Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
But the job wasn’t the only problem. It highlighted a potential problem I hadn’t even considered with Rome.
Did dating a billionaire like him mean I would have to spend my life fending off people who wanted his money? How did he even deal with that? How did he know who wanted him for his money and who actually cared about him as a person?
How the fuck wasn’t he jaded and bitter?
Just thinking about it all made me angry on his behalf.
Scam artists filled the world. I had to search no further than my email and social media to see hundreds of cons and scams. Did anyone know how to tell the truth anymore?
This from a man who’d lied to himself about being straight his entire life.
I was in a pretty grumpy mood when I showed up on Rome’s doorstep. Naturally, the man took one look at me and knew something was wrong.
“It’s fine. Everything is fine,” I countered, stripping off my coat.
Rome took it and stole a kiss, instantly warming my cold lips. Some of the angry tension eased from my shoulder, and I leaned into him. Right. Being here, kissing him. It all felt right. The only thing that was wrong was how fucking long it had taken me to get to this point.
A giggle rose from Rome. “Here. Let me hang up your coat, and then I can give you restorative cuddles.”
I released him and stepped back. “Restorative cuddles? I thought you’d offer whiskey.”
Rome shrugged as he placed the coat on a hanger and hung it in the closet off the foyer. “I mean, I can if that’s what you want, but I thought I’d at least try cuddles first.”
“Nah. Let’s try cuddles first. We might have to try the whiskey later.”
With a smirk, Rome caught my hand and pulled me into the living room, where he pulled me down with him onto this enormous, soft, cushioned chair. It easily fit two people, especially with Rome pulling me over so that I was half lying on him.
I kicked off my sneakers and propped my socked feet up on the matching gigantic footrest. With my head on his shoulder and my arm across his waist, the world felt easier to deal with.
“You wanna talk about it?” Rome murmured into my hair.
“Do you mind if we don’t? At least, not yet. I want to stew on it a little more.”
Rome was silent, but I could feel a new tightness in my arms. He wasn’t happy with that answer.
“Would it help if what’s on my mind has nothing to do with being gay or bisexual or being with you or sex or anything of the hundred different things you’d expect me to be worrying about right now?”
“Seriously?” Rome jerked to the side so he could more clearly see my face. Open shock was scrawled across his face, and it made me want to kiss him.
“Yes, seriously. It’s a work thing.”
Rome released an enormous sigh of relief, making me cackle. “Oh my God, that’s so good to hear. Well, not really. I don’t want you stressed about work, but I’m glad you’re not stressing about us and your sexual orientation.” He settled back in the chair, and I returned my head to his shoulder.
“I probably should stress about that, and I do some, but honestly? Fuck it. I’m thirty-three. Been married and divorced. Moved to a new city. Lost my best friend. Found him again. Let him suck my dick and discovered that I liked it.” Rome laughed like a lunatic, and I smiled at his wicked joy. “The point is that I’m too tired to fucking care anymore. Maybe if my family was here to shout about how I was going to hell, I’d care more, but I’m happy right now, and I’m fine with staying in my bubble of happiness for as long as I can.”
“I promise to protect your bubble for as long as I can.”
That was sweet. We knew bubbles didn’t last. Eventually, this one would burst, and I’d have to deal with shit, but preferably not before I had a handle on my identity. And maybe after I’d found the right words to tell my homophobic family to fuck off.
“Is there anything I can do to help with the work stress?”
Rome’s question was so damn innocent, but I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from blurting out that he needed to make a donation. Yes, it would make things easier, and yes, we’d agreed upon that a long time ago, but it wouldn’t fix anything long term. It might make things worse. If my boss—no, my former boss—thought she could snap her fingers and get money out of Rome through me, my hell would just be starting.
“Kiss me,” I murmured, even as I captured his lips in a slow, deep kiss that curled my toes.