Page 12 of When We Meet Again

He backs me up against my closed door, still holding my arm. “Why did you come?” he asks again, but this time with more of an assertive tone.

My mouth goes dry, and I can’t find my words. His hand drops to my wrist like he’s feeling my rapid pulse. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Mhm.” He slowly lets go of my wrist, but doesn’t put any space between us. I look up at his silvery eyes, which are lighter than they were in my kitchen. “Go on.” I watch a smirk form on his symmetrical face, and he doesn’t try to hide it.

I stand straighter, which brings me a little closer to him. “I wanted to take you up on the stargazing. As friends, like you said.” I glance at his house and back at him, but my eyes don’t meet his. They fall to his lips for one second too many. His lips are slightly fuller than Patrick’s, and as he smiles, he exposes dimples under his light scruff that I never knew he had. I’ve never been close enough to notice. Or I just never paid attention. “I don’t want to cause any issues with your girlfriend–”

“Ex.”

“I’m sorry?” My eyes widen, and I hate how my body deceives me.

“Stop saying ‘sorry’. Lena’s an ex.” His thumb rubs circles where his hand is now resting on my arm.

Oh.

“Back there…did you forget my name or something?” I can’t help but ask as I point toward his front door as an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy washes over me.

He laughs. “Not at all. I don’t want to introduce you as Patrick’s fiancée. But introducing you as my friend feels wrong, too.” He dips his head trying to get me to look at him.

I don’t ask why being here, surrounded by him, feels wrong. This is new territory for me. Whateverthismay be. But the knot that forms in my throat, and the butterflies that take flight in my stomach are making it clear exactly whatthisis for me.

“She’s here picking up the rest of her stuff. Found her sitting on my porch when I got home.” He backs away and takes a quick peep of the house before looking at me. “We ended it not too long ago. It’s part of the conversation that we were having at thefuneral. I wanted more and she didn’t. But enough about her. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at nine.

“NineP.M.?” I ask, shocked. I just aged myself.My bra’s normally been off for three hours by then.

He doesn’t make fun of me. He doesn’t make me feel bad for asking. “Is that okay? It’s a three-hour drive. Or is that too late? We could go earlier if you want to see the sun, instead.” he jokes, and I offer him a smile. “Where are you taking me that’s three hours away?”

Roman shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that. But do you trust me?”

“Nine’s perfect. I’ll be ready.”

He steps closer and hovers a mere three inches from my face. His lips ghost over mine, and I feel heat rush through my body until he reaches around my waist.

Just when I thought he was going to kiss me, I hear him open my car door behind me.

I wouldn’t have kissed him back. We are just friends. He’s Patrick’s brother. My fiancé’s brother.I feel my cheeks flush before I move aside and let him open it the rest of the way.

Embarrassment smacks me in the face.He wasn’t going to kiss me. He was opening my door.“I’ll just go then,” I whisper to myself and slide into the car, turning on the engine. A waft of coconut fills the air as the AC starts pumping.

“Have a good night, Kensi.” He smiles as if he knows what he just did to me. He gently shuts my door and stands back. I don’t bother looking at him—I’m sure he can see the smile on my face that mirrors his own.

CHAPTER 8

ROMAN

I spend all day packing comforters and pillows into the bed of my truck. I had to make sure everything was tied down and ready to set up when we reach where we’re going. I could have easily taken her to Mount Hollywood, but it’s so cliché. I needed to give her something “bucket list” worthy.

When I was helping her clean, I peeked in her fridge to see what kind of food she liked, but that mission failed. She barely had anything in there except for condiments and expired produce.

I can’t go wrong with popcorn, can I?

When I pull into her complex, she’s already waiting outside for me. What a far cry from the other day when she was lying inches away from stale pizza, zoned out watchingI Love Lucy.

She’s stunning. I’m offered a small wave and a grin before she starts toward the truck, and like a gentleman, I get out and race around the truck to open her door for her. Leaning with her back against the door, blocking the door handle, I smirk. My eyes dip to her lips that are curved slightly, down past her breasts that are hidden by an almost sheer veil of white cotton. As if she knows what she just did, she steps to the side, lettingme reach for the door. My arm brushes hers and we subtly jolt from the feeling.

I’m trying damn hard not to act on the tension that’s building between us, but it’s beginning to be too much. Every time I think of rubbing one out to the thought of her, I kindly remind myself that this is Patrick’s fiancée. She’s not up for grabs…even though the only thing I’m grabbing is myself when all I want to do is grab her and have my way with her.

Before she slides in, she tilts her head quizzically. “Why do you keep opening my door for me?”

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