Rosie
LOL, maybe we should go see it
If you wanted to I mean
We don’t have to though
Never mind, ignore me
Hope Eric has a good time!!
I snort. Seems like someone’s been overthinking. At least it’s not just me.
“Hey Eric,” I say as I leave the trailer, “Would it be cool if me and my girl come along tonight?”
He blinks at me. “You want my tickets?”
“No,” I scoff. “No, God, those are your tickets. I’m thinking we’ll do our own thing, but you might not want your boss showing up on date night.”
“Oh,” Eric says. “Well, yeah, that’s fine I guess.”
“Amazing.” I grin, rubbing my hands together. “Now, how do I get tickets?”
An hour later I’m knocking on Rosie’s door, dressed in dark jeans and a jacket.
She answers the door still in her work gear, her shirt baggy enough to hide the bump that she still swears is there and that I’m starting to silently agree with but would never admit to.
“Oh, hey.”
“Ready?” I ask, grinning.
Her brows scrunch behind her glasses.
“The gig. You invited me, remember?”
A blush covers her cheeks as she glances at her feet.
“I’m teasing, pretty girl,” I say, nudging her chin up with my knuckle. “I got us tickets. Well, my assistant Eric got us tickets. Come on, it starts in an hour.”
She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.
“Come on, I want to go see Thatcher. Hopefully he tells me his secrets to the American Smooth.”
“Oh my God, do not ask him that.” She turns around and heads to her bedroom. “Let me get changed.”
I could follow her into her room, wrap my arms around her, press my lips to her neck and feel her soft curves in my hands. But no, it’s just hormones.
I rub my hands across my face as I linger in the kitchen. I need to focus. I’m not here to seduce her, I’m here to be the supportive co-parent. It would be messy to get any more involved.
But as she steps into the kitchen wearing a blue dress and black knee high boots, it’s easy to forget that.
It’s not a date, I remind myself.Just hormones.
It’s just hormones, I say when she takes my hand as I help her out of the car, and she smiles up at me.
It’s just hormones, I say when I leave my hand on her leg in the cab and she crosses her legs, trapping my hand between her gorgeous thighs.
It’s just hormones, I say when she laughs at Thatcher’s joke and leans into my shoulder.
