Page 66 of Absolutely Not in Love
As soon as we’re there, she spins around and leans into the doorframe, her gaze locked on mine.
It feels so good to see her, to be with her after such a long weekend.
The final leg of our bus trip home was long, made even longer by the subdued mood of everyone on board. Our last loss was brutal, and we all took it pretty hard. But now, with Gracie in front of me, all that frustration melts away.
“Hey,” I say, “before you go to sleep, can I ask you a question?”
She nods. “Of course.”
I lean a little closer. “Can I take you to dinner, Gracie?”
She licks her lips, her eyes sparkling in the faint light emanating from the lamp in her bedroom. “Like, on a date?”
I nod. “There’s a place downtown Logan recommended. It’s called Harvested, I think? Word is it’s hard to get a table, but if I can swing it…will you go with me?”
She reaches up and tugs at the strings of the Appies hoodie I’m wearing. “I have a feeling the Appies star goalie could get a table anywhere he wanted.”
“The only thing that matters to me is that you’re at the table with me.”
She smiles. “I would love to have dinner with you.”
“Maybe we can talk tomorrow and figure out when?” I reach forward and hook a finger around her pinky.
Only her pinky.One tiny finger, and my heart is galloping out of my chest like a freaking horse at Churchill Downs.
She nods, her lips parting as she leans into me the slightest bit.
I hold her gaze for another long minute, then take a step backward. I hate to leave her, but I’m determined to do this right. We wouldn’t be having this moment if she weren’t staying here, and I don’t want that proximity to push us into things too fast. Especially when I know Gracie had reservations about me in the first place.
“Goodnight, Gracie,” I say, then I turn my back and head across the apartment.
I only make it a few paces before she calls out to stop me.
“Felix, wait.”
I turn around to face her, and she darts forward. When she reaches me, she lifts one hand to my chest and the other to my shoulder. Then she pushes up on her toes and presses a long, lingering kiss to my cheek. “I’m glad you’re home safe,” she whispers, her breath fanning over my cheek.
Then she turns and disappears into her bedroom.
I lift a hand to my cheek, still warm from her kiss. I smile as I grab my bag and make my way to my room.
I’ve got a date with Gracie Mitchell.
And it can’t get here fast enough.
Monday morning, Gracie and I compare schedules to see when we can go out to dinner. She’s got a rehearsal with her quartet Monday night, then I’ve got the goalie clinic on Tuesday, then a game on Wednesday. Thursday, she has an open house at the middle school, so Friday is the first evening we’re both free.
Of course, we still see each other throughout the week. But it’s really only when we’re coming or going. One morning I sneak out early and surprise her with a latte from Cataloochee Mountain Coffee, and the night of the game, she makes a chicken stir fry big enough to feed half my team, then texts me to let me know, saying I can bring home anyone who’s hungry.
When I show up with half a dozen hungry hockey players, she meets me at the door wearing baggy jeans and the Chicago Art Institute hoodie I gave her the night the pipes burst in her apartment. Her hair is long and loose over her shoulders, and she’s swapped her contacts for her glasses. She looks like a dream—and the fantasy only intensifies as I watch her interaction with my teammates, talking to them like they’re her friends too.
Every time Gracie and I make eye contact, Eli elbows me or makes fake kissing noises or cracks a joke under his breath, but I don’t even care. The ribbing is worth her being here, though I’m still having a hard time shaking the feeling that she’s too good to be true. That whatever this is will slip right through my fingers.
The nagging worry is particularly potent while I’m getting ready for our date on Friday night, a remnant of the anxiety I fought so hard to conquer rearing up and ruining my good mood. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I take a few steadying breaths.
I’m steady. I’m focused. No one controls me but me.
I grab a dress shirt off a hanger in my closet and shrug it on, but before I can button it, a knock sounds behind me on my open bedroom door.
