Needless to say, Romeo’s enlistment into the Navy and eventual admission into the SEAL Teams had been ahugedisappointment to his family. Even all these years later, they still made thatclear anytime he called his mother in L.A. or his brother in Pelican Bay.
But Mia? Mia with her silent mouth and expressive eyes. Mia with her avid mind and elusive smile. Mia with her dry wit and love of paranormal romance.Shehad always treated him with tenderness and sympathy and kindness. And she made him feel like...
Well, she made himfeel. Full stop.
Some of what he was thinking must’ve shown on his face, because her brow pinched. “Don’t you know how much I’ve come to cherish our friendship? I feel like you make me a better me.”
He blinked in surprise. He’d always felt likeshemadehimthe best version of himself, but he’d never dreamed she could feel the same.
She mistook his surprise for something else, though, because she was quick to add, “No. Stop looking at me like that. I’m not stupid enough to think that just because I care about you and prefer a world with you in it that there’s room for anything more. I know you don’t like me likethat.”
For real though, he felt like he was a WWII pilot flying a heavy bomber through a field of flak.Boom!She hit him with one shocking announcement and before he had time to recover...Boom!There went another.
He blinked so quickly, his vision took on a strobe effect. “What?” he demanded.
She sighed and went back to weaving fronds. “I know I’m not your type. So you can stop worrying every time we fall asleep together, or I say something nice to you, or I cry when I think you’ve drowned yourself that I’ve gone and...” She screwed up her mouth. “Set my cap for you,as my grandmother would say.”
All he could do was continue to blink.
Concern flashed across her face. “Did you get sand in your eye?”
“Wh-why...” He had to clear his throat and try again. “Why would you think you’re not my type?”
“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “It’s no secret you’ve made a sport of seducing beautiful women. And we both know I don’t qualify.”
He hadn’t made asportof it. He’d just been playing the role he thought he’d been born to.
But that was beside the point.
“You don’t think you’re beautiful?”
Her lips flattened into a straight line. “No.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she pointed at him again. “And before you go being your charming self and lavishing me with compliments, please know I’m not a biscuit. There’s no need to butter me up. Facts are facts and, despite what our politicians would have us believe, there’s no such thing asalternativeones.”
“Umm. Exactly which facts are you referring to?” he asked carefully.
“Well...” She started ticking off a list on her fingers. “The fact that my nose is too short. My chin is too sharp. My mouth is too small. My hair isn’t straight and it isn’t curly, which means it’s the mess that happens in-between. And I barely have any boobs to speak of. I know what I am, and I know what I’m not. And it’s okay that you don’t like me likethat. I feel honored just to call you a friend.”
For a couple of seconds, he stared at her in disbelief. Then he ran a hand through his hair. And whenthatdidn’t give him enough time to gather his thoughts, he took a moment to smooth his goatee.
Finally, he managed, “Okay. There’s a lot to unpack here. But let’s start with who gave you that.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “Gave mewhat?”
“That laundry list of things you think are wrong with you.”
“Um. Society? Social media? Fashion magazines? Take your pick.” The look on her face was a blatantwell, duh.
“Nah.” He shook his head. “When a pretty woman doesn’t believe she’s pretty, it’s because someone has told her so. Who told you so?”
Her mouth slung open, that mouth that she thought was too small but that he thought was absolute perfection. Then she snapped it shut and glanced down at the half-finished palm mat. She played with the edge of a leaflet with one hand while fiddling with one of her diamond stud earrings with the other—the latter a sure sign she was agitated.
“I suppose that would be my mother,” she quietly admitted.
“Yourmother?” he asked in disbelief.
She nodded and he had never hated someone he’d never met, but he felt an instant animosity toward the woman who’d supplied Mia with half her chromosomes.
“You mean the drunk.” As soon as those four words left his mouth, he heard how crude they sounded together, especially when accompanied by his skunk eye. He backtracked. “Sorry. That was rude. Addiction is a soul-crushing sickness and I shouldn’t—”
