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"Can I see you tomorrow?" The hope in his voice made my heart dip.
I really didn't want to see him tomorrow. I didn't know if I ever wanted to see him again. He was a good guy, but there was something missing. I knew I should like him. That I should want to be with him. That his touch shouldn't make me cringe.
But there was something I needed, and I knew he couldn't give it to me. He'd never be able to give it to me.
"Yeah," I smiled, "maybe." His smile faltered, like he could feel the lie, but I couldn't make myself care.
He had been all over me all day. His hand was constantly around mine, or resting on my lower back. He was always whispering something in my ear—nothing dirty, just things. He was too intimate too fast, and I hated it.
It didn't help that I felt Eli's eyes burning into me all day. Every time I looked at him, I'd find him already staring at me. At where Benji was touching me.
"I'll call you tomorrow then," he said softly. I gave him a reassuring smile even though I didn't feel it and tried not to shy away when he pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. My hand curled into a fist behind my back to keep from wiping his touch away.
It wasn't right—he wasn't right.
Stepping back from the curb, I waved as Benji drove away. I knew why he wasn't right. But he should feel right. He was kind, and gentle, and funny. Mom seemed to actually like him, which was shocking. Even though I knew he wanted to sleep with me, he wasn't pushy about it.
But he wasn't Eli.
I huffed out a breath as I made my way up the short driveway and into the house, silently cursing myself for even thinking about Eli. I debated even inviting Benji, but Lily's words from yesterday haunted me. When she told me I wasn't a bad person for wanting to be with Eli, it validated everything I felt for him. Then it made me panic. So, I panic-called Benji, invited him to the party, and hoped his presence would help me forget about Eli.
No such luck.
I walked to the kitchen, still mentally warring with myself over everything. I shouldn't care about Eli in any way other than like a brother. He was Meredith's husband.
But he was starting to feel less like that and more like someone I could see myself spending forever with. It was hard not to picture this life with him as something more than me just being a nanny for Emma.
I wanted my happy ending, and I knew in my heart that I wanted it with him. But he wasn't mine to have.
Sighing, I began picking up the last of the trash in the kitchen. Mom had helped clean up, but, thankfully, Eli kindly told her to leave when she began invading my space. He probably was just tired of her shit and didn't really notice how much tension there still was between us.
It was hard to see her today, to remember all the words she'd spewed at me. Her disapproval was still palpable, but I knew she'd always feel that way. Sometime in the last few weeks, I realized I'd never be able to truly make her happy. To have her proud of me or the accomplishments I'd made. I'd never have her brag about me like she did, and still does, with Meredith.
But Eli, whether intentionally or not, took her power away today. He took her away before she could say anything too nasty to me, and I couldn't thank him enough for it.
Shoving the last of the trash in the bin, I tied the plastic string in a knot for Eli to take in the morning, and turned around. I gasped at the sudden sight of him standing there, just watching me, a trash bag in his hand.
"Got the last of it," he grumbled, holding the bag up. I blinked at him before turning my attention to the too-full bag. "I was just seeing if you needed anything—"
"I'm good," I blurted, cutting him off. His lips clamped shut as he nodded. "Thanks." I hesitated before taking a step forward.
It felt like he took up the entire archway. I couldn't pass him without touching him. A part of me wanted to touch him, but a bigger part didn't want to. I couldn't put myself in that position. Every time we touched, it felt like we were heading further down an unforgivable road.
Without telling my feet to, I stumbled forward another step, hoping he'd get the hint that I was trying to leave and back up a step. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. Instead, he held my gaze, the bag still clutched tightly in his hand as he watched me move closer.
"Why did you invite him?" he finally breathed. My mouth opened, but nothing came out, not even a breath. "Why would you bring him to my house?" I flicked my eyes between his, my brows pinching tightly together.
"He's my friend," I breathed, and he roughly shook his head.
"He wants to fuck you," he said. "He's not your friend."
"He can't be both?" I immediately wanted to take the words back as I watched his brows rise. "He doesn't want to—to fuck me."
"Please," he laughed. "I saw the way he looked at you all day. The way he touched you." He took a step forward, letting go of the bag and setting it on the floor. His jaw tensed as he glared at me, but I knew he wasn't angry. Not really. I couldn't decipher his mood, but I'd been around angry my entire life and he wasn't that.
"He's a friend," I said again. A sarcastic, unamused smirk stayed on his face. "I didn't know you had a problem with him."
"You didn't know?" he said dryly. I shook my head slowly.
