Page 77 of Lease to Love

“You talk too much.”

Inside, the familiar smell hit me immediately: chili, grilled onions, fried meat, coffee, something sweet and smoky. The room was warm and loud, full of conversation and clattering plates and the occasional burst of laughter from somebody at the counter.

And Roman—

Roman walked in like he belonged.

“What's up, Sterling?”

“What's good, man?”

“Roman!”

He greeted people by name, shook hands, and smiled. Not his polite business smile. His real one. The one that showed his teeth. The one that made those damn dimples appear.

I stood there watching him like he'd just grown another head.

Who the hell was this man, and what had he done with Lucifer?

We slid into a booth. The waitress approached, but she didn't hand him a menu or ask Roman what he wanted. She already knew.

I looked between them.

Roman didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did and was enjoying watching me process it.

“Lemonade,” I said.

“Mountain Dew,” Roman added.

The waitress nodded and walked away.

I stared at him for a moment, internally laughing at the absurdity of this multi-millionaire in his expensive clothes sitting in a half-smoke restaurant like he did this every day.

He took a sip of his soda when it arrived, then looked at me.

“Go ahead.”

“What?”

“You've got questions.”

“I do not.”

“You've been staring at me for three minutes.”

“I'm observing.”

“That's what people say when they're being nosy. Now ask your damn questions.”

I leaned forward, and the questions poured out of me like a waterfall.

“Why are we here? Why not some uppity spot? Do you even eat chili? Does the staff treat you like a regular because you own the building? And aren't you worried about getting chili on your clothes?”

Roman smirked and shook his head.

“I don't like the bougie spots. Not enough seasoning for the money.”

I blinked.