He glanced up at me, considering that, then returned to the stack.
I had written him off the first night we met. I had assumed he was another athlete riding momentum, chasing a contract that might never come, living inside a locker room narrative I had heard too many times before. Standing here with him, listening to the way he talked about music and wood grain and joints that had to hold under pressure, I realized how lazy that assumption had been.
He paid attention.
He noticed.
I slid another record aside and then froze. “No way.”
Aiden looked up immediately. “What?”
I pulled the album free and turned it toward the light. The cover was worn but intact, the corners softened by time. Nina Simone stared back at me from the sleeve of Silk & Soul, the original pressing.
“I’ve been looking for this for years,” I said. “Every time I find one, it’s either scratched to hell or priced like a museum artifact.”
He took the record gently from my hands to examine the back. “Looks good.”
“I know.”
“You’re sure this is the one?”
My response was a weird mix of a sigh and incredulous laugh. Because no shit, that was the one.
Aiden got to his feet, tucking my record under his arm. “I’ll get it.”
“No you won’t,” I replied immediately, reaching for it.
He leveraged his height and kept the record firmly out of reach. “I said I’ll get it, so let me get it for you.”
“Aiden.”
He held my gaze calmly. “Sage.”
“I can handle it.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then give it back.”
“No.” He shook his head once, and started in Marco’s direction. “I’ll get you this album, we’ll be square, and you can live out your days not finishing people’s tattoos.”
There was no arrogance in it, or showing off. He just really wanted to do this thing for me.
“I keep telling you— it’s finished,” I said. “It’s supposed to look like that.”
“I’m sure you say that to all your unsuspecting clients.” He flashed a wink, and my cheeks grew warm.
Marco rang up my mint condition Nina Simone without ceremony.
“Good find,” he said to me.
“I know.”
He ran Aiden’s credit card and when he handed it back, said, “This gives you full control of the remote for two weeks at least, and later in bed, she has to do that thing you like.”
“Oh, we’re not—” Heat rose up the back of my neck, and curled onto my face. “We’re just—”
“Not even,” Aiden added, unhelpfully.
