Page 87 of So Not My Thing
I tumbled all the way down. I could not fall any farther, and I did not care.
He let the last note die out. “That’s all I have so far.”
I kept my eyes on the keys, afraid of what they would show if I met his.
“Did you like it?” he asked.
“Was that about me?” I asked. It was barely more than a whisper, hope almost squeezing my throat tight.
He turned his head, and I could feel his eyes on me. “Ellie.” I turned my head too but couldn’t lift my eyes above his chest. “Elle, I don’t...” He sighed and seemed to gather himself. “I know I hurt you back then, but I’ve changed, and I’ve been trying to show you how much almost since we met.”
“Why?” I asked, finally meeting his eyes. “Why does that matter? Do you need me to think you’re a good guy? I do.”
“No. It’s because the words in my song, they’re true. I fell for you when you laughed at me for getting powdered sugar on my shirt. And I’ve been trying to figure out how to show you that I’m not the sixteen-year-old jerk who shot his mouth off about you on TV. I didn’t know you. But I do now, and I...” He trailed off and searched my eyes.
“You what?”
He swallowed hard, and I was mesmerized by his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “The song you were singing before. Is there any chance it’s about me?”
I met his eyes again. “What do you think?”
His eyes darkened. “I think I’m going to kiss you right now, Ellie Jones, so if that’s not what you want, say so.”
I didn’t say a word.
He slid a hand around my neck and pulled me toward him, brushing his lips against mine. His were warm and soft, and I loved the way his callused guitar fingers felt against my skin. I kissed him back and whispered, “Is that all you got?”
His laugh was a soft puff of breath against my cheek that I barely had a second to register before he was kissing me again. This time it was hungry, his mouth pressing against mine, his free hand moving to my back to hold me closer. A streak of heat like nothing I’d ever experienced shot through me, and I shifted, trying to find a better angle to explore him.
He gave a small growl of frustration and leaned away. I gave a wordless protest, but he was only shifting to straddle the piano bench before he drew me back for a deeper kiss, a slow exploration that turned me boneless.
I wanted the same kind of access to him, so I twisted and resettled myself on the bench, but I didn’t kiss him again. Instead, I traced the outline of his lips with my thumb and searched his eyes. “Say the part from the chorus again. I want to feel you say it.”
“I can be your hero, baby, let me show you how.”
I stole the last word with a kiss, and he sucked in a sharp breath. I wondered if I’d gone too far until he reached behind my knees and drew my legs over his, pulling me even closer.
“Ellie,” he murmured, when he pulled away minutes—hours? years?—later. “I swear to you if you keep ditching me after work, my entire next album is going to be songs about broken hearts.”
I pressed another kiss to his lips and smiled. “I won’t. I promise.”
“I don’t want you to run away from me.” He rested his forehead against mine. “If you were doing it because you thought I didn’t feel the same, don’t. Because I do.” He trailed kisses down my neck. “Will you sing for me again?”
“Tomorrow,” I murmured, barely paying attention.
“Why not now?”
I pulled away and blinked at him, trying to clear the fog of lust hijacking my mind. “Because I’m doing this right now. And because I need to figure out the chords on the song I want to play for you.”
“Fine. But I want you to play for me every day. I love your voice. I can’t believe I had no idea you could sing.”
“One condition,” I said, pressing another kiss against his jaw.
“Anything.”
“You sing a song for me every day too.”
He pulled back to give me a cocky grin. “You don’t get enough of me in your car?”
