Page 59 of Absolutely Not in Love
“I’ll make sure your replacement is the same kind of mattress,” Felix says, his tone shifting from playful to a little more serious. “Everyone deserves to be comfortable when they sleep.”
“Felix, you don’t have to buy me a new mattress,” I protest. “I read over my policy yesterday, and my rental insurance will cover it.”
He’s shaking his head before I even finish my sentence. “We already talked about this, Gracie. If youcausedthe flood, I might be okay with that. But this wasn’t your fault. You aren’t filing any insurance claims. This is on me.”
Felix’s tone is still warm, but there’s also a bossiness to it that sends a thrill skittering down my spine. Clearly, he’s not going to compromise on this. Is it weird I find that so sexy? That the tiny bit of commanding firmness in his tone is making me feel weak-kneed and flushed? But then, that seems to be the trend lately.Everythingabout Felix makes me feel weak-kneed and flushed.
“So you’re leaving tomorrow,” I say, needing something,anything,to ground me. Otherwise, I might climb this man like a literal tree and settle myself into his arms.
There’s a palpable tension crackling between us. I don’t think I’m the only one buzzing with attraction, but I also get the sense that Felix is holding back.
If he tried to kiss me, I’d let him. And I don’tthinkhe’d stop me if I made the first move.
But I also think we’d be rushing things. And if this is happening between us, I want to make sure we get it right.
Felix nods as he rolls the architectural drawings back up. He pockets his phone, then hands mine over to me. “The bus leaves at six a.m. sharp.”
“Oof. That’s early,” I say. “Do you always travel by bus?”
“Not always. We’ll fly if we’re going all the way across the country. But if we’re staying on the east coast, it’s always a bus.”
We walk side by side across the room and to the stairs. Our arms brush, and Felix looks over, catching my eye and smiling.
Does that mean he feels it too? The energy that sets my skin on fire whenever we touch?
I wait while Felix turns off the lights and locks the door, then we head up the stairs together. “What do you do to make it through the long bus rides?” I ask. “I don’t mind a road trip, but it has to get old as much as you guys travel.”
“It’s not too bad. I sleep a lot. Watch movies,” Felix says. “Mostly I listen to music.” He slides open his apartment door, but he doesn’t move out of the way, so when I cross into the apartment, I brush up against his chest, close enough that I catch his scent. It’s all I can do not to lean in and draw in a deep breath of spicy Felix-scented air. Idowant to get things right between us, and I’m pretty sure that means going slow. But going slow might make me spontaneously combust.
“Last season, for every bus trip, I picked a different composer and listened to all their works chronologically,” Felix says as he follows me into the kitchen.
I grab my water bottle from where I left it on the counter and move to the fridge so I can refill it and cool off. “You did not.”
“I did, too.” He leans against the counter beside me, so close we’re all but touching. “I have to dosomethingto drown out the sound of Eli and Van bickering.”
I swallow and take a steadying breath. “What composers have you covered?” This is what it’s come to—me talking about composers to try to cut the tension and keep me from doing something I might regret tomorrow.
He wrinkles his brow and purses his lips to the side, giving me a fleeting glimpse of the dimple in his cheek.Ohh that dimple.
“Aaron Copland was first,” he says. “Then Gershwin, then I started on Brahms, but I ran out of hours before I finished.”
“Will you start where you left off this year?” I ask.
I lean against the fridge door, loving how close we are, how focused he is on our conversation even if the tension is killing me. In the shadowy kitchen, his light brown eyes look darker than normal, but they still draw me right in. I feel like I could stand here and talk to him all night long.
Or…stand here andnottalk to him, but I’m determined to keep those thoughts at bay. At least for now.
“I might,” he says, his lips lifting into a sly grin. “Though I’m hoping I’ll have someone texting me, giving me something else to look forward to.”
“Texting, huh? You think that could actually be more exciting than Brahms’s complete catalog?”
He holds my gaze, his expression turning flirty in a way that makes my stomach swoop. “Only if the texts are from you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Felix: Unpopular opinion: Brahms’s second piano concerto is trash.
Gracie: Shut. Up. I feel the same way, and no one ever agrees with me!
