The Women Who Love Rome
A Romantic Comedy for Heathens
A Romantic Comedy for Heathens
We have all just finished brunch when I empty the remnants on my plate into the trash. I then place everyone’s dishes into the dishwasher and wipe down the table and kitchen counters.
“You guys want to come with me to Puppy Lane to look for Doggie?” India asks us.
“I would love to,” I say to her, “but I’m already late for work.”
“I’ll go with you,” Storm says.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my office reading until my eyeballs pop out,” Rome says before heading into another room.
Storm and India are on their way out when I head upstairs to dress for work. It’s already one in the afternoon, and with so much planned for me at work, my boss would rather I come in late rather than not at all.
Dressed in my navy blue leggings, flip flops and a long white shirt, I grab my clutch purse and head out. Once I reach the outside and open my car door, I stop myself. It dawns on me that with Storm and India having gone searching for Doggie, Rome is alone in the house.
I am already a million hours late for work, but I can’t help spying on Rome before I go. This is a rare moment as Storm and India are always around.
Buzzing with curiosity and anticipation, I make a U-turn back into the house. With a smile on my face, I tip toe towards his office. His office door is open and his back is to me. He faces the window, sitting in his emperor-like chair, reading.
For two minutes, I stand in the doorway, watching him with an eye of adoration. My heart swells with a nervous elation. I’m breathing him, drinking him and consuming him. My want for this man seizes every ounce of my pride, shallowing my breath. Absorbing more of him, I massage my temples and slowly move my head from left to right. I’m wasted, wasted with lust. Then, I realize something. I’m jealous. I want him to target me the same way that he focuses on the script before him, but that’s not likely to happen.
Having enjoyed the view long enough, I am about to head out to work.
“I hear you breathing back that there, Thursday,” Rome says to me.
When I hear these words come from Rome’s mouth, I gasp and almost pee in my panties.
My breathing couldn’t possibly be that loud. Or could it?
And if so, how did he know that it was me and not anyone else?
Seeing that I have been found out, I step into his office. Rome swivels his chair around towards me. “You know stalking is illegal.”
“I wasn’t stalking you,” I say, knowing full well that is exactly what I was doing.
“What’s your term for it?” he asks me.
“I was just checking you out.”
My head must be harder than a brick because even after Rome denied me sex not more than 48 hours ago, I’m seriously considering asking him again.
Am I nuts?
Can I not take a hint or what?
I hoist myself up on the edge of his desk, cross my legs and allow my flip flops to fall to the floor. “So, what are you reading?” I ask him. My voice is innocent and light.
“A story about a personal assistant who instead of going to work, decides to stalk this movie producer.”
“I was not stalking you,” I say with a chuckle, hoping he might believe me though I know that he won’t.
“You believe what you want to believe,” Rome says, “And I’ll believe what is true.”
Rome smiles at me, and I’m bombarded with so much want that I might pass out. In this unofficial drunken state, I cannot resist the urge to be rejected one more time. “You want to go upstairs?” I ask him, my eyes glancing upwards.
“Upstairs?” he questions me as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“Yeah,” I say, uncrossing my legs. “Don’t you want to take me upstairs and… put me in a coma?”
“Is that what you want?” he asks me, skeptical.
“Yeah. That’s what I want.”
At this moment, I want Rome to set his script down and escort me upstairs, but he says nothing. He strokes his chin. He is deep in thought.
“What do you think?” I ask him, hoping with everything in me that he might say yes. “Do you want to?”
“Yes, I want to,” he says easing back into this chair, “but I’m not going to.”
My mouth falls open in a frozen state.
Is he rejecting me again?
I slide off his desk, my eyes darting at him, mouth twisted. “Why do you have to be such a hard ass?” I say right before I storm out of his office.
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