The space is warm and has a mid-century modern vibe to it. I busy myself with looking at the décor on the walls and absentmindedly scrolling on my phone to avoid looking back at Roman, who I can feel staring daggers at me from where he waits for our drinks.
When he slides into the booth a minute later, he’s holding two steaming mugs.
“So you want no milk, and no sugar?” he verifies.
“Nope, black is great, thanks.”
He raises his eyebrows in a way that calls out my bullshit without having to say it out loud.
“It’s good this way,” I defend.
“That’s fine, so long as that’s how you actually like it,” he says before taking a drink from his mug. I can’t tell what he’s got in there, but odds are it’s better than my black coffee.
“Since when do you care about what I like?” I counter before taking a sip. I try my best not to shudder at the bitterness.
“Since now it’s part of my job to sell us as a couple,” he says, clearly not buying my story.
I roll my eyes in response. “How long do you figure we need to stay in here?”
Roman looks down at his watch. “About an hour should sell it.”
“Will they still be out there when we leave?”
“Is the sky blue?”
I level a glare at him. “Would it kill you not to be a dick for twenty minutes?”
Before he gets a chance to respond, a server pops out with a plate of food for Roman. I’m surprised she can even see where to place the food with hearts in her eyes clouding her vision. Ridiculous. He’s just a guy. A smarmy, dickish guy. Albeit a very attractive, smarmy, dickish guy, but that’s beside the point.
“Here you go, sir,” the server says, completely starstruck.
“Thank you,” Roman says, maintaining eye contact with her for a second too long and shooting her a grin that could weaken even the strongest of knees.
I look at her nametag. “Thank you so much, Sarah, that’s everything.”
With a parting smile, she turns and leaves.
Roman chuckles and grabs his utensils. Suddenly, I feel ravenous as I stare at his plate of food. There’s a breakfast sandwich and hash browns on there, and I would probably do very bad things to get one of those in my mouth right now.
Roman lifts his hands in supplication before diving into the food. It smells divine, and his eating in front of me feels like torture.
“You sure you’re not hungry?” he asks as he takes in my expression.
“Positive.”
He raises his eyebrows and then licks his lips in a way that has me thinking about anything but food for a minute. It must be the hunger making my brain malfunction, because my horrible, awful brain thinks about him going down on me and licking his lips like that, savoring me.
Good God, pull yourself together, Clover…I hiss internally. I should not be having thoughts like this about Roman Everett of all people.It’s just been so long since I’ve had any action that it’s only natural for my brain to wander,I reason with myself. Yes, perfectly natural and normal, and stopping right here right now.
Roman lets out a satisfied groan at the food, and I swear the noise goes straight to my core. God damnit.
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.
