Page 153 of Love Felt Like This

I shrug. “That simple.”

“So we’d just talk? Is that what you do with fans?”

“You’re not a fan, remember?” I tighten my hand around her ankle. “I’d ask you questions about you.” I give a gentle tug, sliding her across the sheets an inch, that much closer to me. “Because I’d want to know everything about the woman who is at my concert and doesn’t like me.”

Her smile widens. “But I don’t open up to strangers.”

I slide my hand up her calf. “I’m patient.”

“I’m barely open with my own family.”

I hook my hand beneath her knee again and pull her closer. “I’m very patient.”

“And I’d say that you don’t have very good game, Griffin Harvey.”

I grunt as I hold the dip behind her knee. I stroke my thumb over the top. “I’d try anyway.”

“I’d talk about puppeteering,” she counters.

“I’d love it.”

“I’m boring.”

“Not at all. You’d make me laugh.”

“You hate laughing.”

“Not with you,” I say. “Not at the Grand Canyon under the stars.”

I slowly slide my palm up, just beyond her knee, right at the stitched hem of her dress. Shivers crawl over her thighs.

“Griffin…” she whispers. Suddenly her cheeks are red. “This is a lovely fantasy, but c’mon.”

“What?”

She sighs, reaching out to trace her fingers over mine. “You wouldn’t actually want me if we hadn’t met through weird circumstances. Be serious.”

I remove my hand from her leg, reach up, and grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger. I tilt her head to look at me.

“I’m always serious,” I say. “You told me that once.” My eyes dart between her green ones. “So why don’t you believe that I’m serious now?”

But I can hear her thoughts through her facial expressions, the thing she won’t say out loud. Because I’m just me.

I shake my head.

“Believe me,” I say. “I’d want to spend all night talking to you.”

“Under the starry sky?” she asks sarcastically.

“Under any sky.”

I tuck my fingers back under her knee, giving one final tug until her feet are almost entirely in my lap. I ghost a palm over her arm and up to her shoulder, then trace a thumb over the dip between her collarbones. Her breath hitches.

“God, you are…pure magic, Beverly,” I murmur. I don’t even know if I intended for her to hear it, but the words resonated through me.

She cocks her head to the side. “I like you too.”

“Good, because”—I huff out a self-deprecating laugh—“I keep picturing ways to kiss you again.”