Page 11 of For the Record

“Music. Records. That stuff.”

“That stuff,” she echoed with a tiny snort and a scrunch of her nose. “Yeah, you could say that.”

I nodded along as if I understood. I needed to go, but I had so much more to ask. More to find out and piece together. But she handed the bag to me, smiling my way with these bright, kind baby-blue eyes, and I felt a rush of heat wash over me.

My fingers reached for the paper straps, strategically avoiding where she held it so as not to make our hands brush against each other once more.

I looked back at the door and lifted my thumb behind me, as if to say I needed to leave. She nodded, not fighting it either.

“I’ll, uh, see you around, yeah?” she questioned with this warmth in her tone that I couldn’t quite decipher.

Nodding my head, I turned to the door and began walking away, initially hoping to avoid any answer to that.

Would we? See each other around, that is? Probably not. It was a big city, full of different areas of downtown, and I hardly ever left my house right outside the town. I was deployed for half the year, and the other half, I stuck to myself, other than the weekly dinners with my family. So chances of me getting another shot at this were slim to none.

I stopped in my tracks, clearing my throat and looking over my shoulder at her. Her eyes hadn’t left mine, and there was so much wonderment in them that I knew if I didn’t get this out now, I never would.

“I was going to let you know…the other night.” I cleared my throat at the mention of it. “It’s a rare occasion for me. I mean I don’t…do that a lot on purpose. I don’t really have time for a relationship, so I was—”

“I know,” she cut in with a smile.

“What?”

“I know you don’t do it a lot.”

Oh. My face turned hot. I hadn’t had any complaints from women in my bed before. But then again, it wasn’t like I asked for them to fill out a survey afterward or anything. But she’d seemed enthusiastic at the moment. To say the least. Plus, the way she waited till the last minute to leave, how she took every minute after so slowly, putting on each item of clothing, lacing her heels back up sloth-like.

She shook her head, correcting herself. “That came out wrong. I meant I know because I don’t either…hardly ever. I recently dropped out of college to take care of some family things, so I also don’t have time. It’s okay. I’ll still see you around.”

I coughed up a choke. “College? How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

A heavy weight settled in my stomach. I shouldn’t have felt guilty. There was no need. She was an adult who could make her own decisions. But it felt deceitful on my end. I mean, she was eight years younger than me. We were in two completely different stages in life. She was young and bright, with a future and dreams ahead of her. I was getting ready to settle into what I assumed was going to be the rest of my life. Work, sleep, see family occasionally, repeat. Twenty-two. What had I been thinking?

“Why?” She tilted her head. “How old are you?”

Part of me wanted to lie. Just to make this easier. To not see her look at me like I was a disgusting old man. Which I wasn’t, but still. “Thirty.”

All right, in hindsight, thirty wasn’t that bad. I was still young-ish. I kept up with my health, mostly due to my job. I worked out every day and did my best to stay in shape. I certainly didn’t feel thirty physically. In fact, I was stronger now than I had been at twenty-two. But mentally, I was an old man, ready to yell at kids for crossing my lawn. My brothers always said I should have had gray hair at the age of fifteen.

Instead of disgust or shock showing on her face, she simply tilted her head to the side with a slow grin. “Huh. You’re very…” Her eyes dropped down my chest and back up. “Spry for your age.”

The tension in my body released, my brows relaxing and my chin dropping. I was taking that compliment with me, going to replay it all night.

I pushed my tongue to my cheek, trying my hardest not to smile. “Uh, thanks.”

She opened her mouth to speak again, and with that smirk, I wondered what kind of comment she was prepared to make. But the door behind me chimed.

“Hey, girl. I brought you leftovers. Luke didn’t want any—”

I turned my head to the familiar voice at the door. Layla Wright stood there, her brows furrowed at me and her lips pursed. Layla was a family friend, I guess you could say. She was going to be family eventually, anyway. As soon as my brother Luke got his head cleared and realized they were both desperately in love with each other.

“Adam? What are you doing here?”

I stared at her for a moment, silently praying for God to give me some kind of reason why I, someone without a record player, would possibly be in a record store.

“I, um—”