Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(4)
Right on cue, John’s phone starts buzzing. I smile to myself as he puts on an Oscar-worthy performance. He casts his eyes down at the phone, and etches a tiny frown between his eyebrows. A funny little hmm escapes him. “I wonder why my roommate is calling me. Do you mind if I answer?”
“No, not all,” I say weakly, distracted by the sight of Will removing his skin-licking suit jacket and draping it over the back of his chair before rolling up the cuffs of his shirt. Holy Guacamole, those forearms are glorious.
John answers his phone, voice dripping in alarm as he says, “Hello?”
Immediately his face morphs into something frowny, and I replicate it because I want an Oscar too.
“Seriously? What happened?” He holds up a be-right-back finger to me and then stands up from the table, walking away to anxiously chat with his roommate or whoever is on the other end of that line.
I finally flag down the waitress who seemed intent on avoiding us all night and ask for the check as well as a giant brownie to go.
Then I busy myself with folding my napkin into a perfect little square.
“Annie?” comes a familiar male voice from above me.
My heart hiccups, and I lift my head to look right into the mystical eyes of Will Griffin. I’ve never heard him say my name before—it was magical. I didn’t even plan to say hi to him because I wasn’t sure he would remember me.
As Amelia’s bodyguard, he was every inch the focused agent. Sure, he’d smile kindly and always winked at the old ladies, making Mabel absolutely swoon; but he never really engaged in chitchat. He always hung on the outskirts in his reflective aviator sunglasses and looked ready to take a bullet for Amelia at any moment. I get chills just thinking of it.
“Will Griffin. It’s you. Hi.”
He smiles. “Annie Walker. Hi back.”
“What are you doing here?” I look around hoping to see Adele, but no. Just the gorgeous brunette he came with looking over her menu. I turn my eyes back to Will and that’s when my gaze sweeps over him. His tailored suit pants hug nicely muscled thighs, and a formfitting black button-down shirt covers his top half. It’s snug to his shoulders, unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up to his forearms. An artful sleeve of magnolia flowers and foliage wind out from under his shirt and descend to his wrist.
Holy Potato, I bet Will has all the other men in this restaurant clutching their ladies for dear life, just hoping Will doesn’t decide to run away with one of them.
“I’m on a date actually,” he says, signaling to the lovely lady at his table.
“You’re on a date thirty minutes away from Rome? Is that a coincidence?”
He grins, and two creases—not quite dimples—bracket his smile like even his body understands how outstanding a smile it is and wants to emphasize it. “Not really. Gretchen and I were both passing through this area so we met up for the night, and then I’ll be headed to Rome tomorrow. Did Amelia not tell you? I’ve been assigned to her again for a while.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.” Why didn’t she tell me? Then again, why would she tell me? No one knows I’ve had a thing for Will since I first met him.
“Her team is anticipating a rise in media around the town with the wedding approaching. They wanted me near just in case.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re coming back.” And then I realize how that sounded and add, “I mean, for Amelia’s sake.”
He grins softly and my stomach swoops.
I swallow thickly. “And nice you’ll get to be so close to your girlfriend for a while,” I say, trying to distract him from accidentally admitting I’m glad he’ll be around town again. Around me again.
He looks over his shoulder briefly and back. “Gretchen isn’t my girlfriend—just a date.”
But he said he’s staying the night with her…
Oh! Right! They’re just hooking up. Cool, cool, cool. Totally cool and normal and the thought of Will taking off all his clothes doesn’t at all make my skin burn hot and weird and tingly.
“So are you here alone?” he asks, eyes sweeping over me and then the table and empty chair.
In the next moment, John steps back to the table. Before he opens his mouth, I speak for him, “Well, I was on a date. But I think John is about to leave because he has an emergency.” I look up into John’s wide eyes. He thinks I’m a psychic now. “Is your house on fire? Grandma’s in the hospital? Or does your roommate have a flat tire?” I ask cheerfully.
He hesitates a second. “Uh—the flat tire one.”
So much for that Oscar. Under Will’s suddenly dark stare, John’s acting skills are deflating along with his courage.
“Hate when that happens,” I say kindly as the waitress brings our check and my to-go brownie. She sets it down with a double take at Will. She’s momentarily shocked by his handsomeness. Get in line, ma’am.
“Well, John, good luck helping your friend. Drive safe!” I reach into my purse for my wallet to pay for my drink and dessert before I leave—more than eager to get out of here and put this date behind me.
John shifts on his feet, and taps his keys on the side of his leg. “Yeah. Thanks for understanding.”
“No problem.” I wave him off while still digging in my purse.
I look up when I hear a throat clear and see Will’s shoulder pressing lightly against John’s chest, keeping him from walking away like he was apparently attempting. Will’s head hitches toward the table in some unspoken Man Language, and then John whips his hand into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and tosses a fifty on the table. “Uh—I’ll catch the bill since I’m the one having to bail.”