Page 13 of Absolutely Not in Love
The violinist I dated the longest, Anton, was an aspiring conductor who had angular cheekbones, jet-black hair, and a permanent five-o’clock shadow. He was aloof and gorgeous and mysterious—and a terrible boyfriend.
Butman,could he play the violin.
“Any new hunks in the Harvest Hollow Symphony?” Summer asks.
“Not even one. There’s a new trombonist who keeps telling everyone—loudly—how single he is, but he also keeps emptying his spit valve on people’s shoes, so he’s a definite no.”
“Sounds disgusting,” Summer says.
“Trust me. It is.”
“What about at the school?” she asks. “Any hot single teachers?”
I drain the last of my wine. “Not one. I mean, the gym teacher isn’t bad to look at. He’s asked me out a few times, but I’ve never seen him in anything but gym clothes, even when I’ve run into him when wearen’tat school.”
“Hmm. Yeah. I’d pass on that, too.”
I fidget with my napkin, wondering if I should even bring Felix up. If anything, it might keep Summer from setting me up with an online dating profile, something she will absolutely do before the weekend is over if I don’t give her a reason not to.
“I do have this neighbor,” I finally say.
Summer’s expression brightens, like a puppy that’s just been offered its favorite treat. “Yeeeessss. Do tell.”
“There’s nothingtotell,” I say. “I mean, he’s nice to look at, but he isn’t my type at all. He’s a hockey player, and you know how I feel about hockey players.”
Her eyes go wide. “Define hockey player. Like, are we talking about a weekend beer league?”
I shake my head. “He’s a pro. In the minor leagues, but yeah. Still pro. He plays for the Appies.”
“Wow. Impressive.” She grabs her phone off the table. “What’s his name?”
I hesitate, knowing exactly how Summer is going to react when she sees Felix’s picture. I probably should have considered his searchability before bringing him up.
Summer levels me with a stare. “The longer youdon’tsay his name, the more it’s going to make me think you already have a thing for him.”
I scoff. “You’re terrible.”
“Name, Gracie.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Felix Jamison.”
She types into her phone, then stares at the screen while I fidget in my seat.
“Ohh, he’s the goalie,” she says. “Tough gig.”
I was not surprised when I first discovered that Felix is the goalie. Goalies are often the quiet, more thoughtful types, at least from what I remember about Josh’s teams. And that tracks with what I’ve observed of my neighbor.
Summer scrolls for another second. “Holy hotness, Gracie.” She flips her phone around so I can see the picture she’s pulled up. It’s one of Felix crossing the parking lot outside the stadium, wearing the requisite suit the players all wear as they arrive for games. I don’t know how long it’s been a tradition, but even Josh wore a suit to games when he was playing for the youth league. In the photo, Felix is running his fingers through his long, dark hair, his expression sultry.
The suit is different from the one he was wearing tonight—it’s a lighter shade of gray—but the purple striped tie is the same. I sigh. “That’s…not a terrible picture.”
“Are you crazy?” Summer says. “The man is gorgeous. I actually think he kind ofisyour type. He’s definitely got the dark, broody thing going on. Just with a lot more muscle.”
“You should see him in person,” I say. “He’s enormous.”
“Hmmm. Sounds delicious.” She scoots her chair a little closer. “Okay. Tell me everything.”
I shrug and fold my arms across my chest. “There’s nothing to tell.”
