Page 55 of Sweet Addiction
“Jesus Christ, Rome. Could you possibly pick a more crowded place to have this conversation?”
“What can I say? I love a captive audience, and you’re stuck with me for a few hours. Now, how about you start with your name,” I push, knowing this is the only way I’m getting any answers from this woman who’s become a master at avoidance.
“That’s none of your business,” she bristles and fixes the linen napkin in her lap, unfolding and refolding it.
“Wrong answer. You used my name,principessa. It’s my business.”
Fire flames in her eyes, and I can’t help but lean in, desperate to hear what she’s going to say next. “What’s the difference between princess andprincipessa?”
“You first.” I slide my hand along the outside of her thigh, and she smacks it away.
“It’s a pretty name. That’s it. I liked the sound and didn’t think anyone would think twice about it.” She pushes my thigh away, but it doesn’t budge. “Pain in the ass.”
“And Theia?” I ask, refusing to give up now. “You can’t tell me you decided to take those two names after that night and that it has nothing to do with us.”
Dillan’s chin lifts, and her hair spills behind her shoulders, exposing miles of her long, delicate neck. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I call bullshit,” I grunt.
“Call it anything you want, but that’s the only answer you’re getting. Take it or leave it.”
A young waiter walks up to the table. “Would you like warm rolls?—”
“No,” we both snap in unison, and the poor guy basically runs away.
“Why hide it? I don’t get it,” I admit.
“And you’re not going to. So drop it.” Her eyes flash a bright, beautiful aquamarine, only I’m not sure if it’s heat or fear fueling that look, so I drop it.
Time to change the subject. “How bad is dinner going to be with your parents tomorrow?”
“Let’s see...” Her shoulders relax, and I drape my arm behind her again, tangling my fingers in her hair. This time she lets me. “My mom is a horrible cook, but none of us have ever told her that because we don’t want to hurt her feelings. So there’s that.”
“Is your dad going to want to kill me for living with you?” Brady Ryan was always protective of his girls, even when we were young and stupid.
“Maybe. But Mom’s a romantic, so she’ll keep him in line. She basically already told him we were screwing and to get over it.”
“Seriously?” I choke. I guess there’s a reason our moms are friends. That sounds like something my mom would do.
“Anything I need to know?” I ask.
“Why?” She folds her hands in her lap. “You want to make a good impression, psycho?”
“Maybe . . .” I admit.
“We’re not real, Rome. Don’t worry about it.”
We’re not real.
She’s not wrong.
But something about those words doesn’t sit right with me.
The entire night has been an excruciating exercise in self-control.
I guess I’d fooled myself into believing I didn’t want this woman.
That I’d gotten her out of my system years ago.
