Page 55 of Becoming Us
The tightness in my stomach eased. I smiled. “Okay.”
He gave me a pointed look. “Am I getting my shirt back?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” I said, grinning.
“I can’t leave your apartment shirtless.”
“Trust me, no one’s going to complain.”
“Noah…”
“Just wear one of mine,” I said, already heading for the closet.
“I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“It’ll be snug,” I said, pulling one out and tossing it to him, “but again—no complaints.”
He tugged it on. It was very snug.
A laugh burst out of me.
“It’s not funny,” he muttered, but there was a smile hiding in his voice.
“It’s not funny at all,” I said, eyeing him. “It’s hot as fuck.”
I finished dressing, still wearing his shirt, and we headed out.
In the parking lot, as I pulled out, he reached for my hand and turned toward me. “Thanks for tonight.”
I looked over, smiling. “You don’t have to thank me for blowing you.”
He looked away, a flush creeping up his neck, though his mouth twitched with a smile. “I meant for talking to me. About what was bothering you. And for listening.”
If he felt the need to thank me for that, I’d really fucked up as a boyfriend.
I squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “It just felt big.”
As Atty looked out the window and I drove toward his apartment, I realized he was right.
That same feeling I’d had before—the lightness—was still there. Because even though our relationship had always felt like air to me, this was the first time in a very long while that it felt easy.
And wasn’t that something?
CHAPTER
EIGHT
BEFORE
Music thundered through the room.
That was me. I was making it happen.
It wasn’t about force. Sure, there was power pulsing through my arms, begging me to chase the next beat, but it wasn’t about that. It was about the rhythm. The song. Each strike landed with purpose, like I’d locked into something deeper than sound. My sticks danced across the kit, guided by instinct, while something else—something wordless—took over.
I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t anywhere but here.
