Page 41 of Absolutely Not in Love
Things were going so well. Why did I have to go and mention hockey? She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, and neither do I. I don’t like thinking about the fact that my job—something I love—makes her so unhappy.
Gracie licks her lips, her eyes darting around the apartment before they finally settle back on me, though she still hasn’t met my eye. She’s more staring at my chin.
“Correct,” she finally says, but there’s a flicker of doubt in her tone that keeps the spark of hope in my chest alive. I pull my arms down and prop myself up on my elbow, mirroring her pose.
Slowly, she lifts her gaze to mine. A thousand emotions are playing across her face—lingering traces of pain and sadness, confusion, doubt. But there’s something else there, too. Something that looks more like possibility, like an echo of the hope flickering inside me.
“Still haven’t changed your mind, huh?” I say, my pulse suddenly pounding.
She lets out a little chuckle. “The amazing vinyl collection has me annoyingly close.” Without breaking our gaze, she lifts her hand to my arm, sliding her fingers just under the hem of my T-shirt. “You have a tattoo,” she says, sliding the fabric up an inch or so.
My breath catches in my throat, goosebumps skittering across my skin at her touch. She has to notice, but there’s no way I’m stopping her exploration. She can touch me anywhere she wants.
I lift my arm, shifting it outward so she can see the tattoo that crosses the inside of my left bicep.
When the entire thing is exposed, Gracie lets out a little gasp. “Is this music?” She shifts onto her knees, taking my arm in both hands to study the section of musical score that’s inked on my skin.
“It’s the first five measures of—”
“Wait, wait, don’t tell me,” she says. She studies the notes, humming softly to herself. She’s a professional musician. I know it shouldn’t surprise me that she’s probably going to figure out the piece just by looking at it. Butdamnif it’s not sexy to think about her doing just that.
“It’s Bach,” she says, finally lifting her eyes to mine. She’s cradling my bicep, which is perfectly fine with me. “A violin sonata. The first one, I think?” She looks back at the music, then nods. “Itisthe first one.”
I nod. Itissexy. So incredibly sexy. “It was my grandmother’s favorite piece of music,” I say.
Her expression softens for the briefest second, but then she’s rolling her eyes and falling back on her heels, her hands falling away from my arm. “Seriously, are you even for real?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re both a ridiculously hot hockey studanda music nerd. How is that even possible?”
I sit up, maneuvering my long limbs as best I can until I’m sitting across from her, my legs extended out to the side. “Did you just call me astud?” I ask, my tone teasing. “Is that a word people still even use?”
“I also called you a musicnerd.Did you miss that part?”
“That’s a badge I’ll wear proudly. I’d rather go back and focus on Gracie Mitchell thinking I’mridiculously hot.”
“Let’s forget I ever said it and talk some more about your tattoo.” She lifts her hand to my arm, her fingers brushing over the tattoo one more time. “I love that you honored your grandmother in this way,” she says. “It’s amazing.”
I close my eyes as her hand slides downward, her fingers tracing a slow line down my arm, over my elbow, my forearm, my wrist.
I close my eyes as she brushes her hand over my palm, then slowly twines her fingers with mine.
Behind us, the last notes of the final cello suite sound, and a faint whirring noise fills the room as the needle catches over and over on the inside track of the record.
I’ll listen to the noise all night as long as this moment doesn’t end.
I rub my thumb over the back of Gracie’s hand, loving the silken feel of her skin.
I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I want it more than I’ve wanted anything before. I’ve been feeling ready for a relationship lately, but this is more than that. Gracie is the embodiment of everything I want. She’s brilliant. She’s talented. She’s beautiful. And I really want to make this work.
Then the dryer buzzes through the open laundry room door, and Gracie startles.
She jumps, pulling her hand out of mine, and the tension between us pops and fizzles. “My clothes!” Gracie says, a little too loudly. She scrambles to her feet. “I should get those.”
She hurries across the room and disappears into the laundry room. When she comes back out, she’s holding a heaping laundry basket.
I still haven’t moved from where she left me on the floor.
