“So bad,” I say with a grin, then blow on my chili.
“Yup.” He goes ahead and takes a taste. I know he thinks it’s good by his groan of approval, and I’m not going to lie: that groan was kind of sexy. I totally don’t think I’m going to sleep with him tonight, because honestly, I really don’t do that. I did once, when I was drunk, and it was a lesson learned in harsh daylight when the beer goggles wore off the next morning.
But what if we do make out and he groans like that?
My panties might just incinerate.
I snicker to myself over my thoughts and finally risk a taste of the hot chili.
“Mmmmm,” I say in pleasure as I chew the spicy blend of beef and beans and spices galore.
As I take another spoonful, I glance at Roman to my right. His eyes are narrowed on me, his own spoon held loosely in his hand.
“What?” I ask.
“Stop with the sexy moaning,” he grumbles with a tiny smirk before he turns back to his dinner. “I think you’re trying to take advantage of me.”
Laughing, I lean over and nudge his shoulder with mine. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
Roman chuckles and then asks, “So, if you could pick any profession in the world you’d like to try, what would it be?”
I cock an eyebrow at him skeptically. “You’re seriously going from sexy moaning to talk about careers?”
“I have depth,” he says in mock indignation.
“Of course you do,” I say sarcastically, but in truth, I know he does. We’ve teased each other tonight, but he’s not made a serious move on me. Instead, he gallantly braved ice and snow and treacherous road conditions to get me home safely.
There’s no doubt that Roman wants me, just as there’s no doubt I totally want him.
We’ll get there, I’m sure, but there’s no pressure on either of as to when.
Until then, I’m completely fine eating chili, drinking beer, and getting to know him a little better.
—
“Son of a bitch,” Roman grumbles, his mouth right near my ear. His arm tightens around me and his entire body shudders.
My eyes open slowly, first luxuriating in the warmth of his chest against my back and the solidness of his embrace around my waist.
Then I notice with an entire body shudder of my own just how freaking cold it is in my apartment.
“What the hell?” I mutter as I shiver again and try to figure out what’s going on.
It’s dark in my apartment, almost pitch black, but my eyes start to adjust so I can make out the murky outline of my TV against one wall and the kitchen counter to the left of it.
“I’m going to guess your power’s out,” Roman says, his voice still rough with sleep.
Sleep.
Couch.
We fell asleep on my couch while watching a movie.
It all comes back in a rush. Our totally awesome conversation over equally awesome chili that Roman raved about and had three bowls of. We talked more about our backgrounds, with us spending more time on his growing up in Prague, as I’ve always wanted to travel to foreign countries, so I couldn’t get enough of his stories about this home city.
We had a few beers, and while I didn’t get enough of a buzz to drop my panties for him—and let’s face it, he didn’t even try—I was comfortable enough to ask him if he wanted to stay a bit and watch a movie or something.
He accepted—quite quickly—and that made me smile, because it meant he was having a good time too. I liked that because this wasn’t a conventional first date and yet it seemed like the way it was supposed to be.
So we ended up on the couch, having agreed on watching Captain America—he’d already seen it, I had not—and I didn’t even have a moment’s hesitation when he lay down on the couch, pressed his back against the cushions, and patted the area in front of his hips. With a devilish gleam in his eyes, he said, “Come on…let’s cuddle.”
Roman Sykora, hockey bad boy, shameless flirt, total panty dropper asking me to cuddle.
Who was I to say no.
I’m not sure who fell asleep first. I clearly didn’t make it through the movie and I have no clue even what time it is. Roman shifts on the couch behind me and reaches at arm out to the coffee table to nab his phone. He flicks his thumb across the screen and it lights up, showing us it’s almost a quarter after one in the morning.
“Power’s probably been out awhile,” Roman says as he sits up behind me. With a gentle hand to my hip, he nudges me and we both stand up from the couch.
My eyes have adjusted enough that I can easily maneuver around the coffee table to the kitchen counter, rubbing my arms briskly to ward off the cold. I grab my own phone, glad I’d plugged it into the phone charger cord there and disconnect it. As I power it up to look at the news, Roman walks to the window that sits above the kitchen sink and peers outside through the slats of the blinds.