Chapter 24 #2
“Who’s Tia?” I ask, my curiosity sparked.
He’s still gently cupping my face, and the room seems to freeze around us.
I don’t want him to let go. I want to stay like this with him, unraveling his deepest secrets and whatever makes his brain not work the way he wants it to. I wish I knew exactly what he meant.
“She’s my ex,” he blurts out.
Ah! So he does have an ex-girlfriend. “I guess you split up?” That’s a dumb question; of course they did.
“She wanted to travel and live a laptop lifestyle, whatever the fuck that is.” There’s so much disdain in his voice.
Having watched my parents travel from place to place, it’s not my cup of tea either. I like having a steady job, and a roof over my head I can come home to every night. It may sound boring to some, but to me it’s important. “And you didn’t want to do that?” I ask.
The slight shake of his head is full of certainty, his voice strong and sure too when he replies, “I didn’t because I’ve always wanted to work for my father. She left, and I didn’t.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Five years ago.”
Hell, that’s a long time not to have been with anyone else and it’s no wonder there are no images of them together online. One, he’s very private, and two, many years have passed since then.
His next confession hits me hard. “I survived her trying to break my heart.”
It’s taken more glasses of champagne than me for Mr. Buttoned-Up to admit to something so deep.
“And how is your heart now?” I ask, my own heart stumbling over a beat.
“It healed a long time ago. But my heart is now very sick.”
“It’s sick?”
What the hell does he mean? Does he have something wrong with his heart?
His nod is certain, and a playful twinkle in his eye stops me from worrying. “It keeps doing this mad shit when you walk into a room, Sapphire. It feels like it might explode.”
What? No way.
I let out a short laugh, my lips curving into a small smile.
Also, thank the Gods he’s not sick, or has heart failure like he had me believing.
Alcohol is Eli’s Achilles’ heel and a truth serum, it would appear. Plus, he’s never cussed in front of me before; he’s always been well-mannered and polite when he’s with me. The perfect gentleman, albeit a grouchy one.
I’m a terrible person for trying to unpick his thoughts while inebriated. Still, my stomach is doing back flips at his drunken honesty, confirming what I suspected: I wasn’t imagining the spark I’ve felt since day one.
“Maybe you should get it looked at,” I suggest, knowing precisely what’s wrong with him: he’s attracted to me.
His shoulders slouch down, and he falters with a gentle nod. “You don’t understand what I mean.”
“I do, Eli.”
“You do?” His brows fly up to his hairline in surprise.
“Yes,” I confirm. “Mine does the exact same thing every time I see you, too.” Before we meet. During. After.
I hope he remembers this conversation tomorrow.
With a mix of mischief and happiness, his cheeks flushed from alcohol, he smiles broadly as if his grin is too big for his face, his unrestrained joy shining from him.
“Will you stay with me here tonight?” He presses his lips together, before he then adds, “Let’s stay here tonight and not return to the city in one of the wedding coaches like we planned. Be here with me. Please.”
Other than what I’m wearing, I don’t have a stitch of clothing.
To hell with it, I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Mistee is also taking care of Ghost, and she won’t mind staying over at my place to cat-sit. “Okay.” I’ll text Mistee and let her know.
Eli gently kisses my forehead; it might not seem like much to anyone else, but for me, it’s exactly what I need. It reveals that his rough exterior isn’t all there is to him. He’s layered and tender. It’s his subtle way of showing he cares and that I matter to him.
Quicker than the speed of sound, he slips his fingers into mine, casually pulling me toward the exit of the wedding tent while waving goodbye to everyone, his family laughing at how flippant and carefree he’s acting.
I swipe my purse off the table as we walk by, trying my best to keep up with this reckless, happy-go-lucky Eli.
It’s kind of exciting. Also, I’m not sure what he means by staying the night.
Does he mean, like, sex, or just sleeping together in a bed?
I hope it’s the latter, I’m not into drunk sex, and I don’t think he is either.
Next, we’re entering his mom’s house, running up the stairs, which he stumbles up three, if not four times, cussing to himself under his breath at the steps for being wobbly and asking why they keep moving.
I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t have a hangover in the morning or a broken toe at this rate.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I tell him, slightly out of breath from the whirlwind that Eli has become.
“There.” He points to an open doorway. “You’ll find me in here.” He slurs a little, sounding stupefied, throwing me an over-the-top finger wave as he walks through a bedroom door.
Eli lets out an ooft sound as he staggers, colliding with the doorjamb. Soft laughter bubbles up, and it slips from my lips.
Boy, he is drunk.
I dart into the bathroom, loving every minute of this crazy moment with him, before closing the door and going in search of toothpaste in the medicine cabinet above the sink.
This morning, when he picked me up, we agreed to go back to the city together in one of the coaches provided for guests to give his driver the rest of the day off. It never crossed my mind, not once, that I would be spending the night with Eli. Maybe I wished for it, but it was a long shot.
I’m deeply aware that Eli changed his plans at the last minute, which he usually doesn’t do. He’s a stickler for following his schedule and hates anything last minute thrown his way. Staying over tonight is a big step for a guy who always adheres to a strict routine.
Grabbing the tube of toothpaste off the shelf, I use my finger to brush my teeth as best I can, surveying the vast bathroom that’s big enough to throw a party inside.
“Holy shit,” I mumble, spraying toothpaste finely into the air as I take in the expensive-looking fixtures, marble flooring, and tiling accented by a giant circular window on the far side of the bathroom that must overlook the valley.
I imagine the view is breathtaking in the morning, resembling a scene from a movie.
“Wow.” The shower cubicle is large enough to fit at least ten people.
Once I push my eyes back inside my head, which had popped entirely out of their sockets in amazement at the elaborate yet cozy decorated bathroom, I finish freshening up, text Mistee to tell her about my change of plans, and she quickly replies with a thumbs-up and a smirking devil emoji.
My pulse quickens as I leave the bathroom and head for the door Eli vanished through.
Tentatively, I linger in the doorway, biting the side of my mouth and feeling nervous for the first time in a long while.
“Eli,” I whisper into the dark room lit only by moonlight because he’s failed to close the drapes.
A loud grumble escapes his lungs before he throws back the comforter and tells me, “Get in, Sapphire,” already sounding half asleep.
As I fully enter the room, I smile to myself, amused at how he’s taken off all his clothes, except for his boxers, and left them strewn across the floor. I’m almost tempted to fold everything into a neat pile for him, but I resist.
The giant wooden bed frame creaks as Eli shifts onto his side to get comfortable, the peaks and valleys of his laddered abs highlighted by the light reflecting off them, the deep shadows revealing how pronounced they are.
I wish I could see them clearly.
Patience, Sapphire.
When the sun comes up tomorrow, my wish will come true.
I drop my purse on the nightstand and try to take off my dress, but I struggle with the tricky fastener and give up.
Instead, I lift the dress over my head, leaving me in only my panties, because I couldn’t wear a bra; the back was too low.
It’s not as if I have much up top, so my girls don’t exactly need any support.
Draping my dress over the side chair next to the bed, I feel completely comfortable in my own skin as I walk over to a chest of drawers and open one, then another, hoping to find a T-shirt, but I fail. I close the drawer and exhale, my eyes landing on Eli’s tuxedo shirt in a heap.
That will have to do.
On my way to bed, I lift his still-buttoned shirt off the floor and pull it over my head, easing my arms into the thin cotton, encasing myself in Eli’s cologne, wishing his arms held me instead.
I nuzzle into the stand-up collar, inhaling his scent even deeper this time into my nostrils, unable to get enough, as his masculinity awakens all my senses.
I wish I could have been this shirt and wrapped around him all day.
I snort out loud at my stupidity and how Eli makes me feel like I’m a teenager again.
Although high school wasn’t the best for me.
Especially when the most handsome guy in school and captain of the football team decided I was his verbal punching bag during my last year of high school and thought it was funny to tease me about my appearance, my style, my small boobs…
I could go on, turning my final year at school into a living hell.
It’s the same guy who DM’d me, asking if I remembered him from school and wondering if I’d be interested in going to dinner with him.
Mistee and I both agreed that the middle-finger emoji was the perfect reply, then blocked him immediately. Douchebag.
So, scratch that, Eli makes me feel all shiny and new, and giddy, and I don’t get giddy and googly-eyed over men. Like, ever.
Standing by the side of the bed, I feel the pull to join him strong like a magnet, and slide into the cool sheets just as he begins softly snoring, signaling that he’s completely passed out. I’m not the least bit disappointed because it means I get to ogle him without him knowing.
Perving more like, but whatever.
I pull the comforter over my body, then roll onto my side to gaze at his strong features, memorizing every freckle, lock of hair, and full lips as the moonlight dances across his skin, accentuating his features.
Before closing my eyes, I reach up and lightly run my finger over his brow, which looks less tense than normal.
Usually it’s wrinkled with deep lines from worry or whatever concerns him.
Maybe it’s his brain, he says, that doesn’t work right anymore.
I don’t understand but want to. It’s now a deep need within me to know now that he’s overshared.
He’s deep in sleep and at peace, and his face is smooth and handsome, as if whatever thoughts keep him on edge have vanished.
I hope whatever’s bothering him is only temporary, and more importantly, I hope he trusts me enough to share what it is. Maybe someday he will.
All I want is for him to be happy and live his life to the fullest, without carrying the burden of something he’s been struggling to shake off.
“Goodnight, Eli,” I whisper softly in the darkness, moving closer and nestling into his chest.
In response, he lazily drapes his arm around my waist, pulling me close with his firm embrace. I close my eyes, allowing his warmth to envelop me like a winter blanket. Soft, cozy, and smelling like a spicy Christmas candle.
This feels great—the feeling of belonging.
Here, now, in his arms, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.