Page 48 of Worth the Trouble

I should have run right then because nothing good comes from getting involved with a guy like Rome. But while I stood in the doorway waiting to be overcome with jealousy or anger, all I felt was disappointment.

That I thought this was more.

That I thought he cared.

When it comes to Rome, I should know better because he’s always clear on his intentions. But while I spend my life able to see through every other situation, he makes my head foggy.

I should be smarter than to listen to the creeping shadows that bleed from his pores and through my skin. Because once more, he found a way to prove to me who he is—a wildcard. A man who does what he wants without caring who he steps on to get it.

And it hurt.

I should have left.

I should go now before he wakes up.

So why can’t I stop staring?

Rome is sharp and painful, but it’s his thorns that fascinate me. The dark parts that hurt and should scare me away make me want to hold tighter. Because then maybe I’d finally feel something that resembles life again.

The people I’m surrounded by are polished and careful and boring. Not Rome. He’s impulsive, a raw nerve. He bursts at his seams while I’m strangled by my own. And somehow, he seems to be the only person who notices.

My gaze falls to his tattoos peeking out from every corner of his T-shirt. I want to feel the wrath of the demon on his forearm. I want to know the story of the wings on his neck. I want to be watched by the third eye on his throat. I want to trace him to see if he’s as endless as he feels every time I’m around him. I want to taste the energy in his soul.

But before I get the chance, Rome rolls to his back and his eyes blink open. He takes a breath so deep it’s like he’s coming back to life. His face pinches with the pain of a man who looks like he’s waking up to a world he no longer wants to be part of. Pain mixed with frustration—something he rarely shows through his carefree façade.

I wonder which nightmares haunt him more, the ones in his dreams or the memories in his head.

Rome blinks up at the ceiling, and I try to shift back because it occurs to me I’m lying really close to him. But my movement draws his attention, and his face snaps in my direction. His eyebrows furrow as he examines me in his bed.

“Good morning.” I almost choke on it.

It feels small and big in the light of day, and I’m not sure how Rome makes everything feel so insignificant and overly important at the same time.

His eyebrows pinch. “You came?”

I’m not sure if he’s saying it out of shock or because he forgot, but he’s the one who invited me over.

“I did.”

“And you stayed?” More confusion as his eyebrows pinch further.

I roll onto my side and prop my head up to face him. “You asked me to.”

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with that bit of information, so he rolls to his side, mirroring my position and tucking his palm under the side of his cheek to face me.

The action tugs his T-shirt up at his hips and puts his lean body on display, showing me a path I’d like to follow. Along with a peek of the twisted yin and yang tattoo on his hip.

“Why are you always running toward trouble, Lili?”

His words snap my attention back into focus, and I look up to see him smirking, likely because he just caught me checking out the lean muscles of his stomach.

I could try to deny it, but everything about Rome is gravity, pulling me toward him.

“I’m not. I guess it’s just you.” It’s too honest, but I don’t regret saying it. Rome uses women and drugs to feel high, and I use him.

The tick of amusement on his face falls with my confession, but I don’t know why.

“Why do you do it?” I ask.

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