly.
“I did not.”
Rome raised a brow. “You ate anything more than maraschino cherries today?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
He nodded. “Thought so.”
“You can’t just show up and take care of me.”
“Watch me.”
I laughed and grabbed my coffee. I wasn’t going to think about the fact that he knew my coffee order, and that eating while I was working was the last thing on my mind.
“So, what are you bribing me for?”
He looked offended. “I bring you coffee, and suddenly I’m suspicious?”
“You brought cinnamon rolls, too.”
“Not bribing you, babe.”
I leaned against the counter. “Then why?”
Rome shrugged. “I wanted to see you.” The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. Like he wasn’t saying something that made my stomach flip.
I stared at him. “Oh.”
His expression softened. “Yeah.”
No games. No smooth lines. Just the truth, and somehow that was sexier than anything else.
I took a sip of coffee and immediately groaned. “This is perfect.”
“I know.”
“You got extra caramel.”
“I know what you like. You busy Sunday?” he asked.
I blinked. “No.” How did we go from extra caramel to what was I doing Sunday?
“Good.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?
“You’re coming to my house.”
I stared. “Excuse me?”
“My house. I want you to see it.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen where you live. Now you need to see where I live.”
“You inviting me over?”
“I’m telling you.”
I gasped dramatically. “Sir.”
“Ma’am.”
“You know, asking is an option.”
“I asked if you were busy Sunday.”
“And then told me I was coming over.”
“You don’t want to come over?” he asked.
I did. I really freaking did, but I had to play hard to get, right?
He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then stepped back. “Sunday.”
I sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
His grin widened. “Later, baby.”
I watched him cross Main Street and stroll into Bad Habit like he hadn’t just completely scrambled my brain.
I smiled before I could stop myself, and then immediately groaned because somehow, without me noticing, Rome had stopped being the tattoo artist across the street and started becoming my favorite part of the day.