Page 59 of Grasp The Moment

He doesn’t say anything as he takes the sketchbook from my hands, placing it down on the table. He moves quietly and stealthily as he takes a seat next to me, picks my legs up, and places them on his lap.

“I’m going to start…” I trail off, rolling my bottom lip when our eyes lock. He tilts his head, his eyes studying me as a small smile graces his face.

“Let it rip.”

Taking a deep breath—and another bite of myfourthcupcake, I nod at him.

“Where the hell do I begin? Anna? I love her, but how did she not realize that Hans was playing her? Love Kristoff—he’s one of my ‘hear me out characters’ and?—”

Derek gives me a look as if to say, “Really?” and I falter.

It’s something in the way his eyes zero in on me—the way he gives me his full attention, that causes me to stop speaking and stare at him.

He massages my feet, his hands kneading away my problems and massaging love back into me, and I sigh as he hits a spot on my foot.

“I don’t want to be too much…”

Derek purses his lips at me and raises a brow. “You’re never too much for me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Everything.

Nothing.

I feel like there’s so much happening in my brain, but I can never find the right words to say what I feel.

“I’m tanking my show, and the show isn’t even for anothertwomonths. I’ve eaten four cupcakes in two hours, and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed a crush on a cartoon character in the span of that time…” I chuckle depreciatively as Derek snorts lightly.

“Why do you think you’re tanking the show? I’ve seen your designs—you’re a star, darlin’,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.

Something about the way he says that nickname awakens something in my soul. It’s a soft nickname, hell, it could be a one-off—something that he calls everyone. But when he says it to me, I feel special.

Is that odd? The way his words affect me should be illegal, but then he goes and adds his affection to the mix as well.

And fuck…

He’s spent six hours at the arena, played a long, brutal game on the ice, cooked for me, and is now sitting on the couch, massaging my feet, trying to see what’s been wrong with me lately.

And here I am talking about my issues.

Fuck…

I feel skewed.

Actually, I shouldn’t feel anything—we’refriends… friends that have kissed… a few times.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But do friends look at one another the way Derek looks atme? I noticed it earlier in the room: the soft smile… his warm eyes.

Sucking in a breath, I look at the paused television, then back to the man next to me.

His wavy hair is damp against his forehead, a sign of his shower after tonight’s game. He’s replaced his contacts with a pair of blue glasses, matching the navy-blue sweater he’s wearing—Iloveit when he does that.

Derek's sleeves are rolled up, showing off the tattoos he has covering his arms, but what truly gets me is his goatee.

Don’t shoot the messenger, but goatees are fucking hot—especially when the guy who has one is hot as well.

The picture of Derek Perez, sitting on his couch,man spreadingwhile massaging my feet, is a sight to see.