“We will, I will, and there’s no stopping it,” I inform her, giving her time to brace for the freight train of bullshit that’s about to roll our way.
“No,” she replies.
“Yes,” I say.
“You should go,” is her only response.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ro. I have to ice this wound and make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” she snaps, trying to take the vegetables from my hand, but I brush her away.
“This is my job. That’s part of what life is like when you’re mine. I take care of you, and you let me without any lip.”
“Asshole,” she mumbles under her breath, and for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to see what tomorrow has to offer.
9
ROSIE
Dylan’s hand moves underneath my knee, and I brace myself, stiffening my back. “What are you doing?”
He glances up, looking at me with those hauntingly green eyes and a smile that makes my belly flutter. “Carrying you to bed.”
I yank his hand away from my leg, keeping a grip on his wrist, and gawk at him. “You’re what?”
Is he flipping crazy? He’s clearly delusional if he thinks that I’m not only his but that I need his help moving my body to the bed. A small sliver of me thinks it’s cute and romantic, but the big part of me, the independent woman in me, thinks it’s over-the-top ridiculous.
“Babe, you heard me. Not going to repeat myself.”
I blink, dumbfounded by his attitude. “I can walk, and I’m not ready to go to bed.”
“I know you can walk, and you’re ready for bed.”
I narrow my eyes, giving him my best pissed-off glare, something I’ve perfected over the last twenty-four years. “Uh. No.”
“Baby,” he whispers in a sweet and sexy voice, making parts of my body quiver when they have no right to do so. “It’s easier to ice your face when you’re flat on your back than sitting up.”
I don’t relax my face, even though he’s making complete sense. Of course it would be easier, but like with most things, I don’t like being told when I need to do something. And if we’re going to get into the meat of it, who the hell is he to tell me to do anything? “We need to talk, and I mean really talk.”
He raises an eyebrow. “About?”
“What you said before.”
He tilts his head, eyebrow still raised, and stares at me. “Which part? I said a lot of shit.”
“That ain’t no lie,” I mutter and look down when he tries to remove his wrist from my grasp, forgetting I am still holding on to him. “Sorry.” I peel away my fingers, and his hand instantly lands back on my knee. I try to ignore the warmth of his skin against mine and the fact that I like his touch. “We need to talk about everything you said.”
“Be more specific. I’m a man, babe. I don’t ponder every word I speak, trying to decipher hidden meanings. I say what I mean and mean what I say. And by the way, we could be having this conversation while you’re lying down with your face covered in a bag of—” his eyes drop to the vegetables at my side, which have already thawed and are doing very little, if anything “—peas.”
I shake my head, not wanting to get horizontal with this man in any way, shape, or form. I’m not about to give him the wrong idea, but I am about to set him on the path of what our reality is and will continue to be. “There is no us, Dylan. I don’t care what happened back there or what people are going to say. There is not and never can be an us. I appreciate you stepping in, but we don’t go beyond that.”
“We do, though. I’m here with the peas, taking care of you.” He looks so sincere when he says those words. He’s being softer and sweeter than any man besides my father has ever been to me.
“Besides the fact that we’d never work, we come from opposite everythings.”
He draws his eyebrows down, finally not giving me that cocky grin anymore. “Opposite everythings?”
“Totally different families. Different ways of life. Hell, we’re from different decades. Nothing about us says we’re a good match, even if I were looking to settle down. And I’ll be honest, I sure as fuck am not looking to even go steady.”
He leans back, a small laugh on his full lips, not hidden by the beard framing his jaw. “Go steady? Babe.” His laugh grows louder and deeper. “You did not just use those words.”
I cross my arms over my chest, growling under my breath. “I did. Shut up.” Reaching out, I smack him playfully, maybe too playfully, on the shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“You’re cute, Ro. Totally cute.”
I roll my eyes. “My lot in life is to be the cute, fluffy Gallo twin who loves to eat, hates to exercise, and is the fun-killer at every party because I’m too responsible.”
He stares at me, his laughter a little less, but his eyes sweep across my face and then down my figure. My body instantly heats, and red splotches no doubt cover my skin in places that are a dead giveaway that I’m feeling the weight of his gaze.
“Maybe you’re a little uptight and need to loosen up and learn to have fun. And what the fuck is fluffy?” he asks, his emerald eyes back on my face.
“You know.” I waggle my eyebrows, but the lines in his forehead only deepen. “Don’t make me say it,” I plead.
“I have brothers, Ro, and have spent the last seventeen years surrounded by men, not really having many thoughtful and long conversations with the opposite sex. Never, not once, has anyone used the term fluffy around me, not even when describing a bed or a dessert. If you’re saying you’re soft…a woman should be that, or at least, that’s how I like mine.”
I roll my eyes and scoff. “Not soft, dum-dum.”
“I may not be the brightest tool in the shed, babe, but you are soft,” he says while rubbing his thumb against the inside of my leg and farther away from my knee than he was before.
I shiver, unable to stop thinking about the way he’s stroking me, knowing it’s been for-freaking-ever since any man has laid a hand on me in a tender way. “Chunky, Dylan. I’m chunky. Luna’s perfect with her small waist and flat stomach, while I’m…”
I don’t get the rest of my statement out before his fingers are against my lips, stopping me. “I’m not a man who likes to be with a woman who’s like a mannequin, Ro. You’re soft where you should be, curves for miles, hips for days, and an ass that I could spend a lifetime enjoying without a second thought.”
I swallow, liking the things he’s saying, and try to keep my breathing even instead of matching the pace of my heartbeat. The man is being sweet, probably because I just got socked in the face for opening my mouth to the wrong man, a man who felt it appropriate to lay his hands on a woman.
Praise isn’t something I often get, especially when I’m with Luna. I’ve never felt resentment toward her about it though.
She’s more dedicated and loves to work out, while I’d rather curl up with a good book than sweat my ass off. We all have our limits, and excessive amounts of sweating by running on a treadmill are over the line for me.