Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(25)

That’s the easiest explanation, so I’ll go with it and ignore the quieter voice in my head that says I feel a connection to Will.

We pass a feminine hygiene section, and I grab a pack of overnight pads, bank-shotting them into his basket before walking the other way and trying not to laugh at the flat look on his face. With a devious smile, I round the corner, and when Will meets me halfway down the next aisle, the pads are nowhere in sight.

I face the snack section and try to decide between spicy or cheesy chips.

He stands shoulder to shoulder with me, and we look like we’re lined up for a general’s inspection. I cut my eyes to him and try not to grin when I see he’s doing the same. And then he tilts toward me. “By the way, I finished the book.”

Shock whips through me, and I drop the bag of Lay’s I was holding.

Will casually and softly sets a box of Imodium in my basket and strolls away.

Embarrassment, horror, and curiosity all war inside me. Ever since I handed the book over to him in the flower shop and watched his eyebrows shoot up at the sight of a scantily clad woman draped over a well-muscled half-naked man, I’ve been dying a slow death of dread. And now I know—Will Griffin read my steamy romance novel. Suddenly an image of Will lying shirtless in bed reading some of those incredibly sexy scenes has my skin boiling. I don’t think I want to know whether he liked it or not.

Wait, yes I do.

No, I absolutely don’t.

I catch Will on the next aisle. “What did you think of it?”

Okay, apparently I do.

My heart races as I wait to hear his answer. I try not to get my hopes up because I know that most likely he hated it. In fact, I’m prepared for ridicule and teasing for the rest of his time in Rome.

I’m not prepared for his slow melting smile. Like he’s reenacting for me the look he had on his face while he read. “Honestly, I couldn’t put it down. I stayed in all day yesterday just reading.”

I pull in a deep happy breath through my nose. I would bounce on the balls of my feet if I didn’t think it would make me look childish. “Are you serious?”

We’re not the only shoppers in here today, and a woman I’ve definitely seen before whose name I can’t remember starts down our aisle. Will steps closer to me to avoid her, and his chest presses against the side of my body. Fire sweeps me. I can barely think straight when I feel his breath against my temple. “It was sexy as hell.”

I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead on the loaves of honey wheat bread because if I look at Will right now, my skin will melt clean off my body. How dare he talk to me like that! Like…like I’ve always secretly dreamed of someone talking to me.

The woman passes and Will steps back again, taking a loaf of bread with him. “But it was also a lot of fun. There was more adventure than I expected. And there were a lot of profound moments too. Felt like free therapy.”

“Right?!” I say, turning to look at him and feeling absurdly pleased that he read the book and not only liked it but connected to it. “What was your favorite scene?” I reach into my basket and move the diarrhea medication to his instead.

“The fight sequence on the boat was pretty awesome.”

I grin and narrow my eyes. “What was your favorite scene, Will?”

He steps a little closer, a taunting look in his eyes. “The scene in the pub?”

“William,” I chide gently, knowing full well his favorite scene was the one with the ladder. I absolutely should not be trying to get him to mention it—but I can’t help it. Something about Will brings out a different side of me.

The air between us grows arms, reaching out to grab the fronts of our shirts and tug us closer until we’re so close that our baskets fit together side by side. Grocery basket Tetris. I catch a glimmer in Will’s eyes and the corner of his mouth tugs.

“You wouldn’t be trying to lure me into inappropriate conversation, would you, Angel Annie?”

In an instant, any playfulness I feel dies away with that awful nickname. It’s one thing when everyone else calls me that or taunts me with it—but from Will I can’t stand it.

“Don’t call me that, please,” I say, allowing myself a rare moment of honesty. “I don’t like it.”

I’m not looking at Will, but I can still feel his gaze. And then I can feel his fingers lightly clasp my elbow as if he were afraid I was about to drift off, and he needed to keep me there beside him. “Annie. I’m sorry.” His voice is low and genuine. “I didn’t mean it in a negative way.”

I force a smile and look up at him. “I know. No one ever does when they call me by those names. And I’ve heard them all: Saint Annie, Angel Annie, Goody-goody Annie. It’s never meant in a bad way, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a negative connotation when they say it.” I shrug slightly like it’s no big deal, even though…I guess it is kind of a big deal to me. “It feels like they’re saying I don’t have as much substance as everyone else. That because I’m sweet, I don’t have as much to offer. I constantly feel underestimated, and I’m so tired of it.”

Will’s thumb glides tenderly against my skin. His voice drops until it’s intimately quiet. “I won’t do it again.”

I breathe out. How was that so easy? I’ve always had trouble telling people the truth of what I’m feeling when I know it’s going to be uncomfortable for them to hear—so I usually just keep it bottled up. But I want Will to know what’s actually happening beneath the surface. Maybe it’s just because I know there’s no real threat to a relationship that doesn’t exist in any permanent way with him?