Page 71 of By the Letter

Her laugh was a welcome balm. “All right. I won’t call the cops if I see you lurking back there.”

I grinned, thoroughly taken by her lightness. “See? Amazing.”

“I don’t know about that.” Another nacho headed to her mouth. The hum of satisfaction she made as she ate it was even more of a balm. “What kind of food comes with the rugby box?”

“We’re changing the subject?”

“Hopefully.”

I swiped cheese from the corner of her mouth then sucked it off my thumb. “The food is incredible. There’s wings, pasta—wait. Why are you asking? Did you win the auction?”

She nodded, beaming at me. “Will you go with me?”

“Hell yes. I’d love to share some rugby with you.”

She leaned into me, her shoulder against my arm. Turning, I kissed the top of her head and rubbed my nose against her silky strands.

There was nothing I could do to rewrite Shira’s past, but I would do all I could to make sure the days ahead were as easy and peaceful as she deserved.

Chapter Twenty-four

Shira

I’d convinced myself everythingthat happened after the auction had been a one-time event—that it had been Roman’s overprotective streak going haywire, resulting in his drive to pleasure me over and over without thought for himself.

Well, I was wrong.

The next day, and the next, and the next, he walked into my house, picked me up in his arms, placed me where he wanted me, and buried his face between my thighs. I could have been cooking dinner, vacuuming…it didn’t matter. Roman seemed to be on a mission to make me come, and he was immensely successful. Sometimes, he would do it once, we’d have dinner, and he’d do it again before going home.

Everything else stayed the same. He came in the mornings and left me notes and breakfast. Some nights, we hung out with his brothers and watched whichever sports game was on TV, often leading to me falling asleep.

We didn’t have sex, and the kisses he gave me were on my forehead, hair, or light brushes on my lips.

If this was his version of being a good friend, I supposed it was nice, but it was also driving me mad. On the one hand, I had never come so regularly in my life. On the other, I wanted to be fucked, dammit.

I blushed at admitting it inside my head. Asking for it was out of the question. And if he rejected me? Well…nothing good would come of it.

So, time passed, the world kept spinning, we left notes for each other, we ate dinner together most nights, Roman and Mary warred, and we didn’t fuck.

Shira,

Mary brought me the mouse I gave her last week. She’d gutted it. No stuffing left in it at all. What do you think this means? Is it a threat?

I have a question for you: would you rather have rocking chair legs or slinky arms?

See you tonight for dinner.

X,

Rome

Roman,

Being given a gutted mouse is the highest compliment you can receive from a cat. I’m starting to worry Mary loves you more than me.

My answer might have been different before Beanie, but I think rocking chair legs could come in handy soon, so that’s my choice.

Would you rather always wear a mask or have a face everyone forgets within five minutes?

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