My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(30)

“It is.” Her brow knits. She’s deep in thought for a few seconds. “You know, this is going to sound weird. I kind of can’t believe I’m about to say this,” she says, then takes a beat, gearing up, “But I had a good time today.”

I could do something with the compliment, return it with a legitimate one of my own like I did too. Instead, I say, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul you had fun with me.”

I’m home safe like this. Just a few feet to my room and I can shut the door and escape from her for the night.

I turn to go, but she blindsides me.

Her arms are holy-fuck fast. They wrap around me. I tense. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what to do with her.

“Thanks again. But you still owe me double lunch,” she says into my shoulder, her hair brushing against my neck, her breasts against my chest.

It’s like a dream.

And just like that, I know what to do with my hands. I wrap my arms around her waist, taking what I can get, even though it’s risky.

Even though it probably makes me a mark.

I close my eyes. Breathe her in. Imagine.

Picturing the rest of the night in her room.

Then I break the embrace, almost jumping away from her. “Night,” I say quickly. Then I wheel around, head down the hall, and unlock my room in record time so I don’t do something stupid, like tell her what I wished for—that she’d never know why I walked away from our partnership.

That I left because spending every day with the object of your unrequited love hurts like hell.





14





SYMPTOMS OF A ROMANCE HEROINE


Hazel

He was right.

I wake up ridiculously refreshed as the sun streaks through the window, luring me out of the king-size bed that I was betrothed to for twelve wonderful hours overnight.

It was a quickie marriage between the mattress and me, but oh so good.

After a shower, a fruit-laden breakfast from a nearby outdoor market, and a cup of coffee from an espresso stand, I’m ready for the book tour to begin this afternoon.

I head toward the Spanish Steps, mentally reviewing the day ahead.

First, we have a signing at a popular bookstore in the city that carries lots of English language titles, but also ones translated into Italian—like mine and Axel’s.

In the afternoon, we’ll meet up with the VIP group that we’ll be riding the rails with. Before we go all aboard with them in the evening, Axel will take the lead and show the group around the city, visiting some of the locations in Rome from his books. I’ll play sidekick as he goes. I’m kind of looking forward to my second fiddle role today. As much as it’s fun to be on every now and then, it’s also nice to lurk in the background.

To observe.

And to take notes on everything and everyone around me. Maybe I’ll find unexpected inspiration for another romance. I’ve yet to write a romance that contains even a single scene in Italy. As I wander up the one hundred thirty-five steps, soaking in the Roman vibe, I decide that just might need to change.

This city feels…romantic.

At the top of the steps I turn around, indulging in the view of the tourist mecca. Then I savor the memories of my day yesterday. I can’t see it from here, but I can perfectly picture the nearby piazza where Axel and I ate lunch. I can see in my mind the fountain of books, and I can recall our conversation about wishes and cons.

My chest feels warm, sort of glowy.

Hmm.

That must just be from the weather. I crane my neck heavenward, enjoying the rays from the summer Italian sun.

Yup. This is a sun glow, clearly.

Since it’s time for me to get ready, I lower my gaze and head down the steps. I walk across the square then into the hotel so I can freshen up before the signing. When I push open the door, my pulse sprints as Axel steps out of the elevator several feet away.

He hasn’t noticed me yet.

But I definitely notice him.

He’s wearing those black glasses, of course. But today they somehow make him look not only sexy smart, but sexy smarter.

Then, I check out his clothes—the trim jeans that hug his legs, the black button-down that’s nice and tight in the arms.

Huh.

Does Axel have strong biceps I never noticed before? How is it possible I’ve never noticed them? I’m an arms woman. Surely, I’d have checked out the guns before. I’m checking them out now for longer than I probably should. When I realize I’ve been staring—okay, gawking—my gaze snaps to his face.

I try to rearrange my expression to I was not staring at you while I do just that, taking in that just-the-right-amount of stubble, the soul-deep blue eyes, the full lips.

That warm, hazy feeling in my chest kicks up a few notches.

Turns into something hotter.

When he spots me looking at him, he flashes me a crooked and cocky grin as he stops in front of me. “Sleep well, Valentine?”

“The best,” I say, trying to school my voice so I don’t sound like I was just purring over his trim, toned physique.

“Told you so,” he says, a little pointed. Like he has to land a dig.

But I don’t dig back. “Yeah, you did,” I say simply. I’m too busy trying to figure out what to do with Axel being ultra-sexy today.