Page 7 of The Road Trip Romance

Cal and Lizzie are already buckled into their booster seats. Cal just started complaining about his booster seat this year, but he has three more inches to grow before we get rid of his. I can already tell he hates that Tate is seeing him in a “baby chair” as he calls it.

It’s as if Tate can read the room when he climbs into my car. I grimace as his feet push aside some bottles. “Sorry, the car is a mess,” I apologize as I realize he looks big even in my SUV.

“No worries. I mean, I’d be more comfy if I had a cool chair like Cal and Lizzie, but it’ll do,” he says. I glance in the rearview mirror and both kids are looking at him with awe.

Our eyes meet for a second and I mouth, “Thank you.” He nods as I reverse the car and drive us the three miles to the ice rink.

He wastes no time in asking the kids all about their hockey camp. By the time we arrive seven minutes later, my children are behaving like Tate is a long-lost relative they’ve missed for years, while I’m still trying to process his presence in my vehicle.

We get inside and I sign them in and ask them not to talk about Mr. Tate yet with their friends before turning to Tate. “We can go sit in the bleachers. They’ll meet with their coaches and maybe do a few drills for fun.”

“But, Mom,” Cal whines as he looks between us.

“Please, Cal. I know this is cool, but Mr. Tate needs his privacy for a little longer, alright?” I plead.

“Fine,” he grumbles as he joins Lizzie to go over to where the other kids are sitting.

I notice Tate lower his cap as I intentionally take him to sit at the top of the bleachers away from the rest of the parents.

“So, how can I help you, Mr.…I mean, Tate?” I correct myself as I glance over at him. He looks forward, watching the kids gathering in groups on the ice.

“I want to buy the film rights to your latest book,” he says as casually as one might say they want to go get ice cream.

My mouth opens but no words come out as I stare at him.That was definitely a hallucination.

His head slowly turns to me, and he chuckles. “Why do you look so shocked?”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say you want to option the movie rights to my book?” I ask after a beat.

His eyes find mine and I swear to God I feel electricity crackle in the air. His face is only a few inches from mine. He swallows and so do I.What the fuck is happening? Do all women respond to him like this? Ugh. I need to behave professionally. I’m being ridiculous.I look down and watch his hand twitch in his lap as if he wants to move it and then he balls it into a fist. I frown, wondering what that is about, but immediately look back into his eyes.

“Yes, Sophia. I want to produce and direct the film adaptation of your last book. I love it. I can’t explain it; I just know it’s the story I need to direct,” he replies.

My eyes widen. “I didn’t know you directed,” I state as my mind tries to process why he loves my book so much.

I watch as his brows furrow. “I don’t, yet. But I want your book to be my first,” he says in a low, gravelly voice, and I feel goose bumps dot my skin at his words.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. And then I can’t help my childish mind. “You want me to be your first?” I ask with a smirk.

His eyes dance at my humor and he laughs. “I do. You up for popping my director cherry?” he asks.

I know I should think about this. I should ask a million questions. I should call Marti. I should get a contract to review. I should do so many things that I’m not doing. But for reasons I’ll never understand, I hold out my hand.

“I’ve clearly lost my mind, but OK. Let’s do this thing. I will gladly take your director virginity,” I answer, grinning.

His lips turn up into a giant smile. He looks relieved and I wonder why. But then he speaks. “Wow, I didn’t think you’d agree to it that easily.”

I blush. “I guess I’m just a ho for film adaptations,” I tease.

He furrows his brow as if he doesn’t like my statement. I swallow.Shit.Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it that far.

“Well, I’ll get you a contract soon and then you can make a final decision,” he offers.

“Sounds like a plan,” I reply, my hand still hanging in the air between us.

I’m about to put my hand back in my lap, but a moment later, he grips my outstretched hand, and again I feel that current between us as his fingers lightly squeeze mine and we shake. I can’t help thinking that we’re agreeing to so much more than a film adaptation.

CHAPTERFOUR

---