Page 26 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

“Piano. He accompanied people, sometimes gave lessons.” Her arms remain tightly around her, and I realize I can do what I’ve wanted to do all day.

Stepping toward her, I brush my hands across those shoulders and down her arms, noting the way she relaxes into my touch, sways on her feet from whatever she was drinking, and I pull her into me.

I feel her breathe me in, and we stand there not saying anything for a minute.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” I finally ask, my tone hushed, and I realize I’m afraid of what she’ll say. It isn’t like Will hasn’t hurt her before, like he hasn’t hurt her everyday he’s been with Olivia. What else could he do to show her he doesn’t deserve her?

“He’s just…destroying himself,” she starts, her breath pulling through the sentence like it’ll steady her. “And I can’t help him the way he wants me to.”

I nod, remembering the state he was in earlier tonight, quiet fury rising up my throat as I imagine what he could’ve said to her.

“Fuck him. I need to know if you’re okay.” I search her gaze, desperate for confirmation that he hasn’t broken her irreparably.

She looks back at me, her eyes seeming to trace my face.

“I think I will be,” she says on a breath. “I don’t know what it is about you.”

“Me?” She’s stolen my breath, and not for the first time.

“You make me feel like everything will be okay.” Her lips curve, and it’s the first real smile I’ve seen from her tonight, despite the sad laugh that accompanies it. “How do you do that?”

“Maybe it’s a team effort. It feels like things can’t be anything but okay, when I’m with you,” I tell her, brushing her hair out of her face when she tips it up to look at me.

She cocks her head to the side, regarding me with this thoughtful gaze, before gracefully plopping onto the ground, pulling me down with her so we’re leaning against the back wall .

“Remember when I thought you didn’t like me?” she sort of drawls, a blush blooming on her face.

“Not you. Never you.” I hate that I let him color that way I ever looked at her.

“I know that now.” She pulls her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her head against her knees to look at me, her eyes less red then they were when I got to her despite the buzz still lingering there. “Thank you. For proving me wrong. For being… not my friend.”

“It’s not a favor,” I say defensively around the twitch of my lips. “I care about you, Gen.” My throat bobs when I say it, feeling overexposed despite the extent to which “I care about you” is an understatement.

“I know,” she whispers. “I think I care about you, too.”

“You think?” I say in a low tone, smirking, adrenaline coursing through me at her admission.

Her eyes squeeze shut, her nose wrinkling as she presses her hand over them. “No—not think. I just do. I know I do.” She peeks around her hand, revealing the beautiful swirl of hazel hues I see when I close my own. “Remind me to never approach an open bar again.”

“Does seem like you might have a hangover,” I tell her, her adorable, alcohol fueled embarrassment pulling a slight smile on my lips. I take her hands in mine and pull her to me. “But there isn’t a thing you could tell me I wouldn’t want to hear.”

She regards me seriously, like she’s calculating the risk of what she’s going to say next, and I don’t know how to convince her I want every thought she’ll ever have.

“It feels unconscious, at this point,” she whispers.

“I find myself wanting to be things for you, like available. Or reliable. Or vulnerable. And I care about how you feel, what you need, what you’re not saying because you don’t want to be a burden.

” Something squeezes tight in my chest. “I care so much that I’ve convinced myself this is normal.

That I would probably feel this way for anyone.

” Fear glistens in her gaze when she says this, and I realize that if I never saw this coming, she saw it even less.

That for her, this a freight train, roaring in from the west with no warning; this is a rain storm she couldn’t predict.

“And?” I ask her, unable to look away as her words intimately trace a trail of affection down my spine. She’s drunk; she’s still upset about Will; she might not mean any of this tomorrow. And yet, I’m committing each word to memory like it’ll always be true.

She shakes her head. “It’s not. And I wouldn’t. It’s… you.”

Relief loosens the tenseness twined in my shoulder, in my neck, the tenseness I didn’t realize was there, and I brush my thumb across her jaw in complete reverence.

“Kiss me, Grant,” she says, peering up at me through her lashes.

I dip my head, brushing my lips against hers in a chaste kiss, satisfaction coursing through me when she flicks her tongue out to taste me, claiming my mouth with hers.

It’s the hints of liquor that have me pulling away, have me remembering that as much as I want to brand every inch of her with my touch, this isn’t the time or the place.

A disappointed scowl spreads across her face, the delicate crinkle of her brow making me chuckle as I cup her face.

“I was dreading tonight. Seeing you but not being able to have you,” I admit, running my thumb across her kiss–swollen lips.

“I had a plan,” she says, grinning up at me, contentment beginning to pool in her gaze as she does. She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine.

“Did you?” I think about the fact that, in another universe, I might never have gotten this chance with her at all.

“I was going to lure you into one of these shady closets. Use Jean as my proxy. Very secretive, very sexy.”

“Hmmm,” I hum my amusement, thanking the universe that in this one, I do.

“We could still go that route. We’re in the shady closet. You already kissed me.”

“Except you’re too drunk to even remember which closet we’re in,” I say, cradling her jaw. “Anyways, you’re exhausted.” She’s about to argue that she isn’t when a yawn swallows the intention, and she rolls her eyes.

“You just never want to take me at my word, do you?” she asks, reminding me of the inception of our deal as she snuggles deeper into my side. I feel her breath assume a restful rhythm, and when I peer down at her, I notice her eyes getting heavy. “I don’t want to go back out there.”

“Don’t. Stay here, with me.” I suddenly understand the whole ‘burn it to the ground’ impulse I’ve seen in movies, because fuck the donors, the gala, the whole deal. It would take an act of God to do anything but what she needed now.

“It’s okay,” she says, fumbling with her clutch before finding her phone. “I’m just gonna call a car.” I nimbly pluck the phone out of her hands, the thought of trusting her with anyone but myself right now making me uneasy.

“No. Sloane’s in the city—she can take you home.”

Her smile is so soft, so warm as she looks at me that I want to take a picture. Want this sight as one of those wallet photos I can pull out whenever I can’t be with her .

“Okay,” she says, not fighting me at all, shutting her eyes. “I’m just resting, okay? I’m not sleeping.”

She sleeps and I hold her, memorizing the sound of her subtle snores, for too long. She’s curled against me, like a contented cat, relaxed without a worry in the world, and I want to make her feel like this always, if only she’d let me.

I finally fish my phone out of my pocket, checking to see if Sloane’s still at her art show around the corner.

I need a favor.

Sloane

duh I owe you for like eternity roomie

Thank you

I need you to take Gen home.

Sloane

Okay…can I ask questions?

Just come over to 60 State Street and meet me in the cleaning supply closet at the end of the lobby.

Sloane

Because that’s not suspicious at allllll

I huff an impatient breath, knowing I won’t hear the end of this when I get home later.

Sloane

On my way weirdo

Not ten minutes later, the door creaks open, light filtering in for a brief moment before Sloane closes it behind herself.

“Well isn’t this just the most wholesome little moment,” she whisper-squeaks, her shoulders pinching up in excitement.

“Sloane,” I warn her. “Just take her home. Please.”

“What were you two doing?” she asks, salaciously. “Actually, never mind. Ew. Forget I asked.”

I roll my eyes, slowly adjusting myself so that I can better support Gen as we try to hoist her up.

I’ve been trying to rouse her since I stopped texting Sloane, but she just keeps nuzzling her head into the crook of my shoulder.

I’m not complaining, but I doubt she wants to wake up to a hangover and the sight of dingy mop buckets.

“Gen,” I murmur into her hair, softly, running my hands over her shoulders. “It’s time to go.”

“Sloane! My savior,” Gen beams between yawns, shuffling her way to her feet as I help her up.

“Yes, it’s me. The best person you know.” Sloane winks at me as she loops an arm around Gen, supporting her as they make their way out into the blinding lobby. “The car’s already pulled up, so we gotta go babe.”

“Don’t show off, okay?” I tell her. She just got her car back, and I know she probably sped the whole way to her art show with the top down.

“I’m not goin’ to endanger her, Grant. You forget that I like her, too,” she tells me with a quick eye roll, her grin honest and warm.

I hang back in the closet for a few minutes longer, giving our departures enough distance before reentering the ballroom, the entire scene feeling different than before.

Despite the way my night started, I wander back into the ballroom in a totally different headspace, still high off holding Gen against me as she slept.

And while the logical part of my brain knows that her alcohol fueled confession might not make it into her memory bank tomorrow morning, the part of me still holding onto the hope of an eventual us can’t stop replaying it.

I care, so much, she’d said. It’s you.

Lost in thought, I head to the lower patio for some non-fragranced air, and catch Ben way too fucking close to Olivia to seem anything but cozy and intimate.

I walk over to them, shocked by their audacity.

I know there’s something going on between them but this…

I can’t even imagine being that careless.

I pretend like I have no idea what’s going on once I finally approach them. Just like I play dumb when they ask me where I’ve been.

Then, all hell breaks loose.