Page 74 of Before I Say I Don't
A blush crept up my cheeks before I could stop it.
“At this point, I believe you’re trying to get me fat or—” My words cut off when I realized Serena was still in the room.
She was side-eyeing me like I’d just admitted to running a Ponzi scheme.
“You know what… I’ll come through,” I said softly, chewing a smile.
“Aight. See you soon.”
I hung up. The second I did, Serena tilted her head.
“Girl, you got a good fiancé.”
Of course, she thought that was Viangelo.
“I wish a man made me smile like that. Last time one had me grinning was when he tripped over the dog and went face-first into the coffee table.”
I stood, grabbing my purse. “Just remember, everything that glitters ain’t gold… and sometimes the glitter is just cheap spray paint trying to cover rust. When you find agoodone, hold on to him because there aren’t many left.”
Serena snapped her fingers. “Whew, preach!”
“I’m heading out. You want me to bring you something back?”
She shook her head. “Nah, but if your fiancé got a single brother who can fry chicken without burning the grease, fix a leaky sink, don’t live with his mama, pay bills on time, don’t snore, and keep his phone face-up on the table, send him my way. I’ll marry him tomorrow.”
If he did, I still wouldn’t send him your way, sis. You’d thank me later,I thought, forcing back a smirk.
“Lunch delivery,” Roman greeted me with that sexy smirk, stepping aside so I could walk in.
The man was wearing gray sweatpants and a white fitted tee… and Lord have mercy, ifthatwasn’t intentional. My eyes dropped automatically… and stayed there longer than they should’ve. His print was ridiculous—the kind of disrespect that made my thighs press together on instinct.
If this man knew the things running through my head right now. Scratch that—he probably does.
His smirk deepened. “Eyes up here, Kam,” he teased.
I brushed past him, pretending to be unbothered. “You wore that on purpose.”
“Maybe. You ready to eat?”
“Starving!” I exaggerated, walking in to find his dining table already set with two plates of steaming food, and iced tea in tall glasses.
“You made Chinese?” I asked, impressed.
“I told you I can cook,” he shrugged, pulling my chair out. “Lo mein, sesame chicken, beef and broccoli, and egg rolls—by me, not from some greasy spot.”
I took a bite of the chicken and almost moaned.
“Okay… I’ll admit it; you might actually be dangerous.” I chuckled.
“Dangerous?” Roman scoffed lightly. “Try addicting, baby,” he added, followed by a flirtatious wink.
My fork slipped against the plate.
Addicting.
The way he said it wasn’t casual; it was prophecy. And maybe I was stupid for letting it ring true, but damn if he didn’t already have me checking for symptoms.
Racing pulse? Check. Dry throat? Check. A sudden, irrational desire to rearrange my whole life around one man’s smile? Double check. Lastly, the urge to push this plate aside, climb across the table, and let him feed that smirk right off my lips? Triple check.
