Simon: Rockstar Romance (The ProVokaTiv Series Book 3) by Cara Nelson Read Free Book Online

freaking out. Trying to cook, clean, and make sure I didn’t look like a mad hatter wasn’t all that easy. I was just so nervous.
    Why? For many reasons. If I couldn’t get a commitment from him tonight about the project I would have to bust it into high gear and create an updated plan—like yesterday! That was a harsh reality, but I was also realizing how drawn to Simon I was. It wasn’t convenient, but it was the truth. Handling that might be tough for me because my emotions were kind of like an open book.
    I heard a door close outside and I glanced down out of my apartment window and saw the top of Simon’s head. His black hair looked so shiny and soft. It wasn’t all gelled up, either, which made me want to touch it. I smiled as I thought about how he’d react to that.
    My palms started to sweat and I looked down at them, shaking my head. Relax, I thought. How embarrassing would that be to go and shake Simon’s hand if mine was all sweaty. Nasty! Then again, maybe he’d hug me or kiss my cheek. What was the protocol? I had no idea, but all I did realize was that I was driving myself bonkers with speculation. It was quite ridiculous, actually.
    I stared at the door, waiting for the knock. Simon was in the house, baby. Finally it came. A rhythmic wrapping sound, three knocks that were evenly spaced and of the same force. He was even a perfectionist in his door knocking. Who would have figured!
    Breathing in, I opened the door. “Simon, hi, come on in.”
    “How’d you know it was me?” he asked.
    I had an instant debate. Say I was watching him out the window or not. I went with not. “Well, those rhythmic knocks on the door could only mean one thing—drummer.”
    It was hard to say for certain, but I thought I saw a glimmer of coyness in his eyes. He seemed all business but after our run I knew he had a bit of a sarcastic smart ass to him that most people didn’t expect at first. Maybe once they got to know him.
    “It smells great in here,” Simon said. I watched him looking around casually. He was alert, that one, hawk-eyes.
    “Thanks, hopefully you like it. Stuffed peppers and bread, banana crème pie for desert.”
    “Impressive. You made a banana crème pie?” Simon asked me.
    “Uh, no. I did buy that one, oh, and the bread, but the stuffed peppers, they’re all me.”
    I realized that we were still standing by my door. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’m going to walk the twenty feet to my kitchen and check things out. I know you don’t drink. Did you want some water, milk, pop?”
    “Coke if you have it,” Simon said. “Otherwise, water.”
    “Coke it is.”
    “You know I don’t mind if you have alcohol. Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy something if you want it.”
    “No, water is fine with me,” I said. I wasn’t about to confess that I’d had two large glasses of white wine as I was preparing for the night. Nerve tonic—that’s what I called it. He didn’t need to know that, though. I could only imagine what he’d think.
 
    *****
 
    Twenty minutes later, I was serving dinner at the small round table in the corner of my apartment. Our conversation was lighthearted and I had to include a few jabs about the race earlier…just because. I was impressed that Simon was even a good sport about my second picture I took of us, captioned: Feeding the loser!
    “You’ve confirmed it,” Simon said.
    “What?” I asked, completely clueless.
    “Humanitarians are not all heart.”
    We laughed and I caught Simon’s gaze. He kept glancing over at the wall where I’d hung bunches of photos.  It was like he was curious, but refused to admit it. “Those are friends and family throughout the years,” I said.
    “They’re clearly very important to you,” Simon replied.
    “Aren’t they to everyone?” At least I thought everyone cared about those things quite a bit.
    “Some more than others,” he said thoughtfully.
    “How about you?” I