Rome (Marked Men #3)(29)
Author: Jay Crownover

“He’s not here.”

I pulled up a step and looked back at Nash over my shoulder. Unbidden visions of Catwoman and her hands in Rome’s pants flew through my head. I didn’t like the way that they made my stomach drop at all.

“He didn’t come home last night?” I could hear the dissatisfaction in my tone and clearly it wasn’t lost on Nash because he scowled at me.

“No, he was here when I got home. Alone. He just doesn’t sleep so great, ya know? He was up really, really early. I think he went running or something. You want me to let you inside so you can wait for him?”

I nodded. I needed a cup of coffee and a second to formulate what I wanted to say to Rome.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Cora. Rome isn’t the kind of guy you can just manipulate and twist around your cute little finger. What happened to holding out for Mr. Perfect?”

I made myself at home in the small kitchen and pulled my sunglasses off to set them on the breakfast bar that separated the very masculine living room from the even more manly kitchen.

“Stop being such a worrywart, I just want to talk to the guy.”

He headed back toward the front door but his words stayed with me after he shut it behind him.

“Talking with you is what normally gets people into the most trouble.”

I appreciated that the guys were worried about me. I didn’t have the best track record with disappointment and boys, and I had been going on for a long time about my perfect man. They all knew I was after a guy that seemed rock solid, that wasn’t carrying around a truckload of emotional baggage, that came across happy and set with his lot in life. They knew I was ready for a guy who wanted to promise me forever and a future that was as bright and shiny as I tended to be. I wanted the happy-ever-after that Rule had given Shaw and the peace of mind that Jet had given Ayden. I wanted a partner and someone who was ready to travel the long, twisting road of commitment with me.

It made sense that they could all see that Rome was almost the exact opposite of what I had been describing, so they were just trying to save me from more unnecessary heartache because by now it was obvious he was getting to me. I just didn’t know if my idea of what I was holding out for was a viable option anymore. There was something happening between us—more than chemistry, more than wistful longing, and more than a little crush. I knew when a plan was falling apart. I had seen my first plan of a life with Jimmy go up in smoke and now I could see the idea of Mr. Perfect, this fictional ideal I had built up in my head, start to tatter under the force of everything that was Rome Archer. It didn’t matter that he seemed to be as lost as a child in the dark, that his baggage was heavier and harder to handle than most, or that he couldn’t even see his tomorrow, let alone a future with someone else. I wasn’t sure I was ready to fully let go of the dream just yet; only Rome was standing in the way of me getting my hands on it anymore. I couldn’t ignore that something was happening between us and it was time to stop being scared and find the answers to exactly what that something was.

I heard the front door open and heavy footsteps make their way toward where I was in the kitchen. I was rinsing off the dishes in the sink, mostly because I needed something to do with my hands, but also because they looked like they had been there for a while. Gross.

“What are you doing here?”

The tone was not nice. There was no welcome, none of the flirty and teasing he normally tossed at me. It sounded like each word was having to fight its way out of somewhere deep in his chest and that they tasted bitter and sharp on his tongue. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and turned around to face him.

Holy hell. How was I supposed to have a coherent, grown-up conversation with the man when he was wearing only a pair of black track pants and an iPod holder wrapped around one bicep? His dark hair was even darker with sweat and all those muscles and planes that made up his amazing physique were standing out in stark relief since he wasn’t wearing a shirt and had clearly just put himself through some serious paces. That just wasn’t fair.

“The dishes. You’re welcome.”

He grunted and pulled the iPod off. He stepped past me to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. I tried not to drool in an obvious way when some of it missed his mouth and ended up running a damp trail over his chest. He just watched me with almost zero expression on his handsome, but obviously exhausted face.

“I was going to do them later this afternoon. I need to take a shower. I stink.”

I cleared my throat and leaned back against the sink. “I was hoping we could talk real quick.” And maybe he would go put a shirt on so I could form words and not sound like a moron.

He rubbed both his hands, hard, over his face and head and I noticed how really worn he actually looked. Those blue eyes were sort of faded and he had dark shadows resting underneath.

“Listen, Cora, I understand. I’m jacked up, you aren’t into it, whatever. It just messes with my already overworked mind when you tell me one thing and then look at me like you want to lick me all over like an ice cream cone in the same breath. I’m trying to figure my own shit out. I don’t have the mental fortitude or the patience to try and figure yours out as well. I just ran six miles on less than two hours of sleep. I need a shower and maybe if I’m lucky, a nap.”

He didn’t give me a chance to respond. He just turned on his sneaker and left me standing there gaping at him. For the second time in as many days, I was not only speechless but also left without being able to get a final word in. I hated it. The butt-head didn’t even give me the opportunity to apologize for being needlessly bitchy last night. I shoved off the counter and went down the hallway to the room at the back of the apartment. It was Rule’s old room when he had lived with Nash, so I knew that there was a bathroom attached.

I could hear the water running and he had the radio on somewhere in the room and it was playing Tom Petty. Oddly fitting, Rome totally struck me as a classic-rock kind of guy. His room was also neat as a pin. All those years in the military had obviously bred good habits into him. The big king-sized bed was even all made up. There wasn’t so much as a stray sock on the floor, but there also wasn’t much to define the space as his. The only personal effect that was visible was a black-and-white photo of a much younger Rome and the twins.

Rule looked like Rule, only without as much ink, and he was smiling, something he didn’t do much of until he and Shaw had figured their situation out. Rome looked tall and proud, every bit the protective older brother. And the other twin, Remy—it was crazy to see an exact replica of what Rule would look like as a typical guy—still beautiful, but so boring, so common.