I was pretending to listen to her playing for the purposes of providing feedback, but instead, I was noticing things like the way her wrists moved when she changed between chords and the soft movements of her lips as she hummed the melody.
A few thick curls hung over her forehead, casting shadows into her eyes, and my hand itched to move them behind her ears and feel the smooth skin of her face. This growing infatuation was becoming a problem. I thought she might be aware of my intense study when she lifted her gaze to mine, but instead, she simply asked, “How was that?”
“Perfect,” I replied. She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if she didn’t quite know if to believe me.
I wasn’t lying. I also wasn’t just talking about the song.
“Can we play it again together?”
She was a hard worker, and I could tell she was rehearsing at home whenever she wasn’t in the studio. That was the only way she could’ve gotten this good in the span of four days. As long as I could help her with the one song giving her trouble when we practiced tomorrow, we’d be able to start recording next week—a fact that might actually put a smile on Abel’s face.
“Of course.”
She smiled at me, and I picked up my guitar without tearing my eyes away from her face, carefully cataloguing the curve of her cheeks and the way her cool-gray eyes seemed to grow warmer when she wore this expression.
I really had to stop staring.
Why hadn’t she done more with music prior to her parent’s death? She had mentioned to me a few days earlier that she’d been playing since she was ten years old, which explained her level of skill with the instrument, and also that Through Azure Skies had been together for four years. Why settle on playing in a cover band? Was it ambition she lacked?
A thrill ran through me when I noticed her eyes flicker across my form before a light-rosy color appeared on her cheeks. This was one of the benefits of being observant. I picked up on people’s thoughts and emotions by studying their body language.
Did she find me attractive?
The possibility emboldened me, and I allowed my eyes to slowly drift over her body, before meeting her gaze once again.
She swallowed and looked back down, beginning to play the intro of the song.
Maybe I should’ve been able to squash whatever this was, but the simple truth was that I didn’t really want to.
When I got home from the studio later, I dropped my keys on the kitchen island and pulled out my smartphone. There was a message from Katya, one I’d gotten earlier today but hadn’t yet opened.
“Hang out tonight?”
I ran my hand over my beard, noting absently that it was time for a trim.
Did I want to see her? I rarely turned down her invitations when I was in town, but something about the prospect of another mindless fuck made my chest grow heavy. I’d wanted something more for a long time now, but my track record seemed to land only on the two extremes—casual hook ups that had no future, or infatuations so intense that people were scared away.
At least, I hadn’t attempted to propose since that one time years ago.
Sending a response I knew would disappoint Katya, I shoved the phone in my pocket and grabbed a beer from the fridge, the ritual of popping the cap off and tossing it into the bin providing a small comfort.
My feelings for Adeline landed firmly in the intense infatuation category, despite only knowing her for about a week. To add to the problem, I could tell the rest of the guys were into her, too. The past few months had been the most difficult we’d ever experienced as a band, and I didn’t want to introduce another point of tension, but I’d never been good at keeping my feelings buried. This was already off to a great start.
The phone buzzed along my thigh, and I saw it was a call from Cole.
“What’s up?”
“Hey, man. I need to kill a few hours before my red-eye to LA. Can I come over?”
Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten that Cole was about to have a showdown with his future brother-in-law across the country.
“Sure, but I’m only offering beers, not sharp weapons. I’m not going to aid and abet your vendetta.”
Cole snorted. “Fine. I’ll have to drop by Ezra’s for that. Anyways, see you in ten.”
A knock sounded fifteen minutes later, and I pulled open the door to reveal a surly looking Cole with a small suitcase at his side. He strode in, dropped the bag on the floor, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and collapsed onto the couch.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, earning a glare.
