The Road Trip Romance by S.E. Rose

Author:S.E. Rose [Rose, S.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: S.E. Rose Author

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sophia

The heat of the cocoon I’m buried in wakes me. Only, I’m not in a cocoon, well, not really. I’m encased in a Tate blanket. His front is tightly against my back. His arms are wrapped around me, and his leg is over mine. My instincts tell me to slither out of his death grip and pretend that I didn’t love being warmed by his lean muscles. Fuck. He is not even human. I can feel each ab pressed against my back. If he wakes, he could probably feel each roll around my lower abdomen. He hasn’t seen me naked, and I think that we should keep it that way.

But there’s a growing part of my mind that keeps wondering what it would be like to really kiss him. If his pretend kiss was that good, then goddamn, his real kisses must be off the hook.

I silently groan. I should just consider myself lucky that I even know what it’s like to kiss Tate Anders. I can live on that one kiss for at least a decade. Nothing could possibly ever top it.

I feel Tate’s warm breath against my head, and I relax into his firm grip, letting myself live a fantasy for another minute. What would it be like to wake up this way every morning? To have someone like Tate love me.

Lacey is an idiot. I get she doesn’t want kids and that’s cool, but it seemed like Tate always wanted them. Why would she drag their relationship on for so long?

I feel his morning wood against my ass crack and suddenly that answer seems very clear. If Tate can kiss like some sort of Greek god of kissing, then what must he be like in the sack? A fucking golden god, that’s what.

And in that moment, the realization of all realizations hits me like a ton of bricks, no, a ton of concrete blocks. Oh fuck. I’m beyond crushing hard on this man. I have developed actual feelings for him. I’m falling in love with Tate Anders.

No. No, no, no! This is bad, so bad. I can’t. Can I? Nope. No.

I can be his friend. Yes, friends. That’s all this is. I slowly pull Tate’s arm away from me, attempting to get out of his hold, but he doubles down and latches on to me like a life raft.

“Ten more minutes, M,” he says against my hair.

“You’re awake!” I yelp.

“Yes. I’m so comfortable. You’re the best pillow in the history of pillows, so stop moving,” he grumbles.

“You are like a personal sauna. What’s your resting temperature, one oh one?” I ask.

“One oh two,” he teases. His nose nuzzles my hair and I hear him breathe in deeply. “Whatever shampoo you use, never stop using it. Your hair smells like oranges and vanilla.”

“Noted,” I say with an eye roll.

“Stop rolling your eyes,” he whispers.

“I wasn’t,” I lie. His hand reaches forward, and he tickles me. “Stop!” I screech as I giggle.

“Then stop lying, M,” he says as he grips me again tightly.

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