“I love the ocean,” I say, gazing out at the nearby vibrant waves. “I went to the coast all the time when I lived in LA for school. I miss it so much now that I live in Denver.”
“No ocean there.”
“Nope. What about you? Where do you live?”
“Delaware. There’s a long coastline, but it’s nothing like this.”
“This is heaven on Earth.”
He sips his drink. “Are you originally from Denver?”
“No, I grew up in a small town in Washington State. It’s about two hours northeast of Seattle.”
At Roman’s prompting, I tell him some details about my quaint, beloved hometown, Orchard Blossom, and all the reasons it was a perfect, magical place for a kid to grow up.
“It’s right out of a movie,” I say in wrap-up. “You can’t walkdown the street without bumping into someone who’s known you forever. What about you? Where’d you grow up?”
“Pennsylvania. I left for college and then moved to Delaware for a job.”
Pennsylvania.Delaware.I can’t help noticing he’s only naming states and not specific cities. Is that what people normally do when they’re anticipating a one-night stand—they don’t reveal too much personal information? Since I’ve never had one, I have no idea how they usually unfold.
We talk a bit more, until Roman holds up his empty glass and says, “I think I’m ready for a refill and a sandwich. You?”
“Sounds great.”
Roman rises from the couch. “Relax. I’ll handle everything.”
“No, I’d like to help.” I stand alongside him. “Right after I pee, that is. I didn’t finish earlier for some weird reason.” I snicker. “Somehow, I got hopelessly distracted.”
Roman returns my snicker. “What a coincidence. I got pretty damned distracted earlier myself.”
Excitement courses through me.Lust.I’m pretty sure it’s coursing between us. Which means, if all this flirting keeps up, we definitely won’t need either of us to sleep on the couch tonight.
I follow Roman through a pair of French doors, and when we’re both inside the bungalow, he heads toward the kitchen, while I beeline for the bathroom.
“Don’t go anywhere, Roman,” I coo over my shoulder. I’m trying my best to come off as flirtatious and sultry, but instantly, I realize that was a dumb thing to say, since Roman literally just said he’s going into the kitchen to make sandwiches and refill our drinks.
Luckily, Roman doesn’t seem fazed by my nonsensical comment. On the contrary, when our eyes lock, he looks nothing but amused. “I’ll be right here in the kitchen when you return.”His smile morphs into a smolder. “If I’m being honest, Iris, at this point, I don’t think wild horses could drag me away.”
Chapter 7
Roman
This woman doesn’tknow who I am.
I’m sure about that.
Add that to the list of things I’m finding intensely attractive about this unexpected gift from the universe.
We’re standing shoulder to shoulder in the small kitchen. While I cut up veggies to go on top of our turkey sandwiches, Iris is methodically cutting up a pineapple for a fruit salad. To put it mildly, I’m feeling a spark with this cutie. A big one.
With Iris’s sandy hair, adorable smattering of freckles, and sweet demeanor, she’s got a girl-next-door quality I’d find attractive in any scenario, I think. But either way, I’m definitely feeling it while I’m here in vacation mode. So much so, I’m hoping to steer things into the bedroom, if at all possible, at some point tonight.
I probably shouldn’t get ahead myself, since she’s still unvetted. In theory, Iris could be another stalker like that wackadoodle in Philly. Or she could be an ambitious sports reporter who’s tracked me down for an exclusive scoop after hearing rumblings about me not re-signing with the Crusaders. I can’t fathom either scenario, though. Iris seems like a what-you-see-is-what-you-get type of person. A genuine sweetheart. But then again, my dick has clouded my judgment before. Maverick’s existence is proof of that. Same with the few situationships I’ve entertained since then, all of which quickly made me realize I’m not in the right headspace for anything serious.
“Mustard and mayo?” I ask, motioning to the two open-faced sandwiches on the counter.
“Mustard only for me.” Iris makes a cartoonish face of disdain that tells me she loathes mayo as much as I do.
