“I promise I’ll help you clean up after a nap.” I make my best innocent face, blinking at him.
Elliot's gaze stops at my face for a second, considering. Then he shakes his head. “It’ll just take twenty minutes.” He breaks the box he just emptied and tosses it aside.
I flop down on the bed dramatically, watching him. Then my eyes fall on something sneaking out of one of the cupboards. I bolt right back up, my eyes wide in surprise. “Is that a ukulele?"
“Oh, yeah, I just started learning,” he says casually. Whatthe fuck? Elliot plays ukulele? The picture doesn’t compute. Elliot, with his snides and his jabs, sat down to learn an inherently cute instrument? I mean, it’s a nice picture. Just hard to imagine.
I get up and grab the instrument, admiring it for a moment before thrusting it at Elliot, stopping him in his tracks. “Youhaveto play for me.”
He hesitates. “I just knowonesong.”
I snatch the files from his hands and place them on the side table. “Play me that one song then.” Taking his hand, I pull him to the bed.
He reluctantly takes the ukulele from me, then stares at it while I sit in front of him. I lean on my hands, watching him, mesmerized by the idea itself. I don’t even care how he plays, but knowing Elliot, he can probably already compete professionally and win with just a week of practice. The guy never doesanythingcasually.
His gaze flickers to my face, all his hesitation now hiding firmly behind the mask of annoyance. But I’m too excited to let him back off now. “Fine,” he whines. Then takes out his phone to open an app. “I need to tune it,” he explains.
“Right, of course.” I nod.
He takes his sweet time strumming each string until he’s satisfied. I watch his elegant fingers move over the instrument with ease, like everything he does, and suppress the urge to snatch the ukulele away so he can touchmeinstead.
When his phone screen goes off, I realize he’s stalling.
“C’mon, it’s justme.”
“It’s not that,” he insists, hugging the ukulele against his chest. For a man who insists on being prickly all the time, he sure makes me want to wrap him up and keep him close every fucking second. “You cannot laugh.” His voice sounds threatening, but he looks cuter than Mickey right now.
I raise my hands in surrender. “I don’t have a death wish.”
He narrows his eyes for a second, checking the authenticity of my fear. When I don’t laugh in his face, hetakes a long breath and loosens his hold on the instrument.
Then his fingers fly across it, so effortlessly it's like he's been playing for years, and a vaguely familiar tune fills the room. It sounds so beautiful. I’m lost in the chords and the hypnotic movement of his fingers. It’s not until a few seconds that the music transforms into something very familiar.
I smile for a second, humming along before realizing what’s happening here. Then the strums ofMy Tears RicochetbyTaylor Swiftbecome background noise.
Did this man really learn to play the song that was playing when we drove to our first date... for me? He doesn’t notice my hungry gaze or my heart hammering in my chest. He doesn’t notice my wolf soaring with happiness.
Mine.
Then the music stops. Elliot’s eyes meet mine with doubt. “That’s all I’ve learned—”
I snatch the ukulele away from his hands and toss it on the bed. Pushing him back onto the bed, I climb on top of him. “That was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.” I catch his lips in mine, tasting his sweetness under all that delicious bitterness.
“That was just the first tutorial I found online,” he mumbles against my mouth.
I devour him, my hand seeking out his skin. I'm famished. Incomplete.
When our tongues meet, I let myself go completely, my weight crushing him. He groans, not trying to push me away. I know he loves it. He doesn't say it often, but he shows it by gripping me tighter, pulling me closer.
I trail my lips down to his neck again, chasing his blush. Then nuzzle down to his chest, taking his nipple into my mouth. His body shoots up, both hands coming down to grab at my hair. I gently bite him, making him groan out loud. I love that sound. I love every sound I can shake out of him.
Dropping a few kisses on his sternum, I move to his other nipple, giving it the same treatment.
He grabs at my T-shirt, pulling it up until it's bunched around my chest. I pull away just longenough to tug it off and throw it aside.
Then I focus on removing—
No. I need a better game plan.
