Page 28 of The Turning of the Tables

“Yuma, yeah,” Elliot replied. “He used to work contracting, and he’s done some basic carpentry.” He gestured at one of the long pieces of wood that looked like a quarter of the tabletop. “He’s been helping with the surface and leaves.”

I felt a tiny little surge of something that might have been jealousy, which was ridiculous on multiple levels—first, because I didn’t really know the least thing about carpentry, so why would Elliot ask me? And second, because of Rule Two. Andthird, because normal people have friendships and working relationships with all sorts of people that have nothing to do with sex or romance. To say nothing of the fact that Taavi was—by all accounts—happily taken.

It honestly freaked me out a little, because I’m not really a jealous guy by nature. I haven’t ever been particularly possessive about any of my previous boyfriends—although, I suppose, look where that got me. Maybe I should have been a little more jealous about Devin’s nights out, since I was fairly certain the blowjob I’d walked in on hadn’t been the first. I didn’t ask, though. Nobody ever wants to hear the full extent to which they’ve been deceived by someone they thought loved them.

But that still didn’t mean it was a good idea to get jealous of Elliot building a table with Taavi. Because Taavi was definitely spoken for, and I had no claim whatsoever on Elliot.

“You think these will all fit in your SUV?” Elliot asked me, and I dragged myself out of my own head to think about his question.

There were four good-sized pieces that made up the tabletop, but they looked like they’d fit—and the legs weren’t an issue. “Yeah, they should.” I frowned. “You have moving blankets or something?” The last thing I wanted to be responsible for was scratching up the really nice-looking tabletop because I cornered too fast.

“Yeah,” Elliot answered, walking over to an open box and pulling out one of the blue quilted blankets. “Should keep them from getting scratched.” He smirked, clearly waking up as the caffeine kicked in. “Assuming you don’t hit anything.”

“I’ll try not to,” I promised. As though I hadn’t already been mildly concerned about that, unlikely as it was.

We loaded up the Cruiser, layering the top pieces first, then the legs, then the equipment and materials Elliot would need in order to do the inlay. And then I helped him clean up the storage space—sweeping up sawdust and bagging it, then packing up the tools he’d borrowed from Taavi before we locked up again and headed to BTV.

I pulled into the back without incident, although every time I hit a pothole on Broad Street I winced. Elliot had laughed at me.

We carried everything into the currently-empty conference room, and Elliot started setting up. My stomach growled, and I remembered that I hadn’t actually eaten breakfast, just coffee. It must have been pretty loud—either that, or Elliot’s badger-shifter hearing was better than most, because he looked over at me with a smirk on his face. “Somebody didn’t get breakfast.”

“You hungry?” I asked him, feeling my neck heat up. “Icould go grab us something.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted breakfast or early lunch, since it was almost eleven.

“You like donuts?” he asked.

Sugar Shack wasn’t far, although it would be faster to drive there. The lab always got Sugar Shack once they found out that was the only normal-ish donut place I could eat—they have vegan donuts.

“I love donuts,” I replied. “Although I feel like we should both eat something that isn’t sugar and coffee today.”

“We could order—” he cut himself off with a little frown. “Not pizza, I guess,” he finished.

I felt my lips twist a little bitterly. “I mean,youcan,” I said. I still resent my inability to eat real cheese, even though it wasn’t Elliot’s fault. I knew full well how awesome pizza was, and the vegan frozen kind was just sad and pathetic, so I didn’t bother.

Elliot’s mouth quirked downwards. “I’m not that much of a dick,” he said, sounding mildly offended.

I blinked. “I can always eat something else,” I protested, now feeling bad that I’d offended him, the heat on my neck creeping higher.

“Don’t be stupid,” Elliot retorted, a little sharply. “I’m not going to order from somewhere you can’t eat—so no pizza. What about… burritos? Chips and salsa?”

“Yeah, I can just get chicken and no cheese.”

“Then let’s do that—donuts and cheap-ass Mexican. You okay getting it?”

“Yeah, of course.” I was. Both because I didn’t know how much help I was actually going to be and because I felt like I needed to not be breathing the same air as Elliot Crane—not because I didn’t like breathing the same air, but because I’d basically run down Rule Two and was in the process of backing over it for the second or third time.

It wasn’t good for me. Noah may have been getting after me about getting out more, starting to date again, but I really don’t think this was what he meant. Noah’s not judgy about the just-sex part, but he’d be judgy as hell about the fact that while that’s what I’d agreed to, I was falling for this guy who was going to be a thousand miles away in a handful of days.

I sighed as I settled in the driver’s seat, cash from Elliot for the food in my pocket, then backed out of my parking spot to fetch the requested fast-food fat-and-sugar-and-salt delicacies.

We’d draggedone of the little side tables—normally employed holding a very nice plant—from the lobby area to hold the salsa, guac, and queso, as well as a mountain of chips in a very large communal bowl that we’d taken from the kitchen. Nobody else was at BTV, so I was going mask-free, nibbling on chips and dips as I helped hold table pieces, helping Elliot fit together the fine dove-tails that linked each one together. The table would have not a single nail or screw—which I found particularly impressive.

Elliot was currently sitting on the floor, half a donut next to him, carefully sanding between the little teeth of a dove-tail so that the leg piece he was holding would slide into its partner on the table, but would still be snug enough that it wasn’t going to come out.

We’d already done this with three of them, me mostly just trying desperately to hold the table side still while Elliot pressed the joint together using raw strength. I was trying very hard not to watch too closely, because it made the muscles of his arms and back bunch, the tendons standingout in his neck. A few strands of black hair and one small piece of white had escaped their ponytail, and they hung loosely around his face, making me want to tuck them back behind his ears.

Which of course would have—and should have—gotten me smacked.

As it was, I’d had a semi all afternoon.