The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (14 page)

We should stop. I know we should stop
—
but I can
’
t. I just can
’
t. So I don
’
t. Neither does he. Thank God
—
neither does he. I lose track of time as he kisses me desperately
—
his hands everywhere, my hands everywhere
—
and then suddenly he pushes me away. We stare at each other, breathless, and I know he
’
s reached his tipping point. We don
’
t speak. Words aren
’
t necessary. Instead, we catch our breath, we remove our hands from underneath each others clothing, and we simply stare at one another. I marvel at his blue eyes, unobscured by his glasses
—
a sight I so rarely see, except in blissful moments like these.

When we
’
ve both managed to gain control of our breathing, he tentatively grabs hold of my face and draws me close to him again. His lips find mine, but this kiss is different. It
’
s tender and sweet and full of love. Then, suddenly, I understand. I didn
’
t want to talk about marriage, about our future. I told him we didn
’
t need to, but
he
needed to.
This
is our conversation.

Since my first final isn
’
t until Tuesday, my parents convince me to stay another night at home. It was hard to argue when my dad insisted that he missed the sound of my cello. He practically begged me to work on my recital piece well into Sunday night. I intended on putting in the practice time anyway. Plus, Addison was able to catch a ride back to Fort Collins with Hammy, and my mom promised Tex-Mex for dinner, so I really couldn
’
t say no.

When Monday morning rolls around, I sleep in. I vaguely remember my parents both popping in to kiss me goodbye before they head to work, but I don
’
t get out of bed until nine
—
pure bliss. I shower, make myself some breakfast, and pack my car, happy to hit the road knowing that all of the morning
’
s rush hour traffic should be gone. The two hour journey passes with the musical overtures of Brahms and when I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex, I feel both relaxed and eager for a run to bring some life back to my legs.

It isn
’
t until I
’
m stepping out of my Civic that I notice Sonny a few spots over climbing out of his car as well. Grayson is pretty darn hot all on his own
—
but his
’
67 gunmetal gray mustang certainly does not hurt. He inherited the classic car a couple of years ago, when his Uncle Charlie passed away. The inside is completely refurbished and Sonny treats the vehicle like it
’
s his baby, so the outside always looks shiny and new. I have to take a moment and remind myself to keep breathing when he spots me, smiles, and starts heading my way.

I
’
ve missed him. We don
’
t usually see each other every day, but I haven
’
t seen him since last Thursday and it suddenly seems like it
’
s been a lifetime.

“
Hey, Ave. Welcome back.
”

“
Thanks,
”
I say with a grin. I move in for a hug, as if my body has a mind of its own, and he stops me, his hands finding my shoulders and keeping me at arms length. My smile slips as I look up at him. Before I have a chance to register the full impact of his rejection, he offers an explanation.

“
I
’
m sweaty,
”
he warns me. It isn
’
t until he says so that I realize that his hair is pulled up into a messy bun-looking-pony and he
’
s wearing a pair of gym shorts and a sleeveless shirt that is indeed damp with sweat.
“
I just came from the gym. Needed a break from studying so I thought I
’
d do some lifting.
”

“
Oh, I see,
”
I reply, wondering if his sweat is really a deterrent for me.

“
I
’
ll owe you one. Two, even.
”

My grin comes back.

“
If you
’
re not doing anything in a couple hours, I
’
ll come find you after I come back from my run,
”
he assures me.

“
You
’
re going on a run?
”

“
Yeah.
”

“
Can I come?
”
I ask before I think it through.
Man, I need to get a grip.
“
Actually, that
’
s a silly idea. Sorry. Never mind.
”

“
Why is it silly? Of course you can come.
”
He rubs his thumbs back and forth across my shoulders and it
’
s then that I realize that he
’
s still touching me. My cheeks warm and I force a breath in through my nose before I answer.

“
You
’
re practically a giant, compared to me,
”
I say with a laugh.
“
I could be running at full speed and you
’
d probably still be walking to match my stride.
”

He laughs with me and then pulls his hands from my shoulders. I mourn the loss of his touch only for a moment, and then he
’
s moving past me and opening the door to my back seat.

“
Please come,
”
he insists as he reaches for my cello.
“
I
’
ll help you take your things upstairs and then wait for you to change.
”

“
You know, I
’
m perfectly capable of carrying my cello.
”
I grab my other bag and follow him toward my apartment. He doesn
’
t wait for me to agree to go running with him and I don
’
t fight his assumption that I
’
ve changed my mind and want to go.

“
I know you are, but I
’
m better at it,
”
he says, smirking at me.

“
I used to play the violin; did you know that?
”

“
Now
that
is an instrument more your size. What happened?
”

“
When I was twelve I decided that I liked the way the cello sounded better. I begged my parents to let me switch. My dad agreed under the condition that I be able to carry the cello all on my own. That
’
s how I got into running.
”

“
Explain that to me,
”
he says, his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“
Well, I was twelve
—
I didn
’
t have a gym membership but I had to do
something
to get in shape.
”

“
Ah,
”
he hums, enlightenment smoothing out his forehead.
“
And the rest is history.
”

“
Precisely.
”

The apartment is empty when we head inside. Grayson carries my cello to my room and props it against my desk before he leaves me to change. I
’
m in running shorts and a t-shirt in no time.
“
Okay, ready when you are,
”
I announce as I make my way back out to the sitting room, pulling my hair back into a high ponytail as I go.

“
A girl who can be ready in under five minutes. Now
that
is impressive,
”
he teases. I roll my eyes as we make our way back outside.
“
I was planning on doing an easy five
—
how does that sound?
”

I nod in agreement. On my best day, I can run ten, so five seems perfect. Except
—“
Well, that depends on our pace. You might wear me out before we
’
ve made it five miles.
”

He grins at me as he pulls one foot behind him in order to stretch his quads. His barely-there-dimples kick my heart rate up a notch and I
’
m wondering, again, if this run is such a good idea. I bend forward, reaching for my toes as I stretch my hamstrings while simultaneously avoiding his stunning green eyes.

“
You set the pace,
”
he instructs me.

“
Are you sure?
”

“
Positive.
”

We stretch for another couple of minutes and then we
’
re jogging our way out of the apartment complex. There
’
s a trail not too far from where we live and I lead him there. The weather is gorgeous
—
not too hot, not too cold, with a itty-bitty breeze. We chat as we go, discussing our finals schedules and our plans to start working the week after. Because of his scholarship, Sonny doesn
’
t have to work during the school year
—
which is pretty great for him because his football schedule is so incredibly demanding. His summer practice and workout routine isn
’
t forgiving, either, but with the absence of classes he has time to work. He fills his schedule at a hardware store, which I love, for some reason. I like the idea that whenever we need something fixed around our apartment, and the lousy maintenance guy isn
’
t quick to respond, we can just call on Grayson to save the day.

When I ask him how his weekend was, I find out that Mrs. Davis was in town and then I understand why he didn
’
t travel down with Hammy. Jack
’
s mom is probably my favorite thing about Jack
—
she spoils all of us when she
’
s around.

“
I
’
m sorry I missed her,
”
I tell him. We
’
re about two miles into our run and my legs are pretty happy with my decision to exercise.