Page 80 of Embracing the Beat
MICHAELA
“Hey, sleepyhead, still want to go out today?” West’s voice drags me from a blissfully deep sleep.
“Mmm.” I try to burrow against him, but his chest vibrating with laughter makes it hard.
“C’mon, rock star. Time to move it.” His weight shifts from the bed, and he drags the covers with him.
We plan to do our make-up cheesesteak taste test today, but first he asked if he could take me on a walking history tour around Independence Square. Last night I had been excited, but this morning, I just want to sleep.
“Already?” I whine, trying to force my eyes open. He chuckles at my grumbling before brushing his lips against my temple. “We just fell asleep.”
“Nine hours ago.”
“I’m tired.”
“Please?” He nibbles at my ear before sucking at the sensitive spot behind the lobe.
My eyes shoot open, and I glare at the mischievous grin on his face.
“You’re evil.”
“You agreed to this date anyway,” he reminds me with a wink.
Dressed in a pair of shorts, a faded Eagles t-shirt, and a knit beanie a shade lighter than his eyes, he doesn’t look like he’s a thirty-year-old high-school teacher. He looks like the teenage West I remember.
“Like what you see?” he asks, flexing a bicep.
“Yep.” I shift and drop my feet to the floor. Stretching my arms above my head, I try to wake up, even though it wouldn’t take much convincing to lie down and go back to sleep.
But I’ve been looking forward to this date since he and I first talked about the taste test showdown, and I want to see West in his history element again.
Which is why thirty minutes later, I’m showered and dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and letting him pull me to his car. He tucks me into the passenger seat before he rounds the hood and slides behind the wheel.
“Excited?” I tease.
The vibrant energy that surrounds him reminds me of a kid on Christmas Eve.
He nods. “I’ve wanted to do this tour for a while, but they’re usually sold out.”
“Sold out? You make it sound like a concert,” I tease, poking my index finger against his side.
He shrugs, backing out of the driveway. “Usually, tourists book it months in advance, but I checked the other day and there were two tickets left.”
“So it’s going to be a big group?” I’m not famous, so I doubt it’ll be a problem.
Infamous, maybe.
I hate being recognized from the sex tape fiasco, but it still happens every few weeks. Like the students West had overheard.
“I think they try to keep the tour to about thirty.”
“And we’re only walking around?”
He laughs, his hand coming to rest on my knee, and my whole body tunes to the connection. That small touch makes me feel cherished. Treasured. And not because of the physical link between us or the attraction. He’s excited to share pieces of himself with me and, in turn, so am I.
“We’re just walking around,” he confirms. “But in all these famous places where Benjamin Franklin and his peers lived and worked.”
“You haven’t done this already?” I ask as he drives us downtown.
