Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(3)
ANNIE: I can’t do that to him after spilling a drink on him and then insinuating he has to please me in bed or he won’t make the marriage cut.
AMELIA: Oh my gosh. So much to unpack there.
ANNIE: I’ll just eat fast. Don’t start a movie without me.
AMELIA: Good luck!! Bring me home a brownie. They have the best.
* * *
—
I steel myself in the mirror, smooth back my long blonde hair (which at least looks really pretty thanks to Emily’s curling wand, which I also stole), and then step out of the bathroom.
Unfortunately, I arrive back at the table just in time to hear John finishing up a phone call that he doesn’t intend for me to hear. “Yeah, I’m telling you she’s so unbelievably boring. And just sort of awkward and weird. Like zero personality.” He listens to the person on the other end of the line. “I mean, yeah, I guess she’s prettyish, but I don’t even want to try to hook up with her tonight because she’s so dull. So just call me in five minutes with an emergency. Okay, yeah. Thanks.”
My cheeks flame. The lady at the table next to us heard the whole thing and gives me Pity Eyes. I hate Pity Eyes. I’d rather she’d laugh. I can handle laughter. My siblings are professional teasers, so I’ve been conditioned to laugh my way through life. Pity—no.
I breathe in through my nose so I don’t cry—because that would really be the icing on the cake, wouldn’t it?—and walk backward several steps. I count to five, and once I’m composed enough, I make a loud reappearance.
“I’m back!”
John shifts and adjusts his napkin, a new bright smile on his face (most likely so he can be convincingly sad he has to leave after his emergency call). “Great. Do you know what you want to order?”
“Probably just a brownie,” I say more to myself than to John before the corner of my eye catches a couple entering the restaurant. I look up and do a double take.
It’s…the pirate.
CHAPTER TWO
Annie
Or no. Not a real pirate but Will Griffin—former bodyguard of pop star Rae Rose—also known as my brother’s fiancée, Amelia. Noah and Amelia met a little over a year ago when her car broke down in his front yard. They’ve been pretty inseparable ever since. So after Amelia’s last tour, when she decided to officially move to our little town of Rome, Kentucky, to live with my brother, Will came with her for a few weeks until she settled in and the press cooled off. Without there being much of a threat to her safety, Will was transferred to provide security for another high-profile celebrity.
Before that, he was Amelia’s bodyguard for five years on and off as she needed him. During that time, he became kind of famous for being one of the hottest bodyguards in the world. And a dangerous one. If you google Hot Dangerous Bodyguard, Will’s picture is the first one that shows up, along with a slew of videos of him pinning against walls scary people attempting to get to Amelia, or showing him tackling a guy to the ground who pulled a knife when he was guarding a politician. There are lots of terrifyingly brave images and videos of him doing his job thoroughly and successfully. And then there’s the BuzzFeed article, which is my personal favorite. They devoted an entire piece to the many looks of Will Griffin. It’s basically a rotation of images and GIFs where he’s either stern or swoony. Will has perfected the balance between I-will-knock-you-flat-if-you-try-to-cross-me, but my-hands-can-be-oh-so-tender-on-your-body.
There’s also the People magazine article showing photographs of him with several different women on various dates around the world. And there are many. I don’t love that article as much.
Amelia—the one woman in the world who seems immune to his charms—claims he looks like a street fighter, but she’s wrong. Street fighters have chunks missing from their ears and chipped teeth and meaty fists. Will Griffin is…beautiful.
He has these strong inky black brows that slash over mischievous blue-gray eyes. A muscular lithe body, and a playful mouth that looks absolutely wicked when he smiles. And there’s his left arm, covered in beautiful, ornate, black-line floral tattoos that wind all the way down his toned arm to end at a butterfly spread over the top of his hand and knuckles. I don’t have to look now to confirm the butterfly is there. I studied it enough times to have memorized its shape when Will wasn’t looking at me over those weeks he was around town.
Will has the kind of face that dares you to cross him because he would adore the chase—craves the adventure of it. No, he’s not a street fighter, he’s a roguish, wild fiend. A pirate. At least, he is in my fantasies. Also, in said fantasies, he has an earring and wears tight buckskin breeches with an open-collar, white linen shirt that reveals the chest portion of his tattoos that I’m assuming exist.
Did I mention my hobby is reading historical romances? Specifically in the piratical genre.
As Will and his gorgeous date step into the restaurant, it seems like the whole place suddenly hums to life. His soft grin sends a swirl of electricity through the air. When he places his hand on his date’s lower back, I feel a phantom of that same touch against my skin. Time slows as Will and the woman glide through the restaurant to their table—so secure and confident that they seemingly don’t even notice everyone staring. Maybe he’s used to it.