Cousins In Love: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 3) by Lisa Lang Blakeney
Book: Cousins In Love: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 3) by Lisa Lang Blakeney
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Authors: Lisa Lang Blakeney
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won't spend Joseph's oodles of dollars to just hire someone to do it is beyond me, but who am I to refuse my very kind hearted aunt. Plus it's a great way to spend time with her. We don't see each other that much anymore now that I've moved out.
I typically reserve Friday afternoons and evenings for Roman. Even though we talk to each other everyday and try to see each other several days a week (i.e. The Roman bubble), it's on Fridays that we have our own version of a date night. We try to do some sort of activity, like a normal dating couple, and then we spend the rest of the night wrapped up, around, and inside each other. I'm going to have to move that date night to Thursdays now, and I already know that Roman is going to give me hell about it. I don't look forward to that conversation.
Even though I'm doing this for us, to make sure that there is an "us" over the long haul, I don't really want to do it. Which is exactly why I should. Even if I don't really want to hang out with Sloan every Friday night. Even if I'd rather be spending my entire weekends with Roman. I cannot allow that desire to influence every single decision that I make.
Plus, I think Roman may be getting a bit used to me making decisions that revolve totally around him. I will not give him utter and total power over my life, and I refuse to let him think that he has it. No matter how much I tell myself that it wouldn't be bad at all. That it wouldn't be a problem. That I would in fact welcome it, want it, and enjoy it. Because to admit that, would be like handing over my independent woman card at the front door, and Beyonce would be standing right in the doorway, in her sparkling leotard and high heels, waiting to bitch slap some sense back into me.
So here I am.
Showering in Sloan's bathroom, about to put on some of her clothes, to go have coffee at Java, and to try and think about all the other things I've got going on in my life other than Roman.
Maybe I'd have better success at it if only I could stop thinking about that thing he does with his tongue, oh and his fingers, and then of course that massive cock of his. Yeah, not thinking about any of that would make this whole independent woman thing a lot easier.
Because right now all I feel like doing is putting on a dress, pouring Roman a drink, cooking his dinner, lighting a cigarette, and waiting for him to get home from work like one of those good little 1950s housewives.
To hell with Beyonce.
CHAPTER SIX
ELIZABETH
As soon as we walk inside of Java, the smell of freshly roasted coffee hits me like a ton of bricks. My stomach begins to growl in angry protest. It wants caffeine. And what's interesting is that I'm not a huge coffee drinker, but I think alcohol does weird things to my body and makes me crave things I normally wouldn't desire.
"Seriously?" I rhetorically ask the cashier.
It's just my luck that Java is out of caramel drizzle, so both Sloan and I are going to have to order some other sort of specialty drink. I had my mouth all set for an extra hot caramel macchiato, but now I'm just annoyed. And it gets even better.
It looks like Java has recently redecorated the interior of the shop, eliminating all the comfy club chair seating they used to have. Now there are more places to sit, but it's all hard, wooden chairs with metal legs. Totally practical but terribly uncomfortable. This wasn't a good idea. I want to get back into bed.
"Let's just take our drinks and head back to your place." I suggest.
"Let's just sit here for a few minutes. You never know who we might see."
"Exactly. I look and feel like death warmed over. I don't want to see anyone I know."
Sloan ignores my complaining, as usual, and grabs us two chairs at a small circular table in the far corner of the shop.
"Just for a few minutes. To celebrate my promotion. And we'll be able to people watch at this table without people really being able to see us."
"And just how long are we going to celebrate
I typically reserve Friday afternoons and evenings for Roman. Even though we talk to each other everyday and try to see each other several days a week (i.e. The Roman bubble), it's on Fridays that we have our own version of a date night. We try to do some sort of activity, like a normal dating couple, and then we spend the rest of the night wrapped up, around, and inside each other. I'm going to have to move that date night to Thursdays now, and I already know that Roman is going to give me hell about it. I don't look forward to that conversation.
Even though I'm doing this for us, to make sure that there is an "us" over the long haul, I don't really want to do it. Which is exactly why I should. Even if I don't really want to hang out with Sloan every Friday night. Even if I'd rather be spending my entire weekends with Roman. I cannot allow that desire to influence every single decision that I make.
Plus, I think Roman may be getting a bit used to me making decisions that revolve totally around him. I will not give him utter and total power over my life, and I refuse to let him think that he has it. No matter how much I tell myself that it wouldn't be bad at all. That it wouldn't be a problem. That I would in fact welcome it, want it, and enjoy it. Because to admit that, would be like handing over my independent woman card at the front door, and Beyonce would be standing right in the doorway, in her sparkling leotard and high heels, waiting to bitch slap some sense back into me.
So here I am.
Showering in Sloan's bathroom, about to put on some of her clothes, to go have coffee at Java, and to try and think about all the other things I've got going on in my life other than Roman.
Maybe I'd have better success at it if only I could stop thinking about that thing he does with his tongue, oh and his fingers, and then of course that massive cock of his. Yeah, not thinking about any of that would make this whole independent woman thing a lot easier.
Because right now all I feel like doing is putting on a dress, pouring Roman a drink, cooking his dinner, lighting a cigarette, and waiting for him to get home from work like one of those good little 1950s housewives.
To hell with Beyonce.
CHAPTER SIX
ELIZABETH
As soon as we walk inside of Java, the smell of freshly roasted coffee hits me like a ton of bricks. My stomach begins to growl in angry protest. It wants caffeine. And what's interesting is that I'm not a huge coffee drinker, but I think alcohol does weird things to my body and makes me crave things I normally wouldn't desire.
"Seriously?" I rhetorically ask the cashier.
It's just my luck that Java is out of caramel drizzle, so both Sloan and I are going to have to order some other sort of specialty drink. I had my mouth all set for an extra hot caramel macchiato, but now I'm just annoyed. And it gets even better.
It looks like Java has recently redecorated the interior of the shop, eliminating all the comfy club chair seating they used to have. Now there are more places to sit, but it's all hard, wooden chairs with metal legs. Totally practical but terribly uncomfortable. This wasn't a good idea. I want to get back into bed.
"Let's just take our drinks and head back to your place." I suggest.
"Let's just sit here for a few minutes. You never know who we might see."
"Exactly. I look and feel like death warmed over. I don't want to see anyone I know."
Sloan ignores my complaining, as usual, and grabs us two chairs at a small circular table in the far corner of the shop.
"Just for a few minutes. To celebrate my promotion. And we'll be able to people watch at this table without people really being able to see us."
"And just how long are we going to celebrate
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