Page 45 of Bedding Rose
“No, no, no. You have to start with a compliment. How about how my eyes are like starlight?” He bats his lashes.
“You’ve never complimentedmyeyes,” she sasses.
“Well, they’re like starlight, darling,” Enrique hams it up with an exaggerated quirk of his brow and some ridiculous accent that I think is supposed to resemble a classic movie star. He’s such a dipshit.
Rose snorts.
Candace rolls her starlit eyes and tugs her hand away before giving him a playful shove so that he slides across his seat. “Sure they are. I think you might need some practice of your own.”
We all chuckle as Quique holds up his hands in supplication when Candace narrows her eyes at him. “Alright. Alright. One practice session coming up.”
“I know,” I say, as inspiration strikes. “I can practice on Rose.”
If I thought I’d seen Rose stiff and awkward before, it was nothing in comparison to what she looks like now. Panic leaches the color from her face until she looks as pale as can be. She gives an infinitesimal shake of her head, but I ignore her, my gaze sliding over to Quique to gauge his reactions. Will he be pissed?
He just looks amused, thinking this is all a joke, not suspecting a thing.
I turn back to make eye contact with Rose as I set my drink on a side table and then slide out of my seat and down onto one knee in the space between our four chairs.
Candace squeals in delight and I can hear Quique’s low laugh while Rose gives off a panicked squeak.
“What are youdoing?” she hisses through her teeth at me.
“Rose, I’ve known you for most of your life and I’ve never realized how amazing you are until now. The only explanation I’ve got is a long-term head injury—probably one your brother gave me—”
“Damn straight,” Quique cuts in. “You probably deserved it too.”
I smirk as I slide forward on my knee, getting closer. I reach for Rose’s hand but she tucks her free hand away and wields her coffee mug like a weapon. “I swear, I will pour this all over you. Get up off the floor.” Those eyes burn into me and I’ve never wanted to pull her in for a kiss more than right at this moment.
Quique guffaws behind us. “God, this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I lean closer, unintimidated by her threats. “Ms. Dalton, I have a life-changing question to ask you.”
Her cup tilts further as I say, “Will you do me the honor of …”—I let the silence draw out for a moment— “going to a football game together?”
Even she can’t hold back a chuckle and I reach out, disarming her of her weapon, setting the mug gently on the side table. “Think of all the body paint we could wear.”
That sets Candace off howling, while Quique interjects with a rapid-fire, “Hey, hey, hey,” as brotherly instinct finally kicks in.
I link my fingers with Rose’s, letting my gaze travel over that gorgeous face of hers, those defined cheekbones, those beautiful red lips, and my favorite green eyes on the planet.
“What do you say?”
“I say you’re making a spectacle of yourself,” Rose retorts, as her gaze sweeps the room behind me. I assume I’ve gathered a bit of an audience with the knee thing.
I don’t glance back but quirk a crooked grin at her. “Yup. Social pressure. Will you publicly shame me?”
“You’re kind of goading me into it.”
“Or you could say yes,” I wheedle, jutting out my lower lip. I don’t miss how her eyes flash when I give her a pouty face and I store that knowledge away for later. “I’ll even buy you kettle corn,” I offer.
“Fine. Deal.” She shakes her head as if she can’t quite believe her own acceptance, but she’s smiling as she does so.
I lean forward and kiss the back of her hand before I stand up. Then I strut by Quique and drop an imaginary mic. “Boom! That’s how it’s done.”
“Cheater. You had insider info about kettle corn. You know it’s her kryptonite,” he accuses, far more focused on that fact than the concept that I just asked his sister out. Of course, he doesn’t think I asked for real. Neither did she.
But now, I’ve at least set the stage. This memory will have some time to percolate before I show up with foam fingers and jerseys in hand to pick her up for the next college game—whenever it is—because a date is going to happen. Rose and I are meant to be.
