Page 89 of Romeo

I knew it.

And then he’d called himself the man of my dreams.

I rolled onto my side and hugged the phone against my chest. I wanted to believe him. That was the frightening part. Hope had burned me before. I knew how easy it was to hear what you wanted instead of what someone was actually saying. I’d done it with Billy. I’d done it with Joseph.

I didn’t want to build another fantasy and then discover I’d been standing inside it alone.

But Jasper had given me something tonight that was awfully hard to explain away.

He hadn’t said he loved me.

He hadn’t even said he wanted to date me.

But he’d described me when I asked what kind of woman he wanted.

And when I described him back, he’d told me to take my time because he wasn’t going anywhere.

I closed my eyes, and for once, I let myself stop fighting it. Instead, I let myself feel it without immediately searching for a reason not to trust it.

Maybe the flowers meant something.

Maybe the constant texts meant something.

Maybe Jasper’s concern wasn’t simply who he was with every woman.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one lying awake wondering what this was.

I still didn’t have all the answers, and I wasn’t brave enough to ask him for them yet.

But with my phone pressed against my chest and his last message burned into my mind, I finally let myself consider the possibility I’d been too afraid to touch.

Jasper might actually want me too.

And somehow, that possibility was even more terrifying than believing he didn’t.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Romeo

The clubhouse had finally settled down for the night. Most of the brothers had either disappeared into their rooms or gone home to their old ladies, leaving the halls quiet enough that I could hear the occasional creak of the building around me.

Normally, I would’ve appreciated it.

Tonight, the quiet left entirely too much room for Fiona.

I lay across my bed with my shirt tossed somewhere on the floor and the top button of my jeans undone, staring at the ceiling while my phone sat on the nightstand beside me. I had a run to Cheyenne tomorrow and should’ve been asleep already.

Instead, I was picturing Fiona miles away in another state.

More specifically, I was wondering what she was wearing.

Christ.

I scrubbed a hand down my face.

This was what I got for asking her questions and actually listening to the answers. Weeks ago, she’d mentioned a pair of flannel pajama pants with little snowflakes on them. I had no reason to remember that.

Naturally, I remembered every fucking detail.