Page 73 of Absolutely Not in Love
Felix shifts so he can lean over and press a kiss to my lips. “I would love to meet your family, even if your parents are the most obnoxious fans out there. They’re your family. That means they’re important to me.”
Oh, be still my fluttering heart.
I nod. “The party is next Sunday.”
“So I’ll be home,” he says, grinning wide enough to make his dimple pop. “I’ll make sure my schedule stays clear.”
We pretend to read for another hour, something that looks a lot more like laughing at TikTok videos and goofing around than actual reading. We don’t do much kissing, and though we haven’t talked about it, my guess is we both sense that every time we start, it’s getting harder and harder to stop.
We haven’t had a conversation about sex, though, so now it’s like we’re being more careful with each other. Not tiptoeing around the subject necessarily, just giving ourselves the room to figure out our pacing without pressure.
Still, I can’t ignore how keenly my body is tuned into his. Every move, every touch. Even just his looks are making my skin crackle with heat. By the time he walks me to my bedroom door to say goodnight, a habit we’ve developed over the last few nights, the air between us is thick with tension.
He leans down and kisses me long and slow. “Will you text me while I’m gone?” he asks as his lips trail kisses along my neck.
I let out a little laugh. “Do you even need to ask?”
“I’m going to miss you,” he says, shifting to the other side of my neck, his hand lifting my hair and moving it out of the way.
I lean back, giving him better access, and close my eyes. “I’ll miss you too.”
His lips move up to my earlobe, then start a slow journey across my jawline, finally landing on my lips. “Every second I’m not on the ice,” he murmurs, “I’ll be thinking of you.”
Goosebumps break out across my skin, and a shiver of desire moves through my body. My hands slip under the hem of his T-shirt, pressing against the skin at the small of his back. He’s so incredibly warm, so solid under my palms.
Then his lips are on my neck again, andoh,this man.
Everything about this feels so right, so easy, so…essential, I’m not sure how I survived before this moment right now. How did I breathe without him next to me? How did I sleep when I didn’t have this to look forward to?
I let out a little whimper, and Felix shifts, his grip on me tightening as his mouth more fully captures mine. My hands grasp his shirt as I tug him closer,closer, deepening the kiss. When his tongue brushes against mine, the heat in my belly turns molten, and finally, my brain catches up with the rest of me.
My hands slide from his body, and I press them against the door at my back, letting the cool wood anchor me. “We have to stop,” I say, my voice airy and soft. “Because if we don’t, I’ll want you to come in.” I slowly lift my eyes to meet his. “And I’m not ready for you to come in yet.”
He nods as he runs a hand through his hair, his demeanor immediately shifting, but not in a bad way. I’ve had men react poorly when I’ve set boundaries, but Felix doesn’t seem bothered at all.
He’s still close, still touching me, and his eyes are still full of warmth. The only difference is that now there’s a measure of careful control in his movements.
I have never felt anything but safe in Felix’s presence. But seeing him now, recognizing the respect in his eyes, I realize how deeply I trust him. And how much that matters to me.
Felix lifts a hand and slides it over my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
I nod and take a deep breath, an attempt to slow my still-racing heart. “Thank you for listening.”
His brow furrows, and his expression darkens for the briefest moment. “Gracie, any man who doesn’t listen isn’t worth a look, much less a single minute of your time.”
I lift my hands to his face, cradling either side while I press one final kiss to his lips. “You’re a good man, Felix Jamison. The best, even.”
You’re a good man. And I’m already halfway to falling in love.
Chapter Eighteen
Gracie
Felixiswaitingforme in the hallway when I step out of my apartment on the Sunday of Maddox’s birthday party. He’s leaning against the wall, his ankles crossed in front of him, and his hands are pressed into his coat pockets.
Ilovethe coat he’s wearing. How well it fits him. How soft it feels under my hands. How much it complements his complexion and his dark hair and eyes. He’s also wearing a forest green scarf—Felix is definitely the kind of man who can pull off wearing a scarf—and his beard has been freshly trimmed.
He is legitimate perfection from head to toe, and a flutter of nerves pushes through my belly. I’m still not used to the fact that he’s mine.
