When in Rome(62)

Chapter 25


    Noah


“You slept here?” asks James—his head leaning over the back of the couch to stare at me accusingly.

I grunt and throw my legs over the front of the couch, sitting up. Everything on me hurts as I press the heels of my hands into my eyes wishing I had gotten about seven more hours of sleep. Turns out sleeping on a couch in my thirties is not as easy as it was in my twenties. “Yeah. You need a new couch.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say about it?” James laughs, coming around to settle into an armchair, steaming cup of coffee in hand.

I shrug. It’s too early for conversation. Not too early for James, though. He starts his day on the farm around five a.m. I bet that’s his second cup of coffee. Maybe even third.

“I left you in here with the TV on at nine o’clock assuming you’d go home when the girls left your house. And then I come out here to find you hiding on my couch, snoring away.”

“I don’t snore.” I pick up my shirt from the floor and tug it down over my head. “And I’m not hiding.”

James is smirking. “Oh yeah? What do you wanna call it then?”

I press my tongue into my cheek. “Avoidance.”

He chuckles lightly. “Well, at least you’ll own up to that much.”

It’s time for coffee. It’s always time for coffee, actually. Standing up, I go into James’s kitchen and find a full pot and a mug. James makes his coffee like a damn cowboy. I could throw a horseshoe in it and it would disintegrate. I take a sip and grimace. “How do you drink it like this?”

“Started when I was a kid. I think I burned up all my insides at an early age so I don’t even notice anymore.”

“Does Tommy drink it like this, too?” Tommy is James’s younger brother. James inherited the farm when his mom and dad got older and didn’t want to run it anymore, but Tommy has never been interested in being a farmer. He’s a successful entrepreneur, always traveling and starting up new companies, restaurants, and hotels all around the world. He’s good at it. But he’s also a douchebag. Can’t stand him if I’m being honest.

James laughs. “Hell no. Tommy won’t touch coffee if it’s not in some sort of latte form with a nasty syrup in it.”

“Sounds about right.” I take another drink, thankful that James seems to be distracted from any conversations of Amelia. I just need a few more milligrams of caffeine in me before I’m ready to discuss or even think about that woman. “Where is he now?”

“New York, I think. Working on a new gourmet noodle restaurant and sleeping with supermodels.”

“What a life.”

He groans. “Whatever. You know you’d choose this life over that one any day. In fact, you did.”

“To be fair, though, supermodels weren’t in the mix. Might have been different if that option had been available.”

James shakes his head with a smile. “Bullshit. You’re not into supermodels.” His smile turns searching. “You’re into dark-haired singers with a sweet smile and curves for days.”

“Easy,” I say, before I even realize that I’m getting territorial about the thought of James admiring Amelia’s curves. What the hell is wrong with me? She’s not mine to get territorial over. If James wanted to go for Amelia, that would be completely…unacceptable. Who am I kidding? I’d kill him. Limb by limb, I’d make it as painful as possible.

James’s eyebrows go up. He’s pleased to have successfully hit a nerve. “Knew it. Dammit, you’re falling headfirst for that woman.” He shakes his head. “You’re in trouble.”

I set down my mug of gasoline that James likes to think is coffee and raid his pantry. “You’re so dramatic. I’m not falling for her. I’m attracted to her. There’s a difference.” I pull out a loaf of homemade bread that I know is from Jenna’s Bread Basket and pop a slice into the toaster. Actually, I throw in two. “And that, if you must know, is why I spent the night here. Because I have enough sense to stay away from the woman I’m attracted to after the sun goes down.”

He pulls a face. “Does that mean I’m always going to wake up to you on my couch?”

“Hell no. I think I strained my neck sleeping there.” I rub the spot that feels like someone stuck a corkscrew in my neck and twisted. “I just needed a night away to get my head on straight again. I’m good now.”

“Sure. Yeah.” James gives a mocking nod. “A night away cured you.”

The toast pops up and that’s my cue to leave. I slap some butter on the slices of golden brown toast and then rip off two paper towels. One for each piece of toast. James notices because he’s way too invested in my life at the moment. “Why do you have two paper towels?”

“Why does it matter? You the paper towel sheriff?”

“Just want to know why you’re wasting all my good paper when you could just put your two slices of toast in one paper towel.” His voice is thick with amusement. He doesn’t care about his good paper. He cares about annoying me.

We’re interrupted by a light knock on the door. James and I both frown before he goes to open it because no one in this town makes house calls this early. He opens the door and there stands the woman I’m avoiding. Her new bangs are framing her pretty face and the rest of her hair is tied up in a messy bun on her head…and she’s wearing my sweatshirt. Does she ever wear her own clothes?