Page 63 of Fit for Love

“Play?”His eyebrow turns into a question mark.

With a sigh, I take a seat.“My instrument is the sousaphone.Or it was, at least.And my favorite piece that features it isThe Muppet Showtheme.”

I silently dare him to make jokes about me blowing.I heard them all back in high school.

Ashton cocks his head.“The sousaphone is like a tuba, right?One that wraps around your body?”For some unfathomable reason, he examines me with heat in his eyes.

“You can’t walk with a tuba,” I say.“And it would sound like crap outside.”

Shit.Ashton’s eyes light up as he connects the dots.“You were in the marching band?”

“You get great exercise from it,” I say defensively.“Something someone like you should appreciate.Plus, it looked great on my college application.”

“Hey, I have nothing against it.I bet you looked cute in your band uniform.”

“I was underaged at the time, you perv.”But I do appreciate how little he’s teased me so far—even less than Emma did when I shared this with her.“Now you owe me something embarrassing about yourself.”

“Being in a marching band isn’t embarrassing,” he says.

“Chicken.”

“Fine.”He grins.“A few years back, I went to check out puppy yoga at the gym where I was working.I got there early, so it was just me and the pups.Oh—and something I should mention about myself is that I like to talk to dogs.So, anyway, I was so absorbed in my conversation that I didn’t notice as the whole group and the yoga teacher gathered behind me.When I saw them?—”

“They started to ovulate?”I interject.

“Why?”

“Because that sounds more adorable than embarrassing.”And I bet he slept with every female in that class as a result.

“I wasn’t done with the story,” he says.“When the class started, for whatever reason, a German shepherd puppy named Waggatha Christie kept sniffing my butt.”

“Oh, please.That barely passes as an embarrassing story.”I’d bet good money all the other bitches in that class wanted to sniff around him.Waggatha Christie just had the chutzpah.

“You never said what music you like to listen to,” he says, deftly changing the subject.

“The Four Seasons,” I say.“By Vivaldi.”

“No way.”He takes out his phone.“Check this out.”He taps his screen a few times, and the familiar sounds of violins ring out from the tiny speakers.

“That’smyfavorite piece of music,” he explains.“So much so that I downloaded it in case I want to listen to it while I’m stuck somewhere without service.”

For the next few minutes, we sit in a companiable silence, enjoying the music.

“So,” he says when the Spring part of the concerti concludes, and Summer begins.“Tell me more about yourself.”

“Like what?”

“Surprise me.”

I shrug.“I have a single bar stool in my apartment.”

“Why only one?”he asks.

“No space for more, and after dealing with my infuriating boss all day, I like to get home and relax with a glass of wine.”

He chuckles.“That almost makes sense.”

“What about you?”

---