Page 79 of Boss of Me

I just hope to God he won’t break my heart.

“What’re you thinking?” he murmurs into my hair.

“Not much,” I say softly. “Just enjoying the music. Tchaikovsky is one of the first composers my father introduced me to.”

“Yeah?” Gunner traces lazy circles on my hip. “What’s your favorite piece?”

“Hmm. It’s hard to say. I mean, the1812 Overtureis his most famous work. AndSwan Lake,The NutcrackerandThe Sleeping Beautyare his most popular ballets—all amazing, obviously. But if I had to pick a favorite piece, it would have to be thePathétique Symphony. That’s the song I performed at the spring concert during my senior year.”

“I’m impressed,” Gunner says warmly. “Pathétiqueis considered one of the greatest symphonic masterpieces of all time.”

“I know,” I say with a quiet smile. “It was Tchaikovsky’s last work and such a powerful piece. I chose it because I wanted to challenge myself, the way my father would have if he were still alive. I was at a recital when he died, so performing in front of audiences has always been particularly emotional for me. During my performance at the spring concert, I imagined him up in heaven grinning and cheering me on.”

Gunner kisses the top of my head and hugs me closer, whispering against my hair, “I know you made him very proud.”

My heart expands at his words. “Thank you,” I whisper, nuzzling my face into the curve of his neck.

He strokes his hand up and down my back, a tender caress that leaves me tingling and warm. “I have season tickets for the Austin Symphony. Maybe I’ll take you to a concert this fall.”

My pulse leaps with excitement. “Like a date?”

“Like a date.” Amusement threads his voice. “Would that be okay with you?”

I smile against his skin. “I think I could manage.”

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, deepening my smile.

I circle his flat nipple with my finger, fascinated by the tiny bumps on the outer edge. “Speaking of dates . . . I lied to you.”

His hand stills on my back. “Lied about what?”

“My date with Dawson.” I bite my lower lip, feeling foolish. “I didn’t have a good time. It was horrible.”

“Horrible?”

“A disaster.”

“Damn,” Gunner drawls. “I’m real sorry to hear that.”

I tilt my head back to eye him suspiciously. “You don’tlooksorry.”

“I am.” His grin belies his words as he shifts his head on the pillow to meet my gaze. “What happened?”

I scowl. “He was an asshole. Boring, shallow, conceited. When he wasn’t bragging about himself, he was fawning over you.”

“Me?”

“Yes,you.” I roll my eyes. “Apparently he’s your biggest fan. He was hoping I’d introduce him to you, the scheming prick.”

Gunner’s grin turns smug. “I hate to say I told you so?—”

I poke him in the ribs, and he lets out a rumbling laugh that echoes around the room.

When I pull away in a snit, he hauls me back into his arms, imprisoning my body against his. I surrender with a dramatic huff, fighting a grin as my head resettles on his chest.

His fingers sink into my hair, gently kneading my scalp and sending a new flurry of tingles over my skin. “I’m sorry Dawson turned out to be a pathetic loser. Want me to kick his ass?”

“No,” I grumble. “He’s such a fanboy, he’d probably enjoy it.”