Page 88 of So Not My Thing
I pinched his side, hard. He yelped and pulled me into a hug, burrowing his face in my hair. “Want to know the truth?” he asked.
“No, lie to me, please.”
He pulled back to smile at me and smooth my hair from my face. “I’d listen to you sing that every day if I could. Would you come record it for me?”
I shook my head before he was even done asking. “That’s not my thing.”
He pressed a kiss against my forehead. “All right. I won’t push. But just for the record, Ellie Jones, you are very much my thing.”
That deserved some more making out. A lot more making out. Beard-burn-and-swollen-lips making out.
We finally separated for oxygen, and he blinked at me sleepily. But the bedroom eyes kind of sleepy that made me want to taste him again.
“Sing for me again?” I asked instead.
He smiled and maneuvered us so we were both facing the keyboard. “Whatever you want, Ellie.”
I rested my head on his shoulder and slid my hand down his thigh. “I was thinking Marvin Gaye.”
He groaned. “Girl, you are killing me.” And he started playing, but avoided any Marvin Gaye, instead choosing “Lovesong” by The Cure, which I only recognized because my mom used to play it all the time when I was a kid.
The music and his voice wrapped around us, each the warmest blanket, and when that ended, he played Otis Redding and Aerosmith and some Beach Boys. It all wove a spell, and I didn’t even realize how late it was until a yawn caught me off guard.
He gave a soft laugh and let the last notes of the Harry Styles song he was singing taper off. “You need to go to bed,” he said, turning to drop another kiss on my hair. When he dipped down to also steal one from my lips, I ducked and pressed my finger against his mouth. “If you start that after singing me ‘Watermelon Sugar’, I’ll never make it upstairs.”
He smiled, and I slid off the bench. “Come down for breakfast with me in the morning,” he said.
“Okay.” It felt good not to make up excuses about why I couldn’t see him.
“And every morning.”
That made me smile. “Let’s start with tomorrow.”
“I can do that. But fair warning, I’m going to string together as many tomorrows as you’ll let me.”
It was a good thing I’d already told him I was going upstairs by myself or we might have thoroughly scandalized Chloe.
