When in Rome (When in Rome, #1)

by Sarah Adams

My phone’s out of service, too! Would you like for me to step out so you can abduct me or would it be more fun for you to break the window yourself? Choose your own adventure!

I’m not okay. Everything is definitely not okay.

The Pillow Bandit on the run.

These days, I’m nothing but a maxed-out credit card that everyone keeps swiping.

Polite, polite, polite. At all costs, I am always faithfully polite.

My imagination has been running wild. It’s a kinky sex den. He’s a Trekkie and the room is full of Star Trek memorabilia. Oh no, maybe he’s a Beanie Baby hoarder. The horrifying options are endless, and I will never know what’s on the other side of that door

For a split second, I thought someone slipped something in her drink and I was about to flip every table in that bar until I figured out who did it.

Same

It’s not infatuation. Not even lust. It’s the worst of all the feelings…care. Care is reckless because it doesn’t come with the seat belt that selfishness offers. Care has so much to lose, and almost always ends in heartbreak.

“I still can’t believe he sat beside her bed all night and monitored her.

“Are you…crying?” “No! Absolutely not.” I sniffle. “That’s—no. I would be—it’s the flowers. I think I’m…allergic. Or maybe just the sleeping pill still making its way out of my system.” She laughs. “Mm-hmm. Sure. I think you got hit with the feelings allergy.”

“And let me ask you something? When the hell did it become such a crime to be selfish now and again?”

Sometimes a woman is just worn out and needs a break, you know?” The lines on her forehead deepen. “That doesn’t prove that you’re weak or neglectful, it proves to all the women standing by and watching you pave the road to success that it’s okay to say no. It’s okay to shut your door every now and then and put up a sign that says Busy taking care of me today. Piss off.”

“You’re so pretty,” he says, without a slur but words heavy with sleep. “And you sing like an angel, too.”

We make eye contact and he doesn’t smile at first, but the longer he looks at me, his lips start to rise in the corners like he just can’t help himself. And all at once, I think maybe my chances aren’t hopeless after all.

“Dammit,” he whispers and then looks at me one more time. “You look very pretty.” I feel a smile in my soul before it reaches my lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” “It is for me.”

missed you.” My laughter stops. My heart skips. My lips part.

But before I can respond, he adds, “But you’re still a pain in my ass.”

“I’m trying so hard to stay away,” he says in a low rasp. His eyes track over my face and now the pull between us feels crushing. Unbearable. “And I’m failing.”

“To me, you’re Amelia. Maker of shitty pancakes and a smile that rivals the sun. All I want is you.”