Page 33 of Absolutely Not in Love
If anyone can kill my sexy Gracie thoughts, it’s him.
Chapter Eight
Gracie
Iamnotfreaking out over taking a shower in Felix’s perfectly perfect bathroom.
Okay, I’mtotallyfreaking out.
But this shower is next level. Gorgeous tile and sleek chrome and two separate shower heads, one that hangs directly overhead and falls like rain.
Whatever shampoo and conditioner Felix uses is clearly something high-end. The labels look like they’re in French, and the scent is subtle and manly and absolutely delicious. It’s not a wonder he has such fantastic hair.
But it’s his fancy-looking bar soap that surprises me the most. Because it doesn’t smell manly at all. It smells like orange blossoms. For some reason, the fact that a six-foot-four elite athlete uses soap that smells like citrus and flowers makes me insanely happy, and I can’t stop smiling.
Who is this man?
Also,wheredid he get these incredibly fluffy towels?
Don’t get me started on his magazine-worthy apartment. Enormous windows, custom kitchen, not to mention the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that fill the back half of Felix’s living room. There’s even a rolling ladder, which wouldn’t be necessary in a regular house because Felix is so tall, he could easily reach a regular top shelf. But these shelves arenotregular. They go halfway up to his apartment’s very tall ceilings, and there isn’t an inch of empty shelf spaceanywhere.
Because of course there isn’t.
Sonow,Felix isn’t just a man who listens to classical music and takes his mother to symphony concerts and fist bumps little kids when he’s signing their hockey posters. He also has the most beautiful home library I’ve ever seen. Have I mentioned that he looks like he was carved out of marble?
I can pretend I’m only freaking out over the fancy apartment and the fancy stuff. But that would be a lie. I’m one hundred percent freaking out abouthim.
No big deal. Nofreakingbig deal.
Wrapped in my very fluffy towel, I peek around his bathroom door to make sure his bedroom is empty. My laundry basket and a few other things are lying on the bed, and the bedroom door is closed, so I leave the bathroom and pad across the floor, the carpet soft and luxurious under my feet.
There has to besomethingabout Felix that might make him less appealing.
He trusted questionable plumbing advice? Does that count as something?
As helpful as he’s been, I can’t even fault him for that. I have no doubt that whatever it’s going to take to fix my apartment, Felix Jamison will do it.
I reach for my laundry basket first, fingers crossed that my guess was right and there really is dry underwear hidden somewhere among my hot yoga clothes. Luckily, my sports bra and underwear are right on top, and I’m happy to note they are at least a slightly-more-sexy-than-frumpy matching set.
A flush runs through me at the thought of Felix seeing them there, which is juststupid.It’s laundry. There’s nothing sexy about laundry.
I pull the bra on over my head and force myself to think about something else.Anythingelse. Like the softness of the duvet folded at the bottom of Felix’s enormous king-size bed, or the framed artwork hanging on the walls.
The room is actuallydecorated.Like, in a classy, put-together way.
My apartment is adorable and fun and a reflection of my personality, but it isn’t going to win any design awards.
This room is intentional and tasteful and calming—andgrown up.
It suddenly occurs to me what is so different about Felix.
Dating guys in their twenties can go either way. Some of them—a few of them?—have their lives figured out.
Others are still sleeping on mattresses that rest directly on the floor and sitting in bean bag chairs left over from their college days.
But with an apartment like this, Felix is firmly,solidlyin grown-up territory. He’s alsoloaded—a fact that’s still difficult for me to process.
I don’t know exactly what minor-league hockey players make, but it’s not enough to afford a place like this. He mentioned a lot of the guys have side hustles, which I believe. But my rent is not high enough to pay for this place, and I’m the only other tenant. He’s got to have another source of income. Family money, maybe?
