Page 76 of The Rom-Commers

“Ice,” I decided then, and I scrambled over to the freezer, returning with a bag of frozen veggies and pressing it to Charlie’s butt.

“What are you doing?” Charlie asked.

“Just—move your hand,” I said.

“Are you trying to put frozen peas on my ass?”

“It’sjulienned mixed vegetables,” I said, likeI beg your pardon.

“Get them off,” he said, grabbing at the bag.

“We have to ice the area!” I insisted.

“Emma—cut it out. I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

By that point, we were basically wrestling for access to Charlie’s butt, and I tried to snatch the bag away just as he got the bright idea to roll over to block me. The next thing I knew, we managed to rip the bag, scatter julienned vegetables across the kitchen floor, and, in the scuffle, I guess my elbow gave way because I collapsed on top of him—again.

In the wake of it, we waited a second—face-to-face, gazes locked,breaths intermingling, and expressions perfectly matched, likeDid that just happen—again?

Then Charlie broke the silence. “You did all this on purpose, didn’t you?”

On purpose?“No, I—” I looked around. “I tripped on a grocery bag.”

I pointed at it, for evidence, but Charlie didn’t even look.

I was still square on top of him, my arm pinned under his side. Charlie closed his eyes. Then he opened them and looked straight into mine. “Or maybe you just wanted to prove that there’s nothing romantic about people falling on top of each other.”

I blinked. “I don’t have to prove that. It’s just empirically true. It doesn’t need proving.”

But as soon as I said it, in that instant, I became aware of all the physical contact we’d just muddled through with each other—and how I was still lying flat on top of him. And then I suddenly thought about what my body must feel like to him, draped over his own like that. And how, other than maybe games of Twister or freak skiing accidents, there weren’t too many situations in day-to-day life where people just lay on top of each other for no reason.

In any other situation, it would be a very different situation.

And once I’d thoughtthat, I couldn’t unthink it.

And if I was reading the room right—Charlie, suddenly, wasn’tnotthinking about that, either.

Questions started twinkling in my brain like stars. Did the room just go very still? Did my scraped knee just stop stinging? Was having our faces this close together causing some kind of chemical reaction in my body? And, maybe most important: Did Charlie Yates have the thickest, lushest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man?

How had I never noticed those before?

Wait—

What was I thinking about?

Had I really been insisting all this time that there was nothing even remotely romantic about two people randomly falling on top of each other?

Because this wasworking.

Had I just proved myself wrong? In front of the Great Charlie Yates?

This was not going to end well.

And then my weird heart took that moment to start doing its thumping thing again.

“Is that you or me?” I asked.

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