Page 8 of Power Move
“Music is kind of my thing. I always have something on.”
“Why records?”
He runs his fingertips over the tops of the covers with the reverent touch of a lover. “When I was a kid, I found an ancient record player in our basement and a box of albums from 80s bands. My parents weren’t around much. Work came first, and I think I was looking for a connection with them.”
“Sage…” I cover his traveling fingers with my hand. My chest pinches thinking about little boy Sage with his wild mop of hair and big blue eyes missing his parents. I also feel grateful that although my parents were busy, they always made time for me, and each other.
“Anyway,” he continues, his words picking up speed like he can outrun the heart wrenching image I have of a lonely little boy, “I like the idiosyncrasies of records. There’s a debate whether vinyl or digital is superior. I like both, but records feel more immersive.”
I squeeze his hand then release it. “I never knew there was a difference. Maybe I should check out the vinyl version of an album I have and compare them.”
He thumbs through the collection. “What music do you listen to?”
“Rock, mostly. And I’m on a bit of an Irish folk rock kick right now.”
“There’s a place in the East Side, a combination coffeehouse and record store I go to a lot. They have tons of vinyl and live music some nights too.” He pulls a record from the stack and hands it to me. “Maybe you’d want to go sometime?”
The artwork on the cover draws me in. It’s an older album from a band I recently found. I make a note of the title so I can look it up later. “I’d like to check that place out with you.”
“Good.” He smiles and bumps his shoulder into mine. “So we know music’s my thing. What’s yours?”
I return the album to its home. “Movies. I’m not picky about genre, and I like getting lost in the story unfolding on screen. I like cooking too, and end up feeding Jonas and some of the other guys a few times a week. And camping, I do that a lot during the summer.”
“I’ve never been camping.”
A picture forms in my mind of him and me, kissing under a canopy of trees. “If you want to try it, you should come with me.”
His brows draw together. “Like, in a tent in the middle of the woods? Or cabins? Or, are we glamping?”
“I usually use a tent. I like experiencing nature, sleeping under the stars, listening to the crickets and owls.”
He gives me a dubious stare. “You don’t worry about bears or wolves or whatever’s lurking out there?”
“Not too much. I’m a responsible camper. That doesn’t guarantee things won’t go wrong, but I take all precautions.”
“I’d still worry.” He presses his lips together, his gaze falling to the floor.
I lean in a little closer. My stomach flutters, eager for Sage to say yes. “If sleeping outside in a tent isn’t your thing, we could always spend the day hiking and then sleep at my lake house. No wild animals in there. Though sometimes my teammates act like ones.”
He raises his head. There’s banked surprise in his blue eyes, flickering as we watch each other. “You’d do that?”
With infinite care, I brush a wild lock of hair off his forehead. “I’d want you to feel safe. I’d never force you to do something you aren’t comfortable with.”
“I think I’d feel safe with you.” He leans into my touch and the movement causes my fingers to slip down the side of his face, over his stubbled cheek.
My lips tingle with the need to kiss him.
“Sage?” Remy calls from the hall, followed by a rapping of knuckles on the door. “Benedict is on the loose.”
Sage’s eyes close and he groans. “Not again.” Then louder, “Come in.”
The name Benedict is familiar. “Wait…” The door eases open, and Remy steps inside. “Your bearded dragon?”
He nods, crouching to check the floor behind the record shelves. “We were watching TV, and he was sitting right beside me, when my phone rang. I went across the apartment to get it, and by the time I got back, he was gone.”
Sage stands. “He’s an escape artist. Last time, he got all the way upstairs and into Morgan’s shower. The time before that, he found his way in here and was hanging out under the couch.”
I drop to my knees and peer under the couch. “I can help you look.”
