Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
My freaking nightmare.
“Isn’t it so cute in here?” Peyton leans over and clasps my hand with hers. “Thank you for taking me here.”
And when she bats her eyelashes like that at me, so fucking happy, I have to swallow my pride and deal with feeling like a complete dickhead in the well-known NYC restaurant, Serendipity.
Giving in to her smile, I say, “Anything for you, babe.”
She squeezes my hand and takes a sip of her water, humor in her face. When she lowers her glass, she leans forward and says, “You’re so getting laid for this tonight.”
“Oh . . . I know.” I tip my glass toward her and then take a sip of my own. “By the way, I was thinking.” I pause, feeling my nerves start to climb up my spine.
We’ve been together for two months now, we spend every night together, and once I left work today, it hit me. I had this overwhelming need to take things to the next step. On the drive here, I played the conversation over and over in my head—what I would say, how I would ask, but now I’m here in the moment, I’m freezing.
Me.
Freezing.
It’s never happened to me. I’ve been in meetings where I’ve had to introduce a new state-of-the-art product and I’ve never had an issue, but right here, right now, talking to Peyton, I choke.
“Is there an end to that sentence?” She tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Rome, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I pull on my collar, trying to get air to my burning skin.
What if she says no?
What if it’s too soon?
Is it too soon?
Christ.
The waitress puts a giant cup of frozen hot chocolate in front of us with multiple straws, the one and only thing Peyton wanted to try from here.
“Enjoy, you two,” the waitress says before taking off, neither of us paying any attention to her.
“Rome, you look pale.”
“Really?” I nervously laugh. “Huh.”
Her eyes narrow, her mind probably reeling with possibilities. She sees me retreating, and she’s not going to let it happen.
Scooting her chair to my side, she takes my hand and gently strokes her thumb over my knuckles, easing the tension in my shoulders.
“Okay, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can either tell me what you were going to say,” her voice is soft and sweet, caring, “or I can bug you all night until you tell me.”
Truth, she’s done it before.
Knowing I need to nut up, I let out a big breath and look her in her beautiful, expressive eyes. “I think we should move in together.”
Blunt, to the point, perfect.
Peyton’s expression doesn’t change. She barely blinks, and I think I shock the hell out of her until she says, “That’s how you’re going to ask me to move in? With a statement? It wasn’t even a question.”
She moves back to the side of her table and is shaking her head.
“Oh no, Rome. Not like this.” She takes a big sip of the frozen hot chocolate and then grips her head. “Ooo, ice cream headache.”
Uh . . . so, is that a no?
Eyeing her, completely confused, I ask, “Am I taking that as a no?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’ll move in with you, but not until you ask properly.”
Jesus Christ. Women.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Fine, will you move in with me?”
Eyebrow cocked, straw halfway to her mouth, she mocks me. “‘Fine, will you move in with me?’ Oh no, not going to ask with attitude. And don’t bother trying to rephrase it tonight. You’re going to have to think this over, make a grand gesture now.”
“You’re serious?”
She looks me straight in the eyes. “Dead serious.” Then she lifts a straw, plasters a smile on her face, and says, “Drink up, handsome, it’s delicious.”
What the hell just happened here?
* * *
“Grand gesture, huh?” Hunter says, patting me on the shoulder as we enter the conference room for our Tuesday morning meeting. “Good luck with that.”
“I don’t even know what it means.”
“It means you better look on Pinterest or something, get some ideas.”
I adjust the sleeves of my suit and speak quietly as we enter the room. “I’m not looking on goddamn Pinterest.”
Lauren shuts the door behind me, a knowing smirk on her face. She is the only one in the office who knows Peyton and I are dating, and only because she walked in on us making out once late at night. She forgot something at her desk, and when she saw someone in my office, believing I’d already gone, she checked to see who it was. To her shock, it was Peyton and me lip-locked with my hand halfway up her blouse.
I gave her a nice little gift card the next morning and thanked her for her discretion.
And I hate to admit it, but she’s been super helpful when it comes to sending things to Peyton during the day, especially things like lunch and . . . quiche.