Page 91 of DadBod

“And I realized that I didn’t actually say what I wanted to say.”

Oh. Goodie. He’s now going to explain why he doesn’t want to carry on with whatever we were doing. I sure hope he doesn’t mention (a) my boobs or (b) my hairy legs. If he does, I just. May. Punch him.

“Honey. Will you please look at me?”

For the love of… I roll over, and thanks to the light in the hallway, I can see him perfectly. He’s no longer in his dress clothes. He’s changed into what he wears to bed, a T-shirt and sleep pants. Why oh why does the man have to be that stupid handsome?

“Thank you.”

His hand touches my face. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Well, you did, you big jerk.

“Come ’ere.”

The sheet that was covering me is now gone, and Rome’s hands have slid beneath my shoulders. Does the man think he’s going to deadlift me from my bed?

I don’t think so.

Pushing myself up until I’m seated, I cross my arms over my chest. I’m braless after all––not that it matters. He’s seen them.

“Closer.”

“Any closer and I’ll be sitting on your lap.” That was sarcasm, in case you were curious.

“Exactly.” He pats his leg.

Ugh. “No.”

“Please?” His voice sounds almost sad.

“Fine.” Throwing the sheet completely off, I scoot off the bed from the other side and walk around until I’m standing in front of him, wearing only my tee and undies.

You see what I did there? In all the hullaballoo, I totally forgot I wasn’t wearing pants.

I guess Rome doesn’t care, because he moves and pats his legs at the same time. Turning sideways, I sit on his legs and hope to God they don’t break.

“Happy?” I snap, because I’m feeling extra annoyed right now.

“I’ll be happy when you’re not upset with me.”

Good luck with that, Mr. Rome James.

“If you’d let me start over. I didn’t think about what I was going to say. Therefore, everything I said downstairs was a bit convoluted.”

“You think?” Rome’s hand has found my leg. He’s moving his warm, calloused palm up and down the outside of my hip, and it makes me want to curl up next to him in bed and see where else his hand can go.

“Your skin is very soft.”

His face, lips, are right next to my ear. I can feel his beard against my cheek, and I don’t hate it. When his lips touch my neck, right there below my ear, I have to force myself to keep quiet.

“You smell fucking amazing.”

That’s because I took a shower after dinner to shave my legs, you know, just in case something good was going to happen. A few minutes ago, I felt like that might have been a waste of time, but right now, I’m sort of glad I did it, even though I’m still mad. At myself, mostly.

“I’ve had a thing for you for a long time, Elizabeth.”

I think I feel it. Right beneath my ass. But his statement does give me pause. “For how long?”

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