Page 81 of Wild Love
Her head tilts. “I thought you were checking your emails—he got called away for a fire. He’s sending a painter to finish up the interior and will confirm a date and time. Now tell me about your dating history.”
I cross my free arm to keep from reaching out and playing with that flimsy fucking hemline, pen tapping against my lips.
“I remember the night in that journal entry. I asked that girl if she was reading anything interesting. She told me she wasn’t a big reader.”
Rosie’s eyes twinkle with mirth. She knows.
“And I believe I scoffed and said, ‘Figures,’ to which she gave me a dirty look and walked away.”
“Your mom once told me that if I went home with a guy and there weren’t any books at his house, I shouldn’t fuck him.”
I chuckle at that. “She’s told me the same thing.” I shake my head as I think about my mom. The advice she gives is outlandish and direct and… not wrong. “That night, when you drove us home, I asked you what you were reading.”
Her eyes widen with interest. “I don’t remember that part.”
“You told me about a five-book fantasy romance series you were reading in very over-the-top detail. I pretended I was annoyed. But I went and put it on hold at the library as soon as we got back to the city.”
Now her lips pop open. “Please tell me it was the Fever Series.”
My mouth twists in a wry grin, and I push my wheeled chair closer. An invisible pull between us. “It was.”
“Did you love it?”
I think back on reading those books. I mostly imagined Rosie reading them. Remembered the way her hands motioned as she drove and talked. West had passed out in the back seat, and I kept having to remind her to keep her hands at ten and two.
Her response was to roll her eyes and steer on the straight highway with her knee.
“Yeah, Rosie. I loved it.”
“Oh. Back to Rosie, huh?”
“You said you weren’t my employee right now.”
I reach forward and flick a finger against her top knee. I don’t know why I do it. It’s childish and unnecessary and yet I can’t stop myself.
Her eyes trace the motion, and then I smooth the spot with my hand before losing my brain entirely as I stand, grip her knee, and uncross her legs myself.
She sucks in a breath but otherwise forges ahead like nothing has changed.
“Okay. So, spill the beans.” She leans forward a bit, her thighs falling open as she draws closer, her knuckles almost white on the edge of my desk.
I consider her question and nervously toy with the hem of her dress as I step closer. “I met a girl in my second year of college. She was smart and kind, and we had a good time together. I think we dated for two years.”
Her nose wrinkles ever so slightly. “And?”
I move the hem higher on one side, exposing an extra inch of skin. “And I broke up with her after undergrad when she wanted to move in together.”
“You didn’t want to live with her?” Her voice sounds strained.
“No,” I say simply.
“Why not?”
Because she wasn’t youis what’s on the tip of my tongue. But I say, “It just wasn’t right. I didn’t want to settle down,” and lift the dress higher on her opposite leg as well.
Rosie swallows and nods slowly. “Okay, and then?”
I sigh and try to step away from her, but she nudges me with one booted foot. An unspoken challenge for me to stay in place.
