Page 102 of Love Felt Like This

And I want to kiss her.

Just as I exhale, cautiously tilting my head, a note strikes on the piano.

Loud. Off kilter. Jarring.

Beverly jumps. I jump. My hand releases her wrist. She folds her hands in her lap. Then we spot Ava with her palms on the piano, a giggle bubbling up her throat.

“Play!” she commands.

I run my palm over my beard. “What did I say about the piano, Ava?”

She giggles more, and I sigh, reaching down to tickle her side. She runs off, but the moment between me and Beverly is broken.

I glance back over to her. She’s staring down at her twisting palms, fiddling with her fingernail polish.

My heart sinks.

Beverly made it clear that our relationship is purely professional—a way to get Birds on the Block up and running. Even our fake relationship is a convenient excuse to avoid questions about her ex. Hell, I’m the one who arranged dinner back in LA. I’m the one who lied about our relationship to Beau. And now I’ve been mentally twisting our mutual agreement into something more.

Beverly’s not interested in me, and she doesn’t have to be. I like that she’s goal oriented. I like that my fame is irrelevant.

She’s a perfectly professional colleague.

Colleague. That’s all.

But she’s also the type of colleague I want to show off. I want to display her like a gold medal because it feels like bragging to say that Beverly Lark doesn’t mind spending time with me.

“Hey.” I clear my throat, but it doesn’t rid me of the want, the need, the selfishness. “Did you decide whether you’d like to go to the Grammys?” My finger absentmindedly plunks down a piano key. “If you can’t, that’s all right.”

“Oh. Well…we’re fake dating,” she says, twisting it into a joke. “I have to, don’t I?”

I slowly shake my head. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Beverly.”

We lock eyes again, and this time her expression fades to understanding. It’s the same worried expression she’s flirted with all day.

What’s going on in there?

“I’ll go,” she says, suddenly laughing, but it sounds forced. “Obviously I’d love to go with you, Griffin.”

Christ, nothing is obvious about how I feel right now. Her thigh is touching the outside of my own, and I can’t stop thinking about her lips, and she’s exhaling, and it’s soft and gentle and so Beverly.

Not one single thing about our relationship is obvious to me anymore.

Chapter Eighteen

Stayin’ Alive

Beverly

I look out the windows of the private plane heading from North Carolina to California.

You heard me.

Private. Plane.

I’ve never taken portable stairs up to a plane with one cabin. I’ve never sat across from someone, either, only shoved shoulder to shoulder like sardines in basic economy. And I’ve never seen the world through the eyes of Ava, who squirms in her seat, pointing out the roads below disappearing into foggy clouds.

I can’t believe I’m attending the Grammys. I always thought maybe I’d go with Beau, but that plus-one invitation was never extended to me. He said it would make a bigger impact if he went stag. We both knew I wasn’t a partyer anyway.