She held up the braided rope made of tiny strips of leather she’d knotted together to form an impressive chain.
He fingered the inches of rope she’d created. “This is amazing.”
“It’s just knots.” She said the words as though this wasn’t an impressive feat. For the record, it was artistry, and as one artist to another, he appreciated the skill involved.
“And I just make guitar riffs.” He turned to find a pair of boxers in his dresser. “That is art.”
She said nothing, her eyes returning to the lengths of leather and knots she created.
“What will you make with it?” he asked, pulling on his favorite pair.
“A bracelet, I think.” She tilted her head as she examined the knotted leather, running it through her fingers.
“It’ll be spectacular.”
Their eyes met then, and she smiled. Blushed.
He complimented her jewelry, and she blushed? After the things they did last night—and she had most definitely not blushed during any of the more adventurous encounters—she blushed at his compliment.
What. Was. Up. With. That?
Though, none of their bedroom adventures had involved leather rope. If it made her blush, perhaps they should give it a try. He’d like to investigate further. Unfortunately, for both of them, his family returned late last night, and he needed to put on pants before breakfast.
With a sigh, he dressed in a pair of faded jeans.
As much as he’d like to lose himself in Becca again, his family expected him at breakfast soon. The last thing he wanted was for them to come looking for him.
Not that they didn’t suspect he’d had a sleepover, but he didn’t want them to make Becca feel like she didn’t belong in his house.
Because Becca definitely belonged in his space.
Even if she wasn’t ready to admit it yet. Her words said one thing, but the language she spoke with her body said something entirely different.
“I enjoy doing it,” she said as her hands continued tying more knots. Over, under, through, and around. Her fingertips practically hypnotized him. “Calms my mind,” she continued. “Like meditating.”
“I tried that once.” It’d been an epic fail because he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting. Drifting to the riffs he would play that night. Drifting to what he’d have for dinner later. Drifting to whether or not the next tour would hit Houston. Totally defeated the purpose of the practice.
“Meditating?” she asked, as though it surprised her that he’d attempted it.
“Yeah.” He pulled on a t-shirt. This one still had two sleeves. For now. “Didn’t work out.”
Her hands continued working with the leather, seemingly on autopilot. “Only once?”
“Didn’t really get the point of it, you know?” He moved back to the bed. The mattress shifted under his weight.
She stopped working, which was a shame because watching her hands was mesmerizing.
“I started when things got harder at work.” She stared at the leather, though it didn’t appear she really saw it. “A few extra hard cases made it hard for me to sleep at night. I needed to get out of my head.”
He laid a hand on her calf. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Isn’t that my line?” She laughed low, but it didn’t sound like she meant it. “People carry around some serious shit with them.” She started knotting again, on auto pilot. “It’s overwhelming sometimes to help them unpack it all.”
He traced circles along the muscles of her calf, letting her continue on if she wanted. Or not. Her call.
“You don’t have to solve the problems of the world.” He gave her calf a squeeze.
She nodded. Then did another row of knots.
