Page 121 of Love Felt Like This

“I like when you call me B. It feels like we’re friends.”

“Because we are.”

“Well, then…I’m sorry, friend,” I say.

The happy lines beside his eyes disappear. “Why?”

“Because of everything tonight. Getting drunk. Talking to Beau. Falling in your lap.”

His jaw tightens again, and he shakes his head. “Don’t apologize for any of that. I’m not here to control how you drink or who you talk to.”

“And about your lap?”

“Poe knocked into you. I’ll talk to him about that tomorrow.”

“Give him a piece of your mind?”

“Obviously,” he says. “Though his hangover might be punishment enough.” He gives a joking smile.

My heart is still erratic, watching him stand there, balancing from foot to foot.

I swallow. “I’m sorry about what happened…while I was…sitting on you.”

He immediately shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“No, but…I’m dressed up, so I get it.”

He furrows his brow. “What does any of that have to do with it?”

“I’m pretty tonight.”

“You’re always pretty.”

“I shouldn’t have stayed there and moved around and—”

He huffs out a laugh. “Believe it or not, I’m not just getting random erections whenever. I’m a man in my thirties, not a teenager.”

“But I’m not the type of woman you go for.”

He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “And who says that?”

“I do. Society does. History does. I’m not the type of woman rock stars go for.”

He shakes his head and tongues his cheek. “I know what I like.”

“You don’t—”

“I know what I like, B.”

This isn’t a real conversation. Maybe I’m dreaming already. Maybe I should force myself back to sleep, and then I’ll wake up and I’ll be back in Elk Grove. No Grammys. No tight dresses. No Griffin and beautiful smiles and running into Beau again.

Just cold feet under quilted blankets in mom’s craft room.

Writing.