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THE SOUND OF US EXCERPT
Despite my best friend being a Roman Holiday aficionado, I only know three things about Roman Montgomery.
One, he has honey brown hair that’s usually gelled up in a wave.
Two, he doesn’t have any visible tattoos—although there were rumors he had a song quote below the belt.
And three, Roman Montgomery would never, ever be seen shopping at a cruddy old Stop-N-Shop in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
Apparently, I don’t know anything about Roman Montgomery after all.
The longer he holds my gaze, the more I can’t write him off as a good look-alike—it’s the angle of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the way one eyebrow is always a little higher than the other. He’s gained a little weight since his last interview with GQ, or maybe it’s more muscle, I don’t know, but it’s definitely him.
Suddenly, I jerk my eyes away from his gaze. Oh, God, I have underwear with his face on them. I am beyond mortified. The blush on my cheeks is so hot, it probably matches my hair. And he seems entertained by it.
“I should be flattered, meeting you here again,” he goes on. “Last night we got off on the wrong foot.”
I quickly turn my back to him. Last night I even touted that I hated his band. See, this is why I shouldn’t talk to strangers. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”
“Let’s try again?”
“Uh—no, no thanks.”
But apparently “no” is not in his vocabulary. He slips around in front of me so smoothly, it could be a dance move. He juts out his tattooed hand. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”Is this a joke?