Chapter Eight
Measured Flirting, Masked Truths, and Murder Boards
Nick
The conversation fizzles out. When Elliot looked spooked at my questioning, I was sure I had him.
But then, the reaction could be because of the sheer size difference between us.
The guy is tiny. He could pass for a college kid if he didn’t have that indifferent with a pinch of vicious expression on his face all the time.
Though something tells me he had it even back in college, too.
But if someone can pull the whole ‘don’t you dare utter words in my direction’ look, it’s definitely him.
If I hadn’t seen him switch to a more agreeable personality for clients firsthand, I’d have worried about his business.
But this Elliot, the social one, isn’t for the weak of heart. Good thing I love a challenge.
And then there’s the uncomfortable detail that my werewolf is enjoying the spicy scent laced with a hint of sweetness filling the car a little too much.
I peer at Elliot through my periphery. He’s sitting straight, his lean body stiff.
He might look slight and slender at first glance, but the man clearly works out.
And not just for the looks, like most people in the city.
The way he holds himself, the grace in his movements, and the quiet strength of his body suggest he trains for agility and power.
Whatever he does, it’s clearly having a great effect on the looks department too.
Wearing those pants with that ass should be illegal, it’s so distracting.
Not that I tried hard not to be distracted.
I know the date isn’t real, but I’m not stupid enough to appreciate a nice view when it’s right there.
Good thing it’s not gonna turn into something serious because I’ll never be comfortable with how easily this man distracts me.
And I don’t even know why. The first time I saw him at Matt and Oliver’s Christmas Party, I knew I had to talk to him.
My wolf practically dragged me to him. Even when he was being what I now know as his default level of mean, I continued to seek him out.
Maybe I just wanted him to feel included in a room full of people he’d never met.
And then disaster struck, and Elliot witnessed a part of it.
That gave me the perfect excuse to pursue him.
Not in a creepy way or anything. I mean…
only slightly in a creepy way. But if his intense hazel eyes and mysterious vibe weren’t the pull, his complete denial of having seen what I witnessed him watch made him even more intriguing.
That reminds me, wasn’t I supposed to be solving some of those mysteries?
“Oliver tells me you guys met on the set of The Pack?” I ask, keeping my tone nice and gentle. Don’t scare the sexy little man, Nick.
He doesn’t even startle at my voice that slices through the awkward silence that had settled in the car. The guy must have a solid nervous system. Or a really bad one if it doesn’t nudge him away from the predator he’s trapped in a small space with.
He turns to me. “Yeah, I was consulting for the show,” he nods.
“Why would a vet consult on a show about werewolves?” I laugh to play up the absurdity.
No change in heartbeat or breathing. Huh. I was sure I’d get something with this line of questioning.
He smiles, though. And I almost rear-end the SUV in front of us. I snap my head back on the road.
“It was pretty stupid. One of the show’s producers is my client.
She has this cute tabby cat who likes to hiss at people whenever they use their phones,” he smiles again.
His eyes have an evil glint, almost looking golden.
“Anyway, the show had a vet character for half a season, then he was killed off. They wanted me to make sure everything sounded authentic.”
“In a show about werewolves?” I scoff.
No reaction again. “As if TV shows are ever responsible with money,” he waves off.
“Fair enough,” I say.
For those keeping count, that’s Elliot: 2. Nick: 0.
Luckily, I find a good parking spot, so I won’t have to hand over my baby to a valet. We walk into the quiet, dimly lit restaurant with an intimate, romantic vibe. Okay, Serena might have been right to ask about my intentions with this date.
This is a serious date spot.
Elliot maintains his typical air of deep disdain even as we’re escorted to our table by a kind hostess. Looking at her cowering under Elliot’s resting face, I believe she’d have given us a table even without a reservation.
“Thank you so much,” I smile widely at her, blocking her view of Elliot.
We are seated at a secluded corner table.
We look at the menu quietly. Everything looks too good, and I spend a long time cruising through the dishes. When the waitress comes, I belatedly remember I’m not here to eat and enjoy. We have a mission, damnit.
After we place our orders, I think of a new way to approach this. I gaze up at Elliot, his face glowing under the low light, lips in a pout. His long eyelashes make his eyes appear golden yellow.
I clear my throat, and his eyes snap up to mine. “What made you decide to be a vet?” I ask.
He keeps the menu down and rests his hands on the table.
He has very long fingers. Never knew I was into hands before, but his do it for me.
“Just always liked animals, and this way I could be around them without taking any responsibility. No cool heartfelt story there,” he says.
His face looks soft, or maybe it’s just the lights.
“How’s Mickey settling, by the way? Did you find a way to deal with the knife situation, or has he already stabbed himself? ”
I laugh. I did go a little overboard with expressing my concerns that day, didn’t I? No wonder all my friends were so freaked out. The drama was wholly unnecessary, but the concern was clearly needed because I’ve never lost my shit like that in front of anyone. Ever.
It’s so weird it came out in front of Elliot, of all people. And he was so nice to me, at least his version of nice. “Yeah, turns out, you were right. He didn’t go out looking for a knife as soon as we walked in. Or ever really.”
“I’m glad. So you found him at a shelter?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
I nod. “They’d just taken him in. It was meant to be,” I exaggerate.
“Must be. It didn’t look like you were planning to get a dog, though. You were pretty freaked out. Why did you get Mickey then?" His tone is a little suspicious.
Ah, when he said he loves animals, he must mean it. He sure is protective of them. “I went there for a case, actually. Saw him and couldn’t resist getting him home with me. But I swear I’m taking good care of him,” I assure him.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he waves me off. That casual approval fills me with warmth.
I ignore the flutter in my stomach. I must be hungrier than I realized. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch. And we need to get back to work. “You have a lot of friends in the city?”
He tilts his head, his brows furrow. “Not a lot. I like to stay in as much as I can,” he answers gamely.
Ask me. Ask me. Ask—
“You?” He relents after a second of extremely awkward silence with a lot of uncomfortable eye contact.
My smile stays firmly on my lips. He must think I’m a sociopath.
“You’ve already met almost all my friends at the engagement party and the Christmas thing,” I focus on any possible changes in him.
Not hard to do when the restaurant is so quiet.
It’s like they’ll fine people for going a decibel above whispering.
Elliot just nods, completely unfazed. I wasn’t expecting fear or rising pulse or anything serious like that. But not even an eye twitch about the potential of being caught in a lie? I need to up my game.
“That might have been the first thing they hosted together, Matt and Oliver,” I continue.
Elliot snorts. “And they were the only people who didn’t know they were already together.”
“Sucks it got interrupted though,” I try.
“It did?” He frowns. “I guess I’d already left by then.”
“Bu—”
The waitress arrives at the worst possible time, carrying our food. But even the delicious-smelling plates fail to distract me, not when Elliot is deflecting. He left? No, he did not. That was an obvious lie.
But was it a slip or just a flippant comment? Has to be a slip. Even if it has been a while, you don’t forget a room full of people disappearing in the middle of a party without explanation after a big ruckus.
Even Elliot’s life can’t be that interesting.
I watch him cut his steak with precision and delicacy, his face calm and controlled. The pout is not as prominent. He enjoys eating then, or maybe he likes steak. I don’t think the list of things that can get that pout off his face is long. But I’d like to discover them all.
Afterall, I need to keep him relaxed.
“You said you left before the party got interrupted that day?” I nudge him.
He looks up from his plate, eyes squinting. “The Christmas party? Yeah, I left early when you guys went to Oliver’s to help him,” he says, confused.
Gotcha. “Yeah. To help him,” I stress.
“He went for utensils, right? He said he dropped the entire set. He was so embarrassed,” Elliot snorts a laugh.
Fuck. “Yeah, the utensils,” I mutter.
Okay, so that didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.
Because unless I’m ready to accuse him of something right now, I can’t very well continue to interrogate him on the topic.
What if it turned out he really doesn’t know about us?
I mean, humans ignore things that are right in front of them all the time.
They can have all the clues and all the suspicions, but they never see through their preconceived notions.
But Elliot clearly slipped. He has to know his story makes little sense. So, this isn’t ignorance. If I had any doubts before, I have none now. Elliot is lying.
And I’ll get him to admit it. All I need is more time.