Page 27 of Teaching Roman

“Give me five adjectives describing him.”

“Nice.” I searched for more, glaring her down. “Dependable. Friendly. Responsible. Ambitious.”

“Congratulations! You just described the assistant manager of every retail store in America. That’s not a boyfriend. That’s a good customer service experience.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Grabbing a nearby shoe, I chucked it at her. “Survey says shut up.”

“That’s a Jimmy Choo!” She picked the heel up and cradled it like it might be injured.

“You’re hopeless.” I flopped back on her bed and stared at the ceiling fan.

A second later, she appeared over me, twisting her silky black hair into a stylish knot on the top of her head. “I’m the PR and Marketing expert, remember? All I’m saying is that I’m not fucking buying what you’re selling.”

“What would you suggest? Roman isn’t exactly on the market. We have an agreement. This can’t happen in Olympic Falls.” She might want it to be something more, but why couldn’t she see that it couldn’t be?

“I’m suggesting you have fun and let what happens happen,” she said gently. “You know my mantra: I am a badass. I deserve better. I will demand more. And honey, Roman is the definition of more. I mean, honestly, how long have you wanted to bone him?”

I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. “You did not just say bone him.”

“I’m fluent in adolescent male,” she said with a shrug. “Stop avoiding my question.”

“Since last year, I guess.” I didn’t add that now that I thought about it I could probably give her an exact number of days, minutes, and hours. Of course, judging from her triumphant smirk, I didn’t have to.

“Since you saw him, and that was before he opened his mouth and turned out to be your intellectual equal. Let’s face it, Jess, you have a sweater vest fetish. And the fact that he’s smokin’ hot—tall, dark, and handsome—and speaks Spanish doesn’t hurt.”

“I speak Spanish,” a deep, husky voice said behind us, “but you wouldn’t be talking about me, right?”

I sat up straight to find Roman hovering in the entry. He’d left his dark hair wild, and it waved carelessly behind his ears. He’d shaved though, which would have been a disappointment, except that when he smiled at me, I caught sight of a dimple. How was it possible that he could be even sexier? At least he was dressed down in a gray, fitted T-shirt and khaki shorts. Cassie might have been right about how hot he looked in his sweater vests back home. Dressed casually, he matched my own breezy, blue sundress and flip-flops. No one around here would know that we existed in two different worlds back home.

“I told you you were overdressed,” I said, turning on Cassie.

“Not for the clubs.” She continued to tug on a heel, but I grabbed her arm.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

She grinned sweetly, displaying her perfect teeth and the Disney princess smile that didn’t match up with her sailor mouth. “It’s tequila night.”

“Every night is tequila night here. This is a terrible idea,” I said. “Remember the last time you had tequila? You almost got arrested.”

“I actually don’t remember,” she said with a wink. “But I bet you two do. Isn’t that the magical night that brought you crazy kids together? If it wasn’t for me and tequila, you wouldn’t be playing pop quiz in the doorway.” Cassie sauntered out of the room, flashing a coy smirk to Roman as she passed. “I should get more credit for my matchmaking.”

“Trouble-maker,” I muttered under my breath as I followed her out.

“At least this time I’ll be around to chaperone.” Roman slung an arm over my shoulder and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “How much trouble could she get in with both of us to take care of her?”

I didn’t answer him, because I was pretty sure he didn’t actually want to know.

The tequila blazeddown my throat and I dropped the shot glass back on the bar. It landed with a plonk that reverberated through my already fuzzy brain as Cassie pushed another toward me. I held up my hand, waving off the offer. “No more.”

“C’mon,” she coaxed, handing me another lime. “One more for me, doll.”

“I think I’m dying,” I moaned. I’d lost count of the shots and the margaritas she had foisted on me. “I’m going to retract your best friend status. Just as soon as I figure out which one of you is real.”

“Maybe that’s enough,” Roman suggested lightly, but Cassie glared at him. Lesser men had withered under her gaze, but he only raised his eyebrows. He’d been a good sport so far, going along with the night of debauchery she’d inflicted on both of us. Probably since he knew, as I did, that we were doing penance for not being upfront with her about our little arrangement.

“Do you want to have a best friend tomorrow?” My words spluttered from me, and I wiped at the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to my forehead. It was too hot in here. I needed air, and I definitely need a reprieve from the tequila.

Cassie didn’t seem eager to grant me either. “One more and I’ll give you your fucking get-out-of-jail-free card.”