phase?
“Morning,” he said as he walked toward the bed.
Oh, hell. I’d been caught checking him out when I should have been scoping out his room according to plan. “Morning,” I squeaked.
He dropped the towel and slid under the sheet. Oh, God, yes, this was crazy awkward. He frowned. “You’re feeling weird, aren’t you?”
“Define weird .”
“Odd, strange, out of the ordinary. Any of those sound right?”
I giggled. This was still my friend Roman, continued to be the guy who managed to read me like a book (well, not like the books I wrote, although that had changed overnight) and knew my inner workings better than I knew them myself. “Okay, yeah, so you got me.”
“If it makes you feel better, I am too.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t snuggling up close or touching my hair or anything… weird . Instead, he was giving me the space I needed. “I still can’t get over that you’re a published author and I had no idea. None. That blows me away. But…I wanted to extend the offer, now that we’re no longer under the influence.” I raised my eyebrows. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “I can play your substitute boyfriend for as long as you need. Until you get Javier back or—”
What? “Ridley.”
“Oh, yeah. Ridley. Whatever. Anyway, I just wanted to throw that on the table.”
I inhaled a deep breath. Wow. Yeah, that too was weird, but somehow it seemed a little less weird than Roman and I trying an actual relationship. So I shook his hand and then climbed out of bed for a shower. I had a lot to wrap my mind around.
* * *
Okay, so I lied. I managed to find a way to work the table sex into my book. The characters were exploring their relationship, doing things couples do, and the main female character invited her new male friend over for the evening. Dinner had burned, so the hero insisted upon other dining arrangements…and once he and the heroine were feeling satisfied, they went out for Mexican.
Holy shit, writing that scene made perspiration form on my upper lip as I remembered the way Roman had licked the rum off my belly. I grew a little tingly remembering all the details as I recorded them in the story.
It was Saturday afternoon, and so I called Roman to ask if he had plans that evening. I figured if we were going to do this, I needed to get over the weirdness as soon as possible.
When my phone rang again a few minutes later, I just assumed it was Roman wanting to ask for details, but it was Ridley. I considered not even answering but realized that would be stupid. I knew Ridley well enough to know a couple of things—the first was that he wouldn’t leave a message on my phone…and the second? He would keep calling until he got me. He knew I carried my cell with me everywhere (it was the only way I could keep up with the social media that kept Eliza Brennan buzzing in the minds of her readers), so he would be persistent.
There was no sense ignoring him, but no law said I had to be nice. “Yeah?”
“There’s my Lizzie.”
“I’m not your Lizzie.”
“Aw, come on, honey. You’re upset about last night?”
When I gave his question real thought, I had to admit that I wasn’t nearly as upset as I could have been…as I should have been, considering how invested my heart had been in this man a short twenty-four hours earlier. I’d been hurt, yes, but Roman had done an excellent job of taking my mind off Ridley. “Nope. Got over it.”
There was a pause. Ridley had never hesitated in all the time I’d known him, so for him to have to search for words…priceless. I almost blurted out I’m waiting but then thought better of it. “Cool. I’ll give you credit, Lizzie. I thought maybe we were gonna have a blowout. So…you get why I needed a little time to myself?”
You know, it might have been his cockiness or the fact that he thought he was all that
“Morning,” he said as he walked toward the bed.
Oh, hell. I’d been caught checking him out when I should have been scoping out his room according to plan. “Morning,” I squeaked.
He dropped the towel and slid under the sheet. Oh, God, yes, this was crazy awkward. He frowned. “You’re feeling weird, aren’t you?”
“Define weird .”
“Odd, strange, out of the ordinary. Any of those sound right?”
I giggled. This was still my friend Roman, continued to be the guy who managed to read me like a book (well, not like the books I wrote, although that had changed overnight) and knew my inner workings better than I knew them myself. “Okay, yeah, so you got me.”
“If it makes you feel better, I am too.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t snuggling up close or touching my hair or anything… weird . Instead, he was giving me the space I needed. “I still can’t get over that you’re a published author and I had no idea. None. That blows me away. But…I wanted to extend the offer, now that we’re no longer under the influence.” I raised my eyebrows. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “I can play your substitute boyfriend for as long as you need. Until you get Javier back or—”
What? “Ridley.”
“Oh, yeah. Ridley. Whatever. Anyway, I just wanted to throw that on the table.”
I inhaled a deep breath. Wow. Yeah, that too was weird, but somehow it seemed a little less weird than Roman and I trying an actual relationship. So I shook his hand and then climbed out of bed for a shower. I had a lot to wrap my mind around.
* * *
Okay, so I lied. I managed to find a way to work the table sex into my book. The characters were exploring their relationship, doing things couples do, and the main female character invited her new male friend over for the evening. Dinner had burned, so the hero insisted upon other dining arrangements…and once he and the heroine were feeling satisfied, they went out for Mexican.
Holy shit, writing that scene made perspiration form on my upper lip as I remembered the way Roman had licked the rum off my belly. I grew a little tingly remembering all the details as I recorded them in the story.
It was Saturday afternoon, and so I called Roman to ask if he had plans that evening. I figured if we were going to do this, I needed to get over the weirdness as soon as possible.
When my phone rang again a few minutes later, I just assumed it was Roman wanting to ask for details, but it was Ridley. I considered not even answering but realized that would be stupid. I knew Ridley well enough to know a couple of things—the first was that he wouldn’t leave a message on my phone…and the second? He would keep calling until he got me. He knew I carried my cell with me everywhere (it was the only way I could keep up with the social media that kept Eliza Brennan buzzing in the minds of her readers), so he would be persistent.
There was no sense ignoring him, but no law said I had to be nice. “Yeah?”
“There’s my Lizzie.”
“I’m not your Lizzie.”
“Aw, come on, honey. You’re upset about last night?”
When I gave his question real thought, I had to admit that I wasn’t nearly as upset as I could have been…as I should have been, considering how invested my heart had been in this man a short twenty-four hours earlier. I’d been hurt, yes, but Roman had done an excellent job of taking my mind off Ridley. “Nope. Got over it.”
There was a pause. Ridley had never hesitated in all the time I’d known him, so for him to have to search for words…priceless. I almost blurted out I’m waiting but then thought better of it. “Cool. I’ll give you credit, Lizzie. I thought maybe we were gonna have a blowout. So…you get why I needed a little time to myself?”
You know, it might have been his cockiness or the fact that he thought he was all that
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