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“Sure! And actually…” Ama checked over her shoulder and whispered, “it was Xander who requested you.”
“You’ve been watching me?” he whispered, the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just… really wanted to get outta there before you guys boned.”
“Gwen, I’m sorry to break it to you, but you both were panting. I thought I was too late. I thought you already had your hand down his pants—” “Jesus, Mei. At the Plaza?” “Hey, you tell me. You’re the one Xander Thorne followed into the bathroom to pant on.”
And instead he hit the record button on his music writing software and picked up his bow. When he was done, when it was out of him, he clicked save. The computer asked him what to call it. He didn’t want to title it yet, but the file needed a name. He typed: Not a Love Song. And he believed it for a few weeks.
She had no clue what she had just signed up for. Xander Thorne holding a civilized conversation with her? Xander Thorne agreeing to “jam” with her?
“I guess,” she stumbled, rolling her eyes. “I guess I used to call my violin ‘Squeaky.’ But…” She laughed, looking down at the floor. She heard a rumble from his chest that could have been a laugh. “But I don’t… you know”—she gestured—“have an entire room full of girlfriends.”
“That one’s Victor.” She grinned and said, “So, you don’t discriminate?”
He started uncoiling a cord, eyes focused on his hands. “Well, Victor doesn’t go between my legs.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not a love song.”
“On one condition.” A perfect imitation of her own ultimatum last night. He looked up at her under dark lashes, eyes suddenly black. “Take off the robe.”
“It’s okay. Can I use your stuff?” He sighed, hesitating. “Yeah…” Gwen’s chest clenched at his tone, like he didn’t really want her in his things. “But then you won’t smell like you,”
“But I’ll smell like you,” she offered.
“Oh, wait. I have something for you!” Hazel pulled out a tube of lipstick that had the logo HR on the side.
“A little birdie told me you need something that won’t smudge.”
“I may have had that poster… prior to you joining the Pops, but I took it down after your first day, I swear.” “She didn’t get rid of it, though,” Declan called from down the hall.
“I love you.”
The look he was giving her was intoxicating, so pleased and proud, but also riding that line of animalistic and predatory and mine.
“I’m gonna fuck you until you scream tonight.”
“Gwen, babe,” Declan said, “I saw you crying in that video last night, and I said to Jake, ‘We gotta get back to New York. Baby girl is spiraling.’”
“It’s simple, really,” he said. “It’s about a cello who fell in love with a violin.”
