Page 16 of Romero and Juliette

chapter

seven

Juliette

Cruz Romero, AKA Romeo, is hot as hell.

He’s got a ball cap on backwards today, his thick dark hair curls around the edges of the hat. The black whiskey t-shirt he’s wearing looks so soft, I’m dying to touch it. And it should be considered indecent the way it’s molded to Cruz’s broad, muscular torso. His worn jeans are slung low on his hips and perfectly highlight his ass.

I’ve been so wrapped up in looking at him and talking to him that I haven’t even checked on a response from Ranger. I hope he can meet tonight. I sent him a message earlier today from the back of the van before I outed myself to my unsuspecting chauffeur.

Meeting Ranger will hopefully cool my slight obsession with my travel companion.

Cruz clears his throat. “Alright, we’ve communed with the sacred armadillo. Back on the road?”

I nod. “Sounds good. We still have a couple of hours, right?”

“Yeah. If traffic cooperates,” he says.

I want to know everything about this man, but I obviously can’t ask him a million questions. Road trip games to the rescue. “New game,” I say.

“Oh no,” he groans dramatically. “Last time you said that, I ended up posing with a one-eyed armadillo.”

“This one doesn’t involve potential tetanus. Promise.”

He grins at me and I swear my heart does a double beat.

“Alright, Buttercup, what’s the game?”

“It’s simple. This or that. No explanations. Just instinct.”

He chuckles. “And if I refuse?”

I sniff. “You’ll hurt my delicate feelings.”

“Ah, emotional blackmail. Got it. Fine, hit me.”

I clap my hands, happy he’s going to indulge me. “Okay. Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

“Morning or night?”

“Night.”

“Beach or mountains?”

“Mountains. But why aren’t you answering the same questions?”

“Oh, right. Coffee, morning, and beach. Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

I snort. “Duh. I like both. No preference, just something furry in my lap, please and thank you.”

“I don’t hate cats,” he says.

“Okay, Star Wars or Star Trek?”