Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(17)
“Oh? Then how is the letter still in my hand?”
“It’s not. You dropped it a minute ago.”
I gasp and break eye contact to verify that the paper is in fact still pinched between my fingers, and when I do, Will uses my momentary disorientation to lurch forward fast as lightning and slip the paper from my grasp.
“And that’s how you lie without a tell, Annie Walker,” he says with a gleeful smile. “Now let’s see what Amelia wrote about me in here, shall we?”
He barely gets his last word out before I launch myself at him, intent on ripping that paper from his hand, and then tearing it into a million little unreadable slivers. But I forget that I’m five foot three, and he’s at least six feet or more and easily holds the letter above his head to begin reading as I jump like a child trying to pluck an apple from a tree.
He clears his throat dramatically. “Dear Annie! Remember when I said I had a solution to your dating problems?”
“Give me that letter!”
“Well, I’ve brought him right to your door. I’m convinced Will is exactly who you need too—”
“William!” I yell loudly, my own voice scraping against my nerves as I continue to hop and tug and circle him for that letter. “You can’t read this! It’s embarrassing.”
This time he lowers the letter in front of my face like bait. It dangles lightly between his finger and thumb. I purse my lips together knowing full well he’s going to pull it away the second I go for it, but I still do it anyway. And yep, he immediately yanks it to the right—out of my reach. We’re chest to chest now. My face is tilted up and his is tilted down. I could kiss him right now if I wanted to.
Where in the world did that thought come from?
“What makes you think my name is William?” he says quietly, like we’re lying together in bed rather than duking it out in a flower shop.
“Fine. Please give me the letter, Wilson,” I whisper in return.
He grins. “Definitely not after realizing I’m the solution to your dating problems. I’m so intrigued I could never give it back now.”
I growl and lunge for the paper. He rainbows it up over his head and to the other side.
“Wilbert, please give it to me right now or I’ll be forced to…say rude things to you.”
“So polite to warn me,” he says in an impressed tone of voice. Like he’s seconds away from laughing. “I think I’d like to hear the rude things.”
This time I grab his bicep and haul it down. Given that he’s twice my size and I haven’t exercised anything more than my wit in years, I know he’s letting me do it. But I use his pity to my advantage and twist his arm over my shoulder, whirling so my back is to him and I can grab the paper from his hand dangling in front of me. I experience momentary triumph where I’m sure I’m the world’s newest Strong Woman until Will wraps his other arm around me and holds me in a backward hug. His hands cover mine, so now we’re both holding the paper. I feel his breath against my ear. “What’s your rude comment, Annie?”
A shiver ripples through me. I’ve never felt so alive.
“It’s going to be awful,” I taunt—struggling to breathe normally with the feel of his strong yet gentle arms encircling me and the butterflies whirling around in my stomach. “Super mean.”
“I’m braced. Let me have it.”
I swallow and turn my chin so I’m looking at his eyes—so close I could use a ruler and measure that black rim around his blue-gray irises with precision. “You’re acting…like a…stingy…butt munch!”
He gasps. “Butt munch? You’ve cut right through my heart. I don’t even know what that is but I’m devastated.”
I’m laughing so hard now that I can barely stay upright. My knees are buckling, and Will is using his arms to hold me up as he laughs too.
“Fine,” I say stumbling out of his hold to wave him off. “I give up. You’re clearly not going away so just read it and get it over with.”
He catches his breath, watching me with only the suggestion of a grin as he unfolds the paper. “You know, I thought you were supposed to be shy.”
I shrug. “I am with most people.” But, oddly, not you, is what I leave unspoken.
Will reads the letter, and I watch him closely as his eyes scan the words. Because I read it first, I know that Amelia (a woman who has lost her marbles) suggests I ask Will to be my dating coach. She thinks we should go on practice dates, and he can help me navigate my First Date Anxiety. She helpfully points out that Will has not had any shortage of dates over the few years she’s known him, and he’s considered a pro at it. She adds that despite the tattoos and menacing persona, he’s a fantastic guy and would absolutely say yes. To this, I mentally laugh because I don’t find Will menacing at all. Enticing, yes. Would look incredible on the cover of a historical romance? Absolutely. Afraid of him? Nope. Not a bit.
Amelia ends the letter by telling me to be brave and then asks me what Audrey would do. A cheap trick, Amelia Rose.
It’s not bravery I’m lacking—the issue is the loud alarm ringing in my ear, warning me that this is a bad idea. I can’t ask Will to practice date me because, well, just look at him! I clearly have a major crush, and judging by how my body reacts when he’s around, this suggestion has disaster written all over it. I’ll get feelings all tangled up and then be confused about what my goal really is. I’m a self-aware gal, and I know my flaws. Falling quickly for hunky mysterious men who look like pirates and don’t do relationships is definitely one of them.