Page 42 of The Road Trip Romance

In her book, she talked about that electric moment between the main characters. I always thought that was some kind of fluff, an unreal expectation of a connection between two humans that can never really exist. But I stand corrected. It’s real as fuck and I’m experiencing it right now. There’s most definitely a connection between us. And I know she can feel it too; it’s undeniable.

Slowly, Sophia’s arms come up around my neck, pulling me more tightly against her. Her eyes open when she feels my erection pressed to her belly. She steps back, panting.

“Sorry…I…my acting skills…I got a little carried away,” she rambles as she looks at my ear instead of my eyes.

I’m still clutching her face and I press her chin a little to force eye contact. “It’s OK,” I say with a smile. “I couldn’t have asked for a better kissing partner.”

Her body relaxes a little, her shoulders releasing. “Oh, uh, good. I’m glad I could be helpful,” she says. She glances at the bed. “Maybe we should…I mean, I’m going to use the bathroom.”

She grabs her bag and hurries inside, shutting the door. I sit down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and pick up her laptop, scanning to the top of the scene she wrote. The roses, the helicopter…it’s all over the top. She’s not wrong. Lacey would love that shit. But the gnawing feeling I’ve had all week has now turned into a typhoon of feelings that I can no longer push aside. I don’t love Lacey anymore. Maybe, I never really did. Perhaps I just wanted a family so badly that I forced myself into believing I loved Lacey.

But one thing is perfectly clear. I’m falling for Sophia. I want Sophia.

I stay on the bed and eventually she comes back out from the bathroom. She’s in her cute little unicorn pajamas and I want nothing more than to peel them right back off her.

Her gaze darts to mine and she licks her lips. It’s not meant to be sexy, but I have to stifle a groan. Thank God this laptop is covering my dick because right now, I’d be embarrassingly at full staff.

“You want to go over the rest of this,” I say, motioning to her laptop.

“Oh, sure,” she says as she places her bag down and then glances at the open space on the bed. I pat it.

“Come sit down. I promise not to bite,” I assure her. She rolls her eyes.

“A little late for that,” she mutters, and I smirk. She crawls in beside me and we begin talking about the scene. I ask about her normal writing process, and she tells me. We play off each other as we work. Each idea grows bigger as we both embellish things. She’s a perfect collaborative partner.

I don’t know how long we talk but Sophia’s yawning and her head is now resting on the pillow next to me. I glance at her and see her eyelids droop.

“We should finish later,” I say softly as I close the lid.

“No, we’re so close to it being perfect,” she says with her eyes closed.

I lean over and press a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“Tomorrow. Rest up, gorgeous,” I whisper, and when I pull back, I can tell she’s already asleep. So, I place the laptop on the nightstand, turn the light out, and lie down next to her. Her body instinctually snuggles closer to me, an arm and leg wrapping over my body. I slide my arm under her and pull her flush with my side. She feels so perfect here in my arms. She feels like home. For the first time in my life, I’m exactly where I should be.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

Sophia

The heat of the cocoon I’m buried in wakes me. Only, I’m not in a cocoon, well, not really. I’m encased in a Tate blanket. His front is tightly against my back. His arms are wrapped around me, and his leg is over mine. My instincts tell me to slither out of his death grip and pretend that I didn’t love being warmed by his lean muscles. Fuck. He is not even human. I can feel each ab pressed against my back. If he wakes, he could probably feel each roll around my lower abdomen. He hasn’t seen me naked, and I think that we should keep it that way.

But there’s a growing part of my mind that keeps wondering what it would be like to really kiss him. If his pretend kiss was that good, then goddamn, his real kisses must be off the hook.

I silently groan. I should just consider myself lucky that I even know what it’s like to kiss Tate Anders. I can live on that one kiss for at least a decade. Nothing could possibly ever top it.

I feel Tate’s warm breath against my head, and I relax into his firm grip, letting myself live a fantasy for another minute. What would it be like to wake up this way every morning? To have someone like Tate love me.

Lacey is an idiot. I get she doesn’t want kids and that’s cool, but it seemed like Tate always wanted them. Why would she drag their relationship on for so long?

I feel his morning wood against my ass crack and suddenly that answer seems very clear. If Tate can kiss like some sort of Greek god of kissing, then what must he be like in the sack? A fucking golden god, that’s what.

And in that moment, the realization of all realizations hits me like a ton of bricks, no, a ton of concrete blocks. Oh fuck. I’m beyond crushing hard on this man. I have developed actual feelings for him. I’m falling in love with Tate Anders.

No. No, no, no! This is bad, so bad. I can’t. Can I? Nope. No.

I can be his friend. Yes, friends. That’s all this is. I slowly pull Tate’s arm away from me, attempting to get out of his hold, but he doubles down and latches on to me like a life raft.

“Ten more minutes, M,” he says against my hair.

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