When I come out of the bedroom, I find Julian sitting in the living room with papers strewn across the center table. And seeing him in those black-framed glasses is always a delight for me.
Damn. A small grumble escapes my mouth as I chew my bottom lip. I could never tire of that sexy, smart look.
I avert my eyes and stride to his dining area, which is adjacent to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I can’t help but admire his private space. It’s enormous and modern, much like his workplace. The living room’s walls are mostly glass, which overlooks the city’s panoramic view. There are no photographs on the walls, only vibrant abstract paintings.
His space reflects his personality. It’s bright and well-organized. I’ve met men like him who are gentlemanly, but Lora used to say that nice guys are almost boring. I wouldn’t understand her because she prefers bad boys to nice boys.
Well, Kristoff is nice...Julian, on the other hand, is anything but boring if I understand Lora correctly. The man exudes sex appeal, which makes my thoughts sound like I’m the bad girl. It’s as if I want to be wrapped in his arms, against his chest, inhaling his scent. I get nervous whenever he gets close. I feel like I’m on the most dangerous ride possible and could fall anytime. It’s exhilarating.
His qualities range from intelligence to compassion to enigmatic to sensuality. And can also cook the most mouthwatering meal...
I’ve officially gone insane.
Breakfast is already served in the dining room, and it isn’t your typical pancakes or processed meat. It’s a very healthy one. I see tomato and avocado slices, cream cheese, whole-wheat toast, eggs, nuts, berries, and smoothies.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask from the dining room.
“Just a second. I’ll join you.” He gathers the papers and sets them aside. Then he removes his eyewear.
While I wait, I sit down and snack on an almond. Shortly, Julian joins me.
“My shirt looks good on you,” he says, his eyes glinting as he looks down at the white T-shirt and black sweatpants I’m wearing.
“Thank you, but please, I look hideous.”
He smiles. “I think you’re beautiful.” He pulls a chair and takes a seat across from me. “Help yourself, Anya.”
I watch as he picks a piece of toast and spreads avocado and cream cheese. I try to mirror what he does.
“I usually have oatmeal and pancakes, so this is nice,” I say.
“Mm.” He takes a small bite of his food. He also eats too neatly. “But how’s your head?”
“Not spinning anymore, thanks.” I eat a bite of my food and hum in delight. “Delicious. You know, I’ve never had breakfast with Kristoff.”
He pauses, dropping his utensils. “Really?”
Oh, crap. I guess I’m becoming used to having a more personal discussion with him. “Ah, yeah... We never stayed up too late to wake up together.”
He takes his knife again and continues. “Didn’t he stay at your place the other night?”
“No.” I put tomatoes and eggs on my plate. “No, he didn’t. That’s not something we do.” I flush as I look up at his surprised expression. “We... um...” How should I put this? The way his gaze was fixed on mine gave the sense he was waiting for my response.
Despite being my second boyfriend, Kristoff was the one who first took my virginity. I’ve only had sex with him a few times since we started dating—three times, to be exact. The last time was two months ago. It was always sweet, and he’s not needy—in a way, when I listened to Lora’s experiences, who seemed to know every position in Kamasutra. Kristoff, in contrast, always left at night or brought me home whenever we were at his place. I never questioned why.
I look away. “I’m not sure why we do or don’t do that.”
“I’m sorry. That’s probably too personal to answer. But I understand.”
I smirk, amused by my foolishness. “It seems I’ve gotten into the habit of disclosing much private information to you lately, professor.”
His lips curl up. “Is it that bad?”
“It’s just strange how you seem to listen to everything I say. You’ve given me the most sensible advice. I like it.”
“Except that I don’t listen to everything, Anya. I’m just not in a position to meddle in your affairs.” He lifts his glass of mud-colored smoothie and drinks it. Mine is pink, and it’s probably strawberry.
“And what are those affairs? Kristoff affairs?”
“No, but would you like to know?”
“Yes, please clarify.”
He moves closer. “No, it’s not about Kristoff. Just you.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I think I’ve grown a need to look after you,” he confesses hoarsely. “It seems to have begun long ago, possibly even before Whitlock.”
My pulse sped up again. I’m shocked by how personal his words sound.
“You want to look after me?” I repeat what he said to make sure I understand him precisely.
He beams. “Exactly what I said.”
“However, you said long ago. Were you referring to the Christmas party? I can’t say that’s been a long time.”
“I can’t believe you still haven’t noticed.”
I gape at my food and get lost in my thoughts. Even before that, we had only met once in high school.
“Things have changed, Anya,” he continues.
“Please tell me,” I say outrightly.
“Alright.” He takes a napkin from the table and wipes his mouth. “Weren’t we only supposed to choose three candidates for the scholarship? But we settled on five.”
“I’ve heard of it. But I placed fifth.”
“Anya, your score was less than a point away from fourth place. It would be unfair to leave you out, so the panels included you. I“Did you?” So I got the grant because he picked me? That’s news.
“And then I recognized you at the party two years later. Remember when I talked to you on the porch?”
A soft peal of amazement escapes my mouth. I cup my palms around my face. “What...”
“You left an impression. I thought your style was unique. You obviously came close to losing because of the lyrics you wrote. It’s a little cluttered, but I saw potential.”
“I’d never guess. Do you remember what you said when I spoke to you?”
His gaze sweeps across my face, and he cocks his head. “Would it surprise you if I did?”
I softly laugh, but I’m still skeptical. “I’m not surprised if you don’t. It was at the after-party. You saw me at the buffet, stuffing muffins in my mouth. I choked because I was too hungry, and you kindly offered me water.”
“And what did I say?”
I remember the part after he told me to relax. “You said it’s a shame the competition is over, that you enjoyed watching me play.”
“And then?”
“You mentioned doing a piano duet with me on the same song I performed in the finals. I am truly honored.” I sigh at the special memory.
“Yes, but you left something out.”
“Of course, I remember. I told you I’m your big fan.”
“Alright, but the next thing you said made me remember you.”
I giggle. “Ah, yes. It was when I thought you were the composer and songwriter of ‘Angel’s Touch and Summer Waltz,’ which appeared on Stella Pierce’s album.” I look up at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned—”
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “Tell me why you thought I wrote those songs.”
“I recognized your style. Those note patterns. I know it’s yours just by listening to it. I guess I was mistaken because they said the singer wrote it herself.”
Maybe it happens to couples who work in the same field. They pick up on each other’s qualities in the same way I adopted some of Kristoff’s styles and am to him. We also help each other write.
“But you were right, Anya. You seemed to be the only one who truly knew me back then. That brief conversation convinced me you’re a remarkable musician. How could I possibly forget that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Those songs were mine, and you heard it.”
My pupils dilate. “So I was right! It’s yours, but why did they say Stella’s?”
“I don’t talk about it anymore. The main point is I was surprised by your ability to recognize different musical styles based on your hearing abilities. That’s exceptional.”
“It just comes naturally. But, God!” Heat rises to my face. “This is going to be inappropriate, but may I say something that may go over the line?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“I had a huge crush on you then, so I was over the moon when you spoke to me.”
The corner of his mouth twitches up. Then he leans in closer, and his lips brush against my ear. “How about now?”
My heart beats hard against my chest. If it weren’t for my ribcage, it would probably jump out. “Uh... I... um...”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Julian!”
“You’re catching on, Ms. Scott. I like that,” he mumbles as he pulls away. “Finish your breakfast. Fred will then drive you home.”
I hold my breath to avoid inhaling his intoxicating, pure male scent. He’s far too capable of making me lose myself. I almost fell for it.
But what if I just let myself fall for it?