Page 14 of Unforgettable Player

I kick my shoes off and head into the kitchen. I’m not paying much attention to my surroundings until I reach the doorway leading into the kitchen and see a light on.

Elliot’s standing with his back turned with the fridge open, looking for something. His body—dressed in a loose t-shirt and pajama bottoms—is highlighted in the glow from the fridge.

Elliot’s always been on the skinny side, but he’s filled out a little since the last time I saw him. His arms are more muscular and there’s a shape to him that’s distinctly masculine. I only realize how dry my mouth is when I try to lick my lips and my tongue drags.

When Elliot turns around, he gasps at the sight of me standing there like a weirdo and drops a huge carton of OJ all over the floor.

“Shit.” I spring into action, rushing to help him clean it up. I don’t grab anything to soak up the juice, though, so I just get in the way as he snatches up the carton, close enough to smell the coconutty scent of his shampoo.

We both get up at the same time to get paper towels and bump heads.

“Ouch.”

Judging by the way he’s rubbing his temple, I’m guessing my head’s a lot harder—and more used to knocks—than his.

“Sorry,” I say, resisting the urge to touch his forehead to check I didn’t hit him hard enough for it to bruise.

“It’s okay.” He looks up at me through that mop of dark hair, causing heat to pool in my stomach.

I snap myself out of it, grab the roll of kitchen towel and hand it to him before pulling off a few of my own sheets and getting to work.

“Sorry, Eli. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. I just didn’t hear you come in.” Translation—I didn’t expect you to be standing there, watching me like a fucking creep.

“I just wanted to get something to eat and then I saw you and….” What? You saw him and what? Froze? Stared in awe? “Didn’t wanna get in the way.”

“It’s your house.” He shrugs.

Shit. The last thing I want is to make him feel unwelcome in this house.

“Come on, Eli. We both know it’s as much your house as it is mine.”

He keeps his eyes carefully trained on the spill he’s cleaning up.

I try not to watch him, but I’m tipsy enough to have less self-control than usual.

His skin has this dewy look and his hair is so thick, I just want to plunge my hands into it and let them get lost. He has a really pretty nose and gorgeous, dark eyes with thick lashes. And his lips … forget hot. How the fuck did I never notice how fucking beautiful Elliot is?

He looks up and my reflexes aren’t fast enough right now to look away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“No, um … nothing.” I get up, off-balance in more ways than one. “I should go to bed.”

I get out of there as fast as I can. Not letting myself look back.

5

ELLIOT

It took a long time to get to sleep last night. I had to keep telling myself that Connor did not look at me like he wanted to kiss me.

I thought this wishful thinking part of my brain, the part that would spin the most innocent of looks or touches into declarations of love, would have matured by now. Apparently not.

Connor has always had a naturally flirtatious manner. He’s never thought twice about being tactile with me. And he’s the kind of person who holds your gaze intensely when you talk to him—making you feel like the most interesting person in the room. He probably never realized how much it killed me when he’d casually put his arm around me. Or when he’d slump down next to me on the couch and ask me what I was watching while stealing popcorn from my bowl and letting our legs touch. How was he supposed to know I’d be holding my breath the entire time, praying he didn’t move?

I managed to convince myself that last night was just one of those times so I could finally fall asleep. But that look in his eyes is still on my mind when I wake up on the cot in Scout’s bedroom the next morning.