Page 47 of RomeAntically Challenged
“Have you had sex with her?”
“What kind of question is that?” He was aghast, as if she were the rude one.
Annie stared him down. He smiled—one of the most arrogant smiles in the history of mankind.
“Then not close enough.” She flung the card in his face. “Give Lana a call. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to house you. If you need a reference, have her call me.”
“No can do. Sets a bad precedent. If I sleep there, then she’d expect to sleep at my place. See the problem?”
He added a gallon of milk next to her almond milk, then gave a mischievous wink and added in a can of whipped cream.
This “peaceful” trip to the market had already blown past anything remotely relaxing. But, Annie had to admit, she was having fun. Her cheeks were sore from trying not to smile, her step lighter than it had been since Clark-2K struck. She imagined Emmitt could make going to the dentist fun.
“When diagnosing a problem, we look for contributing factors, things all the situations have in common. You’re the only constant.” She leaned in and whispered, “I’m afraid, Mr. Bradley,youmight be the problem.”
A flash of something almost human flickered before it was gone. Or maybe it was hiding behind the arrogant swagger he adopted as he leaned in to match her stance.
“I think your prognosis is wrong, Nurse Annie,” he whispered, his lips so close to contact, she could taste the mint on his breath.Knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he, Rome’s Resident Sex Bandit, was going to kiss her, the Husband Whisperer.
And right there, clutching an ear of corn next to the peach and cantaloupe display, which read JUICY AND RIPE FOR THE PICKING,Annie decided she just might let him. All he’d have to do was move a little closer and she’d know if his kiss lived up to the hype—it would be a first in Annie’s world.
“I bet if we polled other women who have been inanykind of situation, position, or scenario with me, nine out of ten would say I’m not the problem. I’m the cure.”
The way he said it, all smooth and full of innuendo, had her stomach fluttering—and her warning bells blaring.
“Well,” she said on a breathy sigh, dropping the corn back in the barrel and smiling, “I guess we’ll never know who’s right, since you left your sticky notes at home on the fridge.”
With a carefree shrug, Annie grabbed some salad fixings, mushrooms, and a couple of pears, leaving Emmitt behind her—laughing.
“You know what the tenth would say?” And there he was again, right behind her, with an armload of ingredients that would never aspire to be anything more than game-day food.
“Don’t care.”
“She’d say it was a religious experience.”
“Doesn’t matter because, one, you’re moving out soon.” She ticked off a finger. Then another. “Two, we are just roommates and roommates don’t care about each other’s sexual score card. Nor do they point out that eighty percent of women fake ‘Paying Witness’ in order for the sermon to just be done. Three, until you move out,no oneis to bring ‘bed buddies’ into the house.”
“My house.” He lowered one of her fingers. Then another. “If you want to keep it monogamous, that’d be new for me but I’m willing to give it a go.” He left her with her extra special finger up. “And in seven days, depending on how this monogamy thing goes, I can invite over whoever I want.”
With a kiss to her middle finger, he grabbed the cart and pushed it toward the butcher stand. “So what’s for dinner?” He picked up a couple of T-bones and tossed them in. “I’m not all that picky. In fact I love just about everything except salmon, olives... oh, and I can’t stand kale.”
“Bummer, I was making a kale salad with broiled salmon and an olive tapenade.”
“Huh. Did you know kale is food for people who don’t know how to smile? It’s scientifically proven.”
“Liar.” She was ordering that T-shirt for Clark. She’d send it anonymously in a box wired with a glitter bomb. Colors to coordinate with the wedding theme, of course.
“How about we go back to the steak idea? Two great big steaks with baked potatoes. We can grill them out back while drinking beer. What kind do you prefer? And don’t tell me we’re getting some passionfruit-flavored craft beer.” He reached into the chilled section and selected a six-pack from the back of the bottom shelf, making his rear look all kinds of amazing.
He set it in the cart.
Giving up, she moved it to the back of the cart, using a loaf of French bread to act as the wall of Jericho between their foods. “Wewon’t be drinking beer.”
“Ah, you’re a wine lady.” He looked her up and down, and Annie squirmed as she felt her face heat. She was tired, sore, and a mess. “I bet you drink one of those boring fruity, neutral white wines that are in the cabinet at home.”
Hands on hips, she said, “Why? Because I’m boring?” Boring was synonymous with dull. And while most of the time she didn’t mind being like her dad, today the word stung.
“My guess? Those bottles were gifts from someone who doesn’t know a thing about you. And you’re too nice to tell them, and too practical to buy a new bottle before you’ve finished those. And Anh”—his tone made her gooey inside—“I’d say you’re the most interesting woman I’ve met in a long while.”
