Page 45 of Love & Notes

Julian doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t even flinch at the sound of his own name. He stays exactly where he is, leaning over my shoulder, his dark, stormy eyes focused on my face with a patient focus as he waits for me to answer him.

“I’m not a dog,” he says softly against my ear, letting out a faint huff of amusement. “I won’t be called like one.”

An involuntary snort escapes my nose before I can stop it. It isn’t graceful, and it certainly isn’t dignified. It slips out and sounds mortifyingly like a flat-out animal noise in the quiet space between us.

Perfect, Ellise. Absolutely perfect. Idiot.

Julian’s dark eyebrows arch. “Did you just bark at me, Vance?”

“I absolutely did not,” I deny instantly, feeling a fresh, uncontrollable wave of heat hit my face as I slam the textbook shut with a loud thud.

“It sounded a hell of a lot like a bark to me.” He grins, shifting his weight on the step above. “I didn’t think you were such a comedian, Bow-Peep.”

“I didn’t bark, Julian,” I say, my voice rising defensively as I turn on the step to face him. “But I can actually be funny. You just haven’t seen that side of me yet.”

“Yet..?” He pushes smoothly, catching the word instantly. “Is that an invitation, Vance?”

“I mean—” I fumble. “You just… you haven’t seen me outside of a stressful environment before. We’re always practising when we’re together. You haven’t seen me in a normal social setting.”

The hell was that, Ellise? Stop talking.

“Ah, okay.” He smiles, a rare and genuine expression that softens the usual harshness of his features. “Maybe one day I will.”

I pause, my heart hammering. “Yes, maybe.”

What the actual hell am I playing at? My brain screams the words internally, a violent siren going off in my head. I want to physically grab those two words and shove them back down my throat. I sound like a cliche romance novel character. A girl inviting a notorious, leather jacket bad-boy on a date.

A normal social setting? What does that even mean?

Am I suggesting we go grab drinks? No. He drinks enough as it is.

Am I inviting him into my life outside of Belrose? Hell, no.

This is Julian Thorne. The guy who has spent the last year treating me like his own play-thing. The guy whose toxic, devastating sex life is currently being broadcasted six steps below us. I should be putting up walls, not building a fricking bridge for him to walk across.

But looking at the slight, relaxed curve of his lips, the sudden urge to take back the words completely dissolves.

I force my eyes to stay locked onto his, desperately trying to steady my breathing and ignore the way Nancy is practically boring a hole into the side of my head.

“It’s… the piece is getting there,” I say, clearing my throat aggressively. “I need more time with some of the phrasing shifts. The transition in the Doppio section is still a disaster.”

Julian’s eyes narrow slightly, searching mine, as if he can sense the sudden frantic change in my energy.

“You look like you’re burning up, Bow-Peep.”

“It’s hot out here today.”

“It’s eighteen degrees, Vance.”

Eighteen degrees? Not a normal Fahrenheit temperature stated in a normal way by a normal person living in New York City.

He is so stubborn. He is so effortlessly British.

“I don’t like the heat,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Right.” He draws the word out slowly, his lips twitching.

Without a single word of warning, he reaches down. His large hand is warm and steady as he brushes a stray lock of chestnut hair away from my face. His thumb slides slowly, deliberately across my temple, wiping a faint bead of perspiration that has absolutely nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the mental image of the things that he can do with his tongue.