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He rolls his eyes. “You live next door to my brother. I’ve been there more than a few times. I notice shit like that. You can tell a lot about someone by what they drive.”
“Oh, yeah? So, what does my Outback say about me?” I ask, pulling my keys from my crossbody.
“Women who drive Subaru Outbacks are independent, adventurous, and conscientious individuals who value practicality and reliability and have a sense of adventure.”
I hit the key fob, and the hatch pops open.
“And they’re not afraid to throw a finger in an ass when needed.”
I’m about to laugh when I hear a gasp. I look around, immediately spotting the same woman from the snack food aisle.
“That’s twice you’ve scandalized her.”
He calls to her, “Ma’am, my apologies, but the finger was better than the tongue, and those are the only two options she gave me.”
What. The. Fuck?
* * *
The entire way home, I amuse myself with all that could be said about a giant-sized man who drives a massive black Cadillac Escalade that has gold-toned metal where chrome normally is.
I settle on overcompensating.
Unless, of course, he and Rome have physicality in common, as well.
His erection was genuinely intimidating. As much as my vagina enjoyed his magic finger, I should be happy that Tuesday’s hangout is off. That thing could cause bodily harm.
Pulling into my driveway, I stop beside the back porch to unload.
As I round the back of my vehicle, I see Roman walking across the yard, pushing up the sleeves on his sweatshirt, exposing black ink and muscular forearms. Just the sight of him makes my whole body hum.
“Need some help?”
“Let me guess … your mother raised a gentleman?” I ask, pulling out a huge package of paper towels.
“She did,” he answers with playful mischief playing in his seriously stunning chestnut eyes.
“I’m gonna guess your brother’s going to need more help than I will.”
He cocks his head to the side. That look is one I’ve not seen before, and it’s adorable.
“He was at Costco,” I tell him.
He reaches in to grab the other flat of paper towels.
“That one stays. Some of this is for my, um, workplace.”
“You’ll have to tell me about your, um, work on Tuesday.” He winks.
I suck a breath between my teeth. “I have to cancel.”
“Red,” he sighs as he shakes his head, hefting up the laundry soap and bleach. “No expectations, no?—”
“My sister’s flying in today—I forgot. They’ll probably be here all week, so?—”
“We’ll figure out a day that works,” he says, walking past me to the back stairs.
I grab an armful of snacks and hurry behind him. “I think it’s probably a bad idea.”
