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He's kept me so preoccupied that I haven't really even looked at housing in Los Angeles since he's been here. I haven't spent much time there, so I don't even know what areas to look at or how safe they are. I also need to put out more feelers to other agencies and publishers in case the Triton Agency doesn't offer me the job.
There's a lot to do, and it's honestly stressing me out a little bit. But I'm not going to tell him that because I don't regret a second of the time I've spent with him instead of doing all those things. I've loved getting to be with him, getting to learn who he is behind that mask he always wore around me.
He's exactly the same he's always been, but he's different too. He's so much sweeter than I expected. He's funny, crazy intelligent, and confident. He isn't cocky or arrogant—okay, he's a little cocky and arrogant, but more than that, he's genuinely comfortable with who he is. He does things his way, and if you don't like it, too bad. I don't think he gives a shit if people like him or what they think about him. He's just Roman.
When I glance up, he's watching me again, his expression indecipherable. I'm not sure what he's thinking, but whatever is going on in his mind seems pretty intense. There's a furrow between his brow and he has his bottom lip between his teeth. He seems deep in thought, so I stand up and begin gathering our dishes.
"I'll be right back," he mutters, his chair scraping across the floor as he pushes it back.
I glance over my shoulder to see him striding from the room. And then I just stand there and watch him go because he's got a great ass and the way he walks with a little swagger to his step is hot.
When he disappears from view, I laugh to myself and start cleaning up the kitchen. I don't remember ever feeling this happy before. Even though my future is still a big question mark, I'm genuinely happy.
It feels incredible.
"I have something for you," he says a little while later, coming up behind me as I'm standing at the sink, staring out at the beach while enjoying another glass of wine. The kitchen is clean, and the dishes are in the dishwasher. He slides one hand around my stomach, pulling me back into the hard wall of his chest. His lips come to rest against the side of my throat.
"What?" I breathe as his scent envelops me. He always smells so damn good.
He kisses the side of my neck and then reaches for my wine glass. I melt into him, my eyes fluttering closed. He sets the glass on the counter and then flips my hand over, uncurling my fingers. Something hard lands against my palm.
I open my eyes and tilt my head down to see a silver key in my hand.
"It's for my place in Los Angeles," he murmurs when I turn my head to look up at him. He smiles at me, his lips tipped up. The soft, hopeful expression on his face steals my breath.
"Are–" I swallow my question. When he asked me to come to Los Angeles with him, I assumed he meant he wanted to continue our relationship instead of ending it here, but I think he's asking me to move in with him…as in live with him.
Holy shit.
He wants me to live with him?
"Yes."
I blink, my brows drawing together, which makes him laugh. His body shakes against mine.
"I didn't even finish my question," I mumble, slightly annoyed that he's laughing at me. But only slightly because the key to his house is in my hand, his arms are around me, and I'm pretty sure he's asking me to move in with him. I'm also pretty sure I'm going to say yes if that is what he's asking.
"You didn't have to," he says, turning me in his arms until I'm fully facing him. He smiles down at me and then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I can read you like a book, baby. It's those eyes of yours. They're so fucking expressive."
"So are yours," I mumble, but I'm not looking at his eyes. My gaze stays locked on his full lips. I want to kiss him. Actually, I want to kiss every inch of him.
"I don't give a fuck if it's too fast," he says, tugging me closer with one hand on my hip. "When you get to Los Angeles, I want you in my house and in my bed, just like you have been here. With everything going on, I need to know you're safe. I just need you with me. Okay?"
"Okay," I whisper.
"Will you move in with me?"
Yes!
I don't say that, though. I pretend to think about it for a minute. It is fast, but I don't care. I want to be with him, too. I don't need more time to figure out how I feel about him. I'm so fucking in love with him it's ridiculous. But I can't help but mess with him a little bit. After nearly a week of not having him inside me, I've earned the right to fuck with him.
"It depends," I say, biting my cheek to keep from smiling when his body tenses against mine.
"On what?"
"Will you stop torturing me and fuck me already if I agree?" I ask, flicking my gaze up to his and smirking.
I feel him growing hard, his erection pushing against my stomach, but when he tips my head back, his expression is so serious, it makes my heart flutter and clench.
