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I do feel a hell of a lot better after getting all that stuff off my chest to him yesterday, though. Almost a little lighter. Like I’m no longer carrying something I didn’t even know was weighing me down.
Max might not have been prepared to admit it, but I could tell by his face that what I was saying was sinking in at least a little. So hopefully he had a damn good think about it. If I can save one person from feeling like they can’t be with someone they want to be with, then it will have been worth it.
Anyway, the best person to run this email by would be Elliot. He’d tell me if it’s too tough, or not tough enough, or has just the right amount of tough. It’s easy for him—he just naturally hits the right note with people. I bet there isn’t a single member of his staff who doesn’t like and respect him.
But he’s the one person I can’t ask.
Half of me longs for us to be friends again. The other half thinks it’s impossible to turn back the clock to that stage of our relationship. I mean, how can you be friends with someone whose pants you want to take off with your teeth and who wants to take off your pants with his teeth? But there can’t be any tooth-related pant removal for anyone. I won’t allow it, even though I want it very, very much indeed.
I delete my draft email. I’ll try again later.
My door swings open, making me jump.
I jump again, but higher, when the doorway is filled by Elliot.
My heart leaps and races, sending out a surge of blood that crashes into the farthest flung extremities of my body.
Given how fiery hot my cheeks are, I must look like a startled and extremely confused beet.
My mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out.
Elliot seizes the initiative. “Don’t say anything.” He holds up a palm to me, as if to emphasize his message and make sure I get it. “And don’t throw me out. Please. Just listen to me.”
While I’m hot and flustered, shaken and baffled as to what the hell is going on, Elliot is the exact opposite. He’s all confidence and poise, and absolutely goddamn beautiful in my favorite of all his suits—the dark gray one with the bright blue jacket lining.
“Sorry,” he says, obviously noticing my startled and confused beetness. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.” He pushes the door almost shut behind him. “I totally get that you might not want to see me. Or listen to me. But could you just give me five minutes? After that, if you never want to hear from me again, I’ll be gone.” He holds up his hand again, this time spreading his fingers and thumb. “Five minutes. Okay?”
Since my brain is doing a stellar impression of ice in a blender, it’s not much help in forming sentences. So I nod.
“Great. Is that the only monitor you have?” He points at the screen in front of me on the desk.
I nod again. Apparently, my neck is the only functioning part of my body. Well, that and my galloping heart. And my backflipping stomach. And my thermostat—though that seems to be stuck on maximum.
He scrunches up his perfect lips in thought as he casts his gaze over everything in the tiny room, trying to figure out something.
“This will have to do.” He pulls out the laptop, that I hadn’t noticed was tucked under his arm, and sets it on the cabinet that’s against the wall opposite my desk.
“You need a better monitor than that, though.” He points at mine again. “The ratio and resolution on those are terrible. I’ll get another one for you. Actually two,” he says, as he wakes up his computer and enters the password.
What the hell is going on here? We had out-of-this-world sex for a night and a morning and almost had more on the grounds of his parents’ house while the entire family was gathered on a nearby lawn. I told him to get lost and he vanished off the face of the earth. We haven’t seen or communicated with each other for a month, and now he’s charged into my office concerned about the dimensions and pixel count of my computer monitor.
It’s equal amounts shocking, baffling, and…arousing.
Elliot turns his back to me as he taps on his keyboard. That jacket sits perfectly across his square shoulders, nips in at his slim waist and, with him reaching up to type, lifts a little to reveal how perfectly those pants sit around his butt. Not too tight, but just tight enough.
The pounding in my heart is joined by a flutter that ripples low in my belly. This is why I can’t be around him. This is why we can’t be friends. I can’t imagine a time when I won’t want us to be more than friends, for us to be everything. I won’t ever be able to get past that.
“Elliot?” Good God, a word came out of my mouth. His name feels good on my lips, like they’ve been given a special treat they haven’t had for way too long. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll set this up and show you,” he says, his back still to me. The hair on the back of his neck where it meets his collar looks freshly trimmed.
Some of my senses start to return. The vibration in my brain cells is subsiding, and a few of those cells are starting to re-engage with actual thought processes. But the thoughts they’re having aren’t good. If Elliot’s come to see me without an email or a text to give me a heads-up, this has to be something bad.
I unstick my arms from my sides. It’s getting pretty clammy under there. “Has something happened? With the nonprofit or something? Did I do something really wrong?”
He turns to face me with that warm, affectionate smile that reaches all the way to his eyes and lights them up. “Oh, God no. Nothing like that.” He clasps his hands in a prayer-like position. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Worry is one of the things I’m feeling right now, yes. Along with surprise, confusion, and a few other things I can’t quite put my finger on.”
