I smirk and slide my hand higher. She remains rigid.
Zara puts her finger on the top of Romy’s menu and pulls it down. “Do they have kombucha?”
“Why don’t you look at your own menu?” Beau says.
My hand slides higher. My palm settles firmly just beneath the juncture of Romy’s thighs. Her breath hitches, and her body tenses.
Beau gives me a look, telling me to stop doing whatever it is I’m doing. I bite back a laugh, leaning closer so my shoulder brushes Romy’s, covering the movement under the table. Her hand drops to her lap, fingers brushing mine, and I wait for her to push me away. She doesn’t.
My pinkie strokes the inside of her thigh, and I slide my fingers to weave between her thighs. She presses her thighs together, trapping my hand, and it’s the hottest damn thing that her pussy is only inches from my fingers.
Zara and Beau talk about the video and wrap up and when we’ll be editing. She says she’s going back to Nashville too and that we should all get together for dinner while I’m there. Romy must be too distracted because she doesn’t question me about Nashville. We haven’t had that conversation yet. The one where I tell her I gotta go away for a little while.
God, she’s beautiful flustered, and I try to stay composed. She lets me push just far enough that she’s squirming, but not as far as I wish we could go.
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “Relax. You look guilty.”
“Because I am,” she whispers back, barely moving her lips.
“Good.”
The waitress comes over, and we give her our orders. I leave my hand on Romy’s leg the rest of the meal, stroking lazy patterns against her thigh, keeping her on edge. She doesn’t move it. She doesn’t tell me to stop. And every time Zara goes on another tangent, I swear Romy opens her thighs a little wider.
The reputation of this place is well earned. It is indeed the best chicken sandwich I’ve ever had.
We leave The Sprout House with Zara going on about starting a pop-up goat yoga class in town. DeSoto ushers us through the door, scanning the sidewalk. The paps are still there, cameras clicking, but the townsfolk keep pretending not to notice.
Romy walks beside me, chin high, pretending I didn’t spend lunch making her squirm. I slide my hand in hers, weaving our fingers together.
She turns to me, looking surprised, but then she relaxes and leans her head on my shoulder for a moment. I take the opportunity to kiss the top of her head.
I’m sure the cameras are buzzing, but I don’t care. I want the world to know she’s mine because this is my future. Her and the baby growing inside her.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Romy
It’s almost midnight when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I know it’s him before I even roll over.
I swipe the screen, and sure enough, his name lights up.
You awake?
I grin in the glare of the phone screen, biting my lip.
Yes.
Naked?
I laugh quietly.
Nope. Pajamas. Very unsexy pajamas.
You look sexy in everything you wear.
I glance down at my flannel pants and the oversized “Harvest Depot Fall Festival” tee with stains on the front.
Believe me, you’re wrong.
