Page 71 of Along Came Amor
Roman sighed. “Now what?”
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Ashton’s dark eyes went round and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Ava is your mystery mujer. La profe.”
Roman narrowed his eyes, somewhat alarmed at how easily his friend had put the pieces together. “Why do you think that?”
“Because her lipstick is gone, and when she saw you on stage, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. Also, she’s ateacher.”
It was actually a relief to have the cat out of the bag. “Yeah, it’s her.”
Ashton smacked his own forehead. “Puñeta. How the hell did you two even meet?”
“Long story. And I don’t see why this is such a big deal.” Roman hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets. His fingers tangled with Ava’s lace panties.
“How did she react?”
“To what?”
“To finding out you’re in the wedding, obviously.”
Roman glared at him. “How do you think?”
Ashton let out a laugh that could only be described as a cackle and clapped a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “Ay muchacho. You have no fucking idea what you’re in for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman grumbled.
“You’ll find out.” With a smug expression, Ashton strolled toward the dance floor.
Roman mulled over their conversation, along with what Ava had revealed. She saw their situation as temporary, and her family’s outsize reaction to her divorce made her fearful about the fallout from another possible breakup.
It was too soon to convince her he had something more permanent in mind, especially since he was just starting to figure out for himself what that might mean. If he told her now that he wanted more, she wouldn’t believe him. And worse, she’d probably think he was just trying to get in her pants again.
Being with her had brought him some clarity, and the strategic part of his brain kicked in. She’d said they couldn’t see each other anymore “like this”—as in, for sex. But they were both part of Ashton and Jasmine’s wedding for the next two months. There was plenty of time to develop and execute a plan for winning her over.
Roman slipped on his reading glasses and pulled out his phone.
It was time to make a spreadsheet.
Chapter 22
Ava survived the rest of the school year by drinking too much coffee, grading late into the night, and binge-watching Reese Witherspoon’s romantic comedy oeuvre. Her ultimate comfort movie had been ruined—she could no longer look at Mr. Darcy without thinking of Roman—and she was on the hunt for a replacement.
Michelle had suggestedMoulin Rouge, but Ava didn’t want anything that ended in tragedy. Jasmine suggestedThe Wedding Planner, but Ava had enough of wedding planning in her real life, thank you very much. Damaris was the one who brought upLegally Blonde, so Ava started there and was working her way through Reese’s other greatest hits. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough rom-coms in the world to distract Ava from thoughts of Roman.
As far as goodbye sex went, that scene in the empty office had been phenomenal. Which was entirely the problem. If it had been awful, she’d have felt much better about her decision to cut things off with him. But he’d done everything perfectly, from his devastating kisses to the way he’d dropped to his knees and licked her until she’d been ready to scream. And then hehad the nerve to follow it up with a fast, grinding fuck and a bone-melting orgasm she wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon.
Even now, as she sat across from Damaris at their favorite Bronx brunch spot, Isla Bonita Café, to celebrate the end of a grueling school year with bottomless bellinis, Ava’s body longed for his touch.
To make matters worse, she’d gotten so used to texting him, she found herself periodically reaching for her phone throughout the day, only to snatch her hand back like it was a hot stove.
Don’t you text him, she told herself.Stay strong!
Except he wasn’t texting her either. Which was good. Right? She was the one who’d ended things. And he was respecting her decision. So why was she so pissed off about it?
She excused herself to go to the restroom and left her phone at the table so she wouldn’t check it approximately 128 times while she was gone.
As she washed her hands, she studied her hollow-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror and sighed.
Fuck, she wasn’t just pissed. She wassad.
