Page 90 of Romeo

I could see her curled up on her bed in those pants and one of those oversized sweatshirts she seemed to love. Hair down. Bare feet tucked beneath her. Probably staring at her phone while she tried to decide whether whatever I’d said last was flirting or she was imagining things.

After our conversation the other day, I hoped she was imagining plenty.

I’d described my type carefully enough that she should’ve known I was describing her. Then she’d turned the question around and described me right back. Neither of us had said the obvious part.

We hadn’t needed to.

My hand drifted toward my phone.

Bad idea.

I knew it before I even picked the damn thing up.

Fiona was probably already in bed. I should have left her alone for one night. Let her think. Give her some space after the line we’d been dancing around.

That was what a sensible man would do.

Nobody had ever accused me of being sensible.

Me: What are you wearing?

I stared at the message after I sent it.

Smooth, Romeo.

Real fucking smooth.

Ma Belle: That question came out of nowhere

I laughed under my breath.

Nowhere?

That question had been living rent-free in my head for months.

Me: It came from Nebraska.

Ma Belle: Very helpful

Me: You didn’t answer.

My grin slowly faded as I waited on those incessant dots to reappear. That pause did something to me that it had no business doing. She was thinking about the question. Maybe wondering why I’d asked it. Maybe deciding how much she wanted to give me.

Ma Belle: Pajamas

I stared at the little smirking face.

Well, hell.

Me: Details matter.

Ma Belle: Why?

Because apparently, I’d finally let my imagination go where it wanted to with Fiona. More dangerous was how quickly my mind supplied everything I wanted beneath it. Bare skin. Long legs tangled in my sheets. That sweatshirt pushed up high enough for my mouth to find every inch she’d been hiding from me. I wanted to know what she looked like flushed and breathless, what sounds she made when somebody touched her exactly right.

I sure as fuck wasn’t stupid enough to put any of that on her phone.

Me: I’m building a mental picture.