Page 34 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

A mouse squeaked in the awkward silence. (Yes, there was another mouse. No, Lizzy had no desire to take care of it for me.)

Dylan covered his mouth, and I couldn’t tell if he was trying to hide a smile or holding himself back from saying something.

“Can I come in?” he asked, still in the doorway.

“Oh, yes.” I motioned him inside and indicated he could sit on the futon pad. He did gingerly, like he didn’t trust even the pad.

I’d set my lunch up on an empty, overturned box, so I sat beside him. But I’d underestimated how small the futon padwas. We were close. Way too close for someone who was maybe holding back a frown. Or a smile. It was hard to tell.

He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Let’s set some ground rules.”

My stomach twisted with sudden nerves, but I needed something to do with my hands, so I picked up my grilled cheese sandwich—my comfort food since I was little. Even when Mom was at her sickest, she could usually make one for me when I got home from school.

I used a few more cheeses than she did, and real butter instead of margarine, but it still brought me back to my childhood and to the warmth of our tiny kitchen on cold, dark winter days that never seemed to end.

I motioned for him to continue as I took a bite. He eyed the sandwich, so I offered him the other triangle. To my surprise, he took it without hesitation. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how many calories a day it took to feed someone with a body like his.

I swallowed my bite and took a drink from my disposable water bottle. “Such as?”

“I’ll need to have complete approval of anything that gets posted about me or to my page.”

I nodded. I’d planned on logging into his socials so I could post for him, but it wouldn’t be a big deal to keep things in drafts until he approved them.

“Anything else?”

“I have major reservations about this.”

“Noted. What changed your mind?” The last time I’d seen him, he’d been storming out of my store giving offnot if you were the last girl on earthvibes. I’d soothed my ego with ice cream first, then my grilled cheese, and a healthy dose of meddling in my brothers’ lives, which always cheered me up.

“I posted a picture of me reading.”

I snagged my phone and searched for his account. I followed him, and a second later, I saw a notification that he’d followed me back. My stomach jumped like we’d driven over a hill.

I scrolled to the picture of him sitting on my bed, the bright yellow comforter cheerily framing in his dark-clothed body. The angle of the camera was low to the ground, the image was crooked in the frame, and he wasn’t staring at the camera at all.

“This is one of twenty selfies I took. It was the best one, if you can believe it.”

I laughed, wishing I could see his photo roll, but knowing there was no way he’d show me.

Then I noticed what book he was pretending to read. A hockey romance I’d just ordered but hadn’t read yet. It. Was. Absolutely. Perfect.

And the five thousand likes and three-hundred and twenty comments mostly agreed. There were a ton of heart eyes or flames. A few poked fun at him for reading a romance, but for the most part, the comments that had the most likes were positive and supportive.

“I’ve never had so many interactions on a post.”

I read through his few posts, most of them listing the team’s score or schedule. Things they could easily look up on the team’s website if they were interested.

“People want the personal aspect,” I replied absently as I made a mental note of what kind of posts were definitely not working for him. “Did you actually read the book?”

“No.” He scoffed.

I slowly looked up at him. “Why the disbelief? Can you not read? Or do you think men shouldn’t read romance?”

He attempted, unsuccessfully, to level me with a stare. “I don’t care what other men do or don’t read.Idon’t read romance.”

“Well, starting now … you do. Because your first assignment is to read that hockey book.”

“Wait. I didn’t know I’d have homework.”

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