The American Roommate Experiment (Spanish Love Deception #2)(44)

Lucas sat so still I could barely see his chest moving. I didn’t even think he’d blinked for a minute or two.

I averted my eyes, letting them rest on my toes. “I told you it was depressing stuff, Lucas.”

“This Nathan,” he said, ignoring my last comment. “How long until you left him?”

Wiggling my toes inside my socks, I made sure to keep my eyes there. “Oh. I guess I didn’t… exactly leave him?” I swallowed my embarrassment with as much dignity as I could. Because I should have, I really should have terminated that relationship on date one. “He was the one that broke things off. The reveal was his big plot twist.”

Lucas didn’t speak. Not a word. And I… God, what in the world was I doing? Why was I telling him all of this? We could be friends without me revealing stuff that didn’t exactly reflect well on me.

“And that’s enough of a rundown for today, friend.” I finally met his gaze, finding him with an expression that I decided to ignore. “That’s why I swore off men and dating apps.” That much was true. After that trail of failed pseudo-relationships, I decided to take a break from… real-life love and focus on the fictional kind. “Lina might be right, though. Maybe all I need is to go out and experiment with dating again. And by going out, I guess I mean re-downloading Tinder.”

His forehead furrowed in a strange way.

I felt the need to fill in the silence again. “It’s far from ideal but I can’t afford or think of anything else.” I started fidgeting with my fingers, so I decided to sit on them. “I could prepare a checklist with all the things I need to take home from this… research, like Lina said. An experiment. So, I’ll pick a man and go through the motions. The phases of dating. The natural arc of getting to know someone emotionally, from fun or basic things like getting flowers or experiencing the butterflies of going on a first date, to the more… advanced stuff. Like that first brush of his hand against mine. Or when he leans forward and I know he’s—” I stopped myself, noticing that I was rambling. “Anyways.”

I eyed the man in front of me again, waited until a few more seconds passed.

“Ehm…” I trailed off, wondering if I should maybe nudge him with my finger, check if he was okay. “I think we had one or five Cronuts too many. Can you feel the tips of your fingers tingling? Cold sweats? Maybe I should get you a glass of water.”

I’d shifted by about half an inch when Lucas’s hand shot in my direction. His palm fell on my knee, and I looked down just as he said, “No.”

My brows rose. “No to water?” I gawked at that warm and heavy palm as it heated the skin through my jeans, feeling the tiniest bit breathless. “Would you like a glass of milk?”

“No, Rosie,” he repeated with a determination that made me look up as his fingers squeezed my thigh softly. “I’ll do it.”

Blinking, processing, I mentally recapped, searching for whatever he could possibly be offering to do. “You’ll… get me flowers?” I asked as I felt his hand lift off my leg. I sagged back, a little relieved that now I could think more clearly. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten flowers from any man I dated, but—”

He shook his head and something that wasn’t really a laugh left him. “No, I’ll be your experiment partner.”

My breath caught in my throat. My stupid crush—the one I tried so hard to pretend wasn’t real—started banging against the bars of the cage I had shoved it in.

Silence, I commanded the loud screaming in my head. He has said we are friends. Numerous times.

I tried to summon a smile and failed. “You’ll be my experiment partner?”

He nodded, returning to his easygoing self. “It’s perfect if you think about it.” Perfect? In all honesty, I was having a hard time hearing my own thoughts through the thrumming in my temples. “You won’t have to download Tinder or whatever app those”—a tiny grimace curled his lips—“men came from.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Lucas continued, “It simplifies everything.”

The following two words left my lips in a breath. “What does?”

“Me, you, us doing this,” he answered with a confidence that had me wondering if he really was riding a sugar high. Or maybe I was. Because was Lucas Martín really suggesting we date—experimentally—in hopes I could find my writing muse? “You said you’d pick a man and go through the motions,” he pointed out. “Were you planning to tell the little guy about the experiment? The phases? The natural arc of connecting with someone?”

“You…” I swallowed. “You were listening.”

He smiled and I couldn’t miss how smug he looked in this moment. “You’re not the only one with good memory, Rosalyn Graham.” Something seemed to occur to him. “You never told me your pen name, by the way.”

“Rosalyn Sage,” I answered without thinking.

Lucas’s eyes narrowed as mine grew in size with realization. “Hold on,” he muttered.

Oh crap.

“You are the Rosalyn Sage?” His mouth formed an O, and even though it was the worst possible moment, I couldn’t help but think how much I liked his lips. They were full. Masculine. “You’re the Rosalyn Sage whose book I’ve been hearing my sister yell about nonstop for months? The book that is a permanent fixture on Charo’s coffee table? You—” He stopped himself.