“What?” I ask.
“Stop with the sexy moaning,” he grumbles with a tiny smirk before he turns back to his dinner. “I think you’re trying to take advantage of me.”
Laughing, I lean over and nudge his shoulder with mine. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
Roman chuckles and then asks, “So, if you could pick any profession in the world you’d like to try, what would it be?”
I cock an eyebrow at him skeptically. “You’re seriously going from sexy moaning to talk about careers?”
“I have depth,” he says in mock indignation.
“Of course you do,” I say sarcastically, but in truth, I know he does. We’ve teased each other tonight, but he’s not made a serious move on me. Instead, he gallantly braved ice and snow and treacherous road conditions to get me home safely.
There’s no doubt that Roman wants me, just as there’s no doubt I totally want him.
We’ll get there, I’m sure, but there’s no pressure on either of as to when.
Until then, I’m completely fine eating chili, drinking beer, and getting to know him a little better.
—
“Son of a bitch,” Roman grumbles, his mouth right near my ear. His arm tightens around me and his entire body shudders.
My eyes open slowly, first luxuriating in the warmth of his chest against my back and the solidness of his embrace around my waist.
Then I notice with an entire body shudder of my own just how freaking cold it is in my apartment.
“What the hell?” I mutter as I shiver again and try to figure out what’s going on.
It’s dark in my apartment, almost pitch black, but my eyes start to adjust so I can make out the murky outline of my TV against one wall and the kitchen counter to the left of it.
“I’m going to guess your power’s out,” Roman says, his voice still rough with sleep.
Sleep.
Couch.
We fell asleep on my couch while watching a movie.
It all comes back in a rush. Our totally awesome conversation over equally awesome chili that Roman raved about and had three bowls of. We talked more about our backgrounds, with us spending more time on his growing up in Prague, as I’ve always wanted to travel to foreign countries, so I couldn’t get enough of his stories about this home city.
We had a few beers, and while I didn’t get enough of a buzz to drop my panties for him—and let’s face it, he didn’t even try—I was comfortable enough to ask him if he wanted to stay a bit and watch a movie or something.
He accepted—quite quickly—and that made me smile, because it meant he was having a good time too. I liked that because this wasn’t a conventional first date and yet it seemed like the way it was supposed to be.
So we ended up on the couch, having agreed on watching Captain America—he’d already seen it, I had not—and I didn’t even have a moment’s hesitation when he lay down on the couch, pressed his back against the cushions, and patted the area in front of his hips. With a devilish gleam in his eyes, he said, “Come on…let’s cuddle.”
Roman Sýkora, hockey bad boy, shameless flirt, total panty dropper asking me to cuddle.
Who was I to say no.
I’m not sure who fell asleep first. I clearly didn’t make it through the movie and I have no clue even what time it is. Roman shifts on the couch behind me and reaches at arm out to the coffee table to nab his phone. He flicks his thumb across the screen and it lights up, showing us it’s almost a quarter after one in the morning.
“Power’s probably been out awhile,” Roman says as he sits up behind me. With a gentle hand to my hip, he nudges me and we both stand up from the couch.
My eyes have adjusted enough that I can easily maneuver around the coffee table to the kitchen counter, rubbing my arms briskly to ward off the cold. I grab my own phone, glad I’d plugged it into the phone charger cord there and disconnect it. As I power it up to look at the news, Roman walks to the window that sits above the kitchen sink and peers outside through the slats of the blinds.
“Damn,” he says in amazement. “There’s ice all over the trees and power lines.”
I walk around the counter, come to stand beside him, and look out. The moon is high and bright, lighting up Georgia’s backyard, and it looks like a fairy-tale winter wonderland. There doesn’t appear to be any more sleet or snow falling, but every single structure and tree is glistening with ice.
Turning away from the window, I pull up the browser on my phone and go to the local news page I have bookmarked. My eyes scan a few articles and I’m warmed inside and out as Roman turns and wraps his arms and his warmth around me as I read. It’s an intimate move that speaks more to his concern for me being cold than a need just to touch me solicitously. What’s even more astounding to me is just how natural it feels, and that’s just something that will take a lot of thinking about on my part. We hardly know each other, and yet I seemingly melt into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place in the world for me to be.
“It says there’s over fifty thousand reported power outages,” I say as I read a news article, and then hit a link that takes me to a map provided by the local power company of the homes without power. It has a handy little menu with associated icons to tell you when resumption of power is expected. For my neighborhood, it says not until at least 6 P.M., which means I have about fifteen hours of freezing.
Guess I better load up on layers and pull all my blankets into my room. Looks like I’ll be doing an awful lot of napping and huddling under the blankets until then.
“Come on,” Roman says as he releases me and heads toward the couch. “We’re going to my house.”
“Why?” I ask curiously, not moving from my position.
“So we can get warm,” he says simply.
“But you don’t even know if you have power,” I point out.
I can’t see him all that well in the gloom, but I can feel his smirk.
“I’ve got a whole-house generator,” he explains. “I have heat.”
“Oh,” I say, and then decide to be a bit cautious. “You go on ahead. I’m going to be fine here. Power will be on soon.”
“Not soon enough” is all he says as he puts his shoes on. “So go pack a bag and get your shoes and coat on. I’m going to go out and start my car to warm it up.”
“Stop with the sexy moaning,” he grumbles with a tiny smirk before he turns back to his dinner. “I think you’re trying to take advantage of me.”
Laughing, I lean over and nudge his shoulder with mine. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
Roman chuckles and then asks, “So, if you could pick any profession in the world you’d like to try, what would it be?”
I cock an eyebrow at him skeptically. “You’re seriously going from sexy moaning to talk about careers?”
“I have depth,” he says in mock indignation.
“Of course you do,” I say sarcastically, but in truth, I know he does. We’ve teased each other tonight, but he’s not made a serious move on me. Instead, he gallantly braved ice and snow and treacherous road conditions to get me home safely.
There’s no doubt that Roman wants me, just as there’s no doubt I totally want him.
We’ll get there, I’m sure, but there’s no pressure on either of as to when.
Until then, I’m completely fine eating chili, drinking beer, and getting to know him a little better.
—
“Son of a bitch,” Roman grumbles, his mouth right near my ear. His arm tightens around me and his entire body shudders.
My eyes open slowly, first luxuriating in the warmth of his chest against my back and the solidness of his embrace around my waist.
Then I notice with an entire body shudder of my own just how freaking cold it is in my apartment.
“What the hell?” I mutter as I shiver again and try to figure out what’s going on.
It’s dark in my apartment, almost pitch black, but my eyes start to adjust so I can make out the murky outline of my TV against one wall and the kitchen counter to the left of it.
“I’m going to guess your power’s out,” Roman says, his voice still rough with sleep.
Sleep.
Couch.
We fell asleep on my couch while watching a movie.
It all comes back in a rush. Our totally awesome conversation over equally awesome chili that Roman raved about and had three bowls of. We talked more about our backgrounds, with us spending more time on his growing up in Prague, as I’ve always wanted to travel to foreign countries, so I couldn’t get enough of his stories about this home city.
We had a few beers, and while I didn’t get enough of a buzz to drop my panties for him—and let’s face it, he didn’t even try—I was comfortable enough to ask him if he wanted to stay a bit and watch a movie or something.
He accepted—quite quickly—and that made me smile, because it meant he was having a good time too. I liked that because this wasn’t a conventional first date and yet it seemed like the way it was supposed to be.
So we ended up on the couch, having agreed on watching Captain America—he’d already seen it, I had not—and I didn’t even have a moment’s hesitation when he lay down on the couch, pressed his back against the cushions, and patted the area in front of his hips. With a devilish gleam in his eyes, he said, “Come on…let’s cuddle.”
Roman Sýkora, hockey bad boy, shameless flirt, total panty dropper asking me to cuddle.
Who was I to say no.
I’m not sure who fell asleep first. I clearly didn’t make it through the movie and I have no clue even what time it is. Roman shifts on the couch behind me and reaches at arm out to the coffee table to nab his phone. He flicks his thumb across the screen and it lights up, showing us it’s almost a quarter after one in the morning.
“Power’s probably been out awhile,” Roman says as he sits up behind me. With a gentle hand to my hip, he nudges me and we both stand up from the couch.
My eyes have adjusted enough that I can easily maneuver around the coffee table to the kitchen counter, rubbing my arms briskly to ward off the cold. I grab my own phone, glad I’d plugged it into the phone charger cord there and disconnect it. As I power it up to look at the news, Roman walks to the window that sits above the kitchen sink and peers outside through the slats of the blinds.
“Damn,” he says in amazement. “There’s ice all over the trees and power lines.”
I walk around the counter, come to stand beside him, and look out. The moon is high and bright, lighting up Georgia’s backyard, and it looks like a fairy-tale winter wonderland. There doesn’t appear to be any more sleet or snow falling, but every single structure and tree is glistening with ice.
Turning away from the window, I pull up the browser on my phone and go to the local news page I have bookmarked. My eyes scan a few articles and I’m warmed inside and out as Roman turns and wraps his arms and his warmth around me as I read. It’s an intimate move that speaks more to his concern for me being cold than a need just to touch me solicitously. What’s even more astounding to me is just how natural it feels, and that’s just something that will take a lot of thinking about on my part. We hardly know each other, and yet I seemingly melt into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place in the world for me to be.
“It says there’s over fifty thousand reported power outages,” I say as I read a news article, and then hit a link that takes me to a map provided by the local power company of the homes without power. It has a handy little menu with associated icons to tell you when resumption of power is expected. For my neighborhood, it says not until at least 6 P.M., which means I have about fifteen hours of freezing.
Guess I better load up on layers and pull all my blankets into my room. Looks like I’ll be doing an awful lot of napping and huddling under the blankets until then.
“Come on,” Roman says as he releases me and heads toward the couch. “We’re going to my house.”
“Why?” I ask curiously, not moving from my position.
“So we can get warm,” he says simply.
“But you don’t even know if you have power,” I point out.
I can’t see him all that well in the gloom, but I can feel his smirk.
“I’ve got a whole-house generator,” he explains. “I have heat.”
“Oh,” I say, and then decide to be a bit cautious. “You go on ahead. I’m going to be fine here. Power will be on soon.”
“Not soon enough” is all he says as he puts his shoes on. “So go pack a bag and get your shoes and coat on. I’m going to go out and start my car to warm it up.”
