28
Valentina
I’ve been avoiding Huxley.
After I fantasized about him that night, I haven’t been able to look at him.
I’m not ashamed. I’m not even embarrassed. I’m just fucking terrified that when I look at him, he’s going to know exactly what I did while thinking about him, and he’s going to think it’s gross. That I should have used someone else.
But really, it’s the irrationality of me thinking that’s how he would respond that keeps me away.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen him, and I’m starting to lose my mind with all this circling in my head.
With all the unnecessary stress I’ve put on myself, my feet carry me to Lewis Hall before my mind realizes where I’m going. But once I get there, I know it’s what I need.
As soon as I sit down, my fingers immediately start moving over the keys.
I don’t know what song I’m playing, but the melody calms me.
I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the sound.
Feeling it through every inch of my body, and pulling me to a place where I’m relaxed and safe—away from the thoughts in my head.
A hand touches my shoulder, making me jump. I look up and find Huxley staring down at me with a smile.
That smile. I’ve officially declared that it’s not mine anymore. It’s just better that way.
“I love how immersed you get when you play.”
I don’t say anything back as he sits next to me. His fingers fall over the keys as he starts playing a new melody.
“So.” His fingers continue to dance over the keys. “How come you’ve been avoiding me all week?”
Shit.
“I haven’t.” My voice scratches, betraying me.
Huxley glances skeptically at me. “I haven’t seen you since Tuesday, Love. That means you’re avoiding me.”
How do I tell him he’s right without telling him he’s right?
I didn’t want to avoid him, but every time I got out of class and saw him standing there, waiting for me, my mind twisted every rational thought I could have and sent me looking for another exit.
When I don’t say anything, he looks back at the keys. “Did I do something?” Sadness laces his words, pulling me towards him to comfort him, but I hold myself back.
I look down at my hands instead. “Not entirely.”
Huxley stops playing. “What does that mean?”
The worry is stronger in his voice, and when I look up at him, I can see it in his eyes too. I stare at him, hoping he can just read my mind so I don’t have to say it out loud.
His eyebrows suddenly go up as if he actually understands.
“You fantasized about someone, didn’t you?” I don’t answer, but his smile grows. “How was it?”
I swallow and nod nervously. “Good.”
He laughs as he looks back at the piano. “And by good, you mean you enjoyed yourself?”
My breath catches in my throat, which gets Huxley’s attention. He glances at me, a smile lifting on his lips as he starts to move his hands over the keys again.
“Who was it?”
“What?” I say thickly, this conversation heating me up from the inside out.
“Who did you fantasize about?”
I continue to watch him play in silence. How am I supposed to tell him something like this? That he was the one I thought about and the one who made me feel better than I’ve ever felt while touching myself?
My hand moves on its own, reaching out for his.
He stops playing and watches me take his hand and rest it on my knee.
I gauge his reaction as I slowly move his hand up my thigh.
When I stop moving, his eyes jump up to mine, wide and in shock.
I move his hand a little bit more towards my inner thigh, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Easy, Love,” he says in a low, rough voice that nearly makes a sound leave my lips.
I grip his wrist to keep his hand in place, but his fingers are a different story, caressing my inner thigh. His pinky finger grazes a bit higher, pulling a gasp from my lips. I grip his wrist tighter while my whole body vibrates with excitement. Are we really doing this here?
A rush of air fills my lungs as he starts to lean in.
“Well, it’s about time.”
My scream rings through the air as Huxley turns his body away from me, shielding me from the person who just spoke. When we see who it is, we both sigh in relief.
Professor Owen raises his hands in a silent apology before looking me and Huxley over. “How long has this been going on?” he asks as he ticks his finger back and forth. “Officially, I mean.”
Huxley’s hand grips my thigh tighter.
“Officially?” I ask with a higher pitch in my voice.
Professor Owen nods, looking between the two of us. “I saw this coming that first class you had. But you weren’t ready back then.”
“Ready?”
Great. I’m just repeating his words. But they’re words that don’t make sense to me. Professor Owen looks between the two of us when we don’t answer. His smile falls as he nods his head in understanding.
“Right. Well. I came in here for a reason.” He focuses all his attention on Huxley as he says, “That reason was to remind Huxley about his show tomorrow night.”
Huxley relaxes and moves to sit normally on the bench beside me.
“You have a show tomorrow night?” I ask, finally able to make a proper sentence.
Huxley turns to me. “Well, I was going to invite you sooner, but you were avoiding me.” His hand tightens on my thigh again, and I somehow manage not to freak out and smile sheepishly.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
He smiles back—my smile.
Fuck it. I’m claiming it.
“So.” We both look up at Professor Owen. “Tomorrow night. Nine o’clock.”
Huxley nods, and Professor Owen gives us one last glance before he leaves the room.
“Does Professor Owen book all of your shows?” I ask once he leaves.
Huxley shakes his head. “He’s only done a few. Usually, ones where he knows the owner or the owner calls up the college to see if they have anyone to spare.”
“And you’re at the top of his list, aren’t you?”
He smirks. “Of course I am.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the piano, but my eyes fall on his hand still on my thigh.
“Do you…” I swallow roughly and start over. “Do you think it’s weird I fantasized about you?”
“What?” Our eyes connect at the confusion in his voice. “Why would that be weird?”
I shrug weakly. “It feels like I did something to you without your consent.”
A look I can’t describe flashes over his face. Maybe relief? But that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t look upset or angry, so I guess I’ll take that as a good sign.
He quickly shifts his features into a more relaxed expression. “Don’t worry about my consent when you fantasize. You’re not hurting me in your mind.” He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you are?”
My eyes go wide, my jaw falling open. “No! God no! I would never!”
He chuckles. “I’m joking, Love.” But his eyes still hold that relief that I can’t explain.
All of my nerves that have been keeping me from Huxley have washed away in an instant. He was okay with me fantasizing about him. He didn’t leave or get grossed out. He’s almost happy.
Without overthinking, I lean forward and gently press a kiss to his cheek.
“What’s that for?” His soft voice flutters my heart before panic hits me.
Should I not have done that? Is he supposed to be the one who kisses me first every time? “I’m sorry. I just—”
“Stop.” He brings his other hand up to hold my face. “Don’t apologize.”
“But you asked—”
He shakes his head, a soft smile lifting on his lips. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”
He strokes my cheek with his thumb, softly, calmly, loosening my inhibitions so much that I say, “I feel like I’m messing everything up.”
Huxley’s smile falls, his eyes filling with sadness. He leans forward, pressing his forehead into mine.
“You aren’t, Love.”
“You promise,” I whisper so quietly I don’t know how he hears me.
He softly presses his lips to my forehead and whispers back, “I promise.”
I look up into his eyes, seeing the truth in the promise and letting myself believe him.
“So you’re coming tomorrow night?” he asks, lightening the mood and bringing a smile to my face.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
And he smiles back.
My smile.