38. Eli
CHAPTER 38
ELI
Afrobeats pulsed through the apartment, steady and rhythmic, the bass thrumming beneath my skin. I had chosen the playlist myself, craving the comfort of music while I cooked. The scent of garlic, butter, and Parmesan filled the air, mingling with the warmth from the stove. I stirred the creamy sauce, swaying slightly to the beat, letting the rhythm settle into my bones.
The front door swung open, and I turned instinctively. Niall stepped inside, his duffel bag sliding from his shoulder and landing with a soft thud. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and the flushed pink of exertion still clung to his cheekbones. His Michigan Mavericks hoodie stretched taut across his broad shoulders, and when he rolled them back, exhaling, something in my chest tightened.
I’d missed this—missed him. And that was on me.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice casual.
Niall’s gaze flicked from me to the stove, nostrils flaring slightly as he took in the scent. “Hey.” A beat of hesitation, then, “Smells good.”
I lifted a brow, smirking. “You sound surprised.”
His lips twitched. “Didn’t say that.”
“Sure, but your face says otherwise,” I teased.
His smirk deepened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, I grabbed a spoon, dipped it into the sauce, and held it out. “Here. Taste.”
Niall stepped closer, and my breath caught. The kitchen wasn’t small, but his presence filled the space, his heat sinking into mine. He reached for the spoon, but at the last second, his lips parted, and he took the bite directly from it. His eyes held mine as he hummed, the sound low, approving.
“Not bad,” he admitted.
I exhaled a quiet laugh, ignoring the way my stomach clenched. “High praise coming from you.”
His smirk softened, and I tilted my head toward the cutting board.
“You wanna help? You can chop some parsley.”
For a second, I thought he’d decline. But then, without a word, he stepped around me, washed his hands, and reached for the knife. He didn’t hesitate.
The music shifted, the smooth intro of ‘ Calm Down ’ by Rema featuring Selena Gomez filling the space. I moved instinctively, shifting my hips as I stirred, letting the music take me.
A quiet snort came from beside me. “You always dance while you cook, whether there’s music or not.” It wasn’t a question—he’d seen it before.
I shot back, spinning the spoon between my fingers. “Food tastes better when you make it with good vibes.”
Niall huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he scraped the chopped parsley into a bowl. “That a scientific fact?”
“Absolutely.”
I turned, grinning, and without thinking, I reached for his hand. His brows shot up, but he didn’t pull away as I tugged him toward me.
“C’mon,” I coaxed, voice playful. “You know you want to.”
For a beat, he hesitated, and then his fingers curled around mine. He spun me, the movement smooth but firm, and I let out a startled laugh. When I came back around, I found him grinning—really grinning, wide and unguarded. The sound of his laughter, deep and rich, wrapped around me, sending warmth curling through my chest.
He twirled me again, and this time, when I landed against him, I was close enough to feel his breath on my cheek. The scent of him—clean sweat, faint traces of aftershave, and something inherently Niall—flooded my senses. My pulse stumbled.
The song faded into something slower, something deeper, and I felt the shift in the air between us. His hand slid from mine, but it didn’t go far, settling lightly against my waist. My breath hitched. The weight of his palm burned through my shirt, and suddenly, I was hyperaware of everything—the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before flicking back up.
Heat pooled low in my stomach. The air grew thick, electric, and when his fingers flexed slightly at my waist, I had to fight to keep my voice steady.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” I murmured.
Niall didn’t move, didn’t step back. His thumb brushed against the fabric of my shirt. It was the tiniest shift, but I felt it like a spark.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, finally, he nodded, voice rough when he said, “Okay.”
I turned back to the stove, heart pounding, knowing damn well this was far from over.
We plated the food together, moving in sync, passing utensils and dishes without needing to speak. It felt natural—easy in a way that made something ache deep in my chest. We carried our plates to the table, settling into our seats as the music continued playing in the background.
Between bites, conversation flowed. Nothing deep at first—just light talk about the food, the playlist, an easy back-and-forth that felt like slipping into an old rhythm. But then Niall set his fork down, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the table. His gaze flickered to me. He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to start. I waited, giving him space.
He exhaled, fingers stilling against the table. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, low and rough. “But I know I did.”
My throat tightened.
He went on. “I thought keeping things quiet would protect something… maybe buy me time to figure it all out. I told myself it wasn’t about you. That it was just nobody’s business. But then…” He trailed off, jaw tight. “But then I saw your face.”
I stayed quiet, my throat thick.
“I made you feel invisible, and I hate that. You deserve more than I gave you.”
I swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “I told you didn’t need a grand gesture, Niall. I just needed… something. Anything that said I wasn’t a secret you regretted.”
His shoulders dropped, heavy with guilt.
I went on, not accusing—just telling the truth. “With Chase… he told me being bi wasn’t real. Said I’d always want more, that I couldn’t be trusted. I lost friends trying to prove to him that he was enough. I changed who I was just to make things easier. But with you, I thought I could just be. And then you wanted to keep us a secret. And maybe that’s not the same kind of erasure, but it still made me feel small.”
Niall flinched—not dramatically, just the smallest shift—but it landed all the same. He looked like he wanted to reach for me but wasn’t sure if he should. If he could .
“I wasn’t fair either,” I added, softer now. “That day, I said I was with a guy who wouldn’t fight to acknowledge me. I lumped you in with someone who tore me down to feel bigger,” I admitted. “You weren’t trying to break me. You were just trying not to break yourself. I was hurt and scared, and I said something stupid to push you away before you could pull back again. But I didn’t mean all of it. Not really.”
His eyes glistened, but he didn’t look away. “You were right to say it,” he murmured. “Even if it hurt. I needed to hear it.” He paused. “I want to fight for you. I didn’t know how before. But I’m learning. I swear I am.”
Tears stung at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back. “I don’t need you to shout it from a rooftop, Niall. I just need to know you’re in this. That you’re in it—with me.”
Our food sat untouched, growing cold between us, but neither of us moved to do anything about it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “For all of it. For making you feel like you had to shrink yourself just to be with me.”
The words felt like a warm ache in my chest.
“I didn’t mean it,” he added. “You should’ve felt seen. You should’ve felt safe.”
I nodded slowly, the lump in my throat thick. “I’m sorry too. For what I said. For acting like you were the same as him. You’re not. You’ve never been. I think I was just so scared of ending up back in that place again that I didn’t give you the chance to show me who you could be.”
His hand inched forward on the table—hesitant, tentative. Not quite touching, but close.
“I’ve missed being this close to you,” he admitted, his voice even quieter than before.
My stomach clenched, a mix of warmth and longing spreading through me. I swallowed, setting my own fork down as I met his gaze. “I miss us.”
The words hung between us, heavier than anything else we’d said that night. Niall exhaled softly, like he’d been holding something in for too long. Then, as if the universe had impeccable timing, ‘ Made for Me ’ by Muni Long began playing through the speakers. The sensual, hypnotic melody curled around us, wrapping us in something unspoken, something inevitable.
Niall’s expression shifted, his throat working as he swallowed. His plate was forgotten as he stood, holding out his hand. My breath caught as I stared at it, at him. Then, without hesitation, I slipped my fingers into his.
His grip was warm, firm, his thumb grazing over my skin in a slow, deliberate stroke. He guided me a few steps away from the table, pulling me close. One hand settled at my waist, grounding me, while the other stayed linked with mine. And then—just like that—we were moving, swaying to the rhythm, caught in the pull of something neither of us had the words for.
Heat rolled through me, sinking into my skin as Niall’s body pressed against mine. The scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering spice of dinner, a heady combination that made my pulse race. His grip tightened at my waist, his fingers flexing like he was trying to hold on, trying to savor this moment as much as I was.
I tilted my head back slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, intent, filled with something unguarded. My breath hitched.
And then he leaned in.
The first brush of his lips was tentative, searching. A question.
My answer was immediate.
I surged forward, closing the space between us, and my fingers slid into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. A shudder rippled through him, and then his grip tightened—one hand firm at my waist, the other splayed across my back, pressing me flush against him. The heat between us flared, scorching, and the kiss deepened, turned desperate, like we were both afraid to let go.
A low sound rumbled from Niall’s throat, vibrating against my lips. His fingers flexed, skimming under the hem of my shirt, grazing my bare skin. I gasped at the contact, my body lighting up like a struck match. God, I’d missed this. Missed him .
He murmured something against my lips—my name, a curse, maybe a plea. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way he held me like I was something he couldn’t bear to lose.
My hands roamed over the solid lines of his back, the tense muscles of his shoulders. His jaw was rough with stubble, and the scrape of it against my skin sent a shiver down my spine. His breath came fast, uneven, mirroring my own.
When we finally broke apart, neither of us moved far. Our foreheads rested together, chests heaving, bodies still pressed close. His thumb traced slow circles against my hip, an unspoken promise in every touch.
“Eli,” he whispered, voice rough, wrecked.
I swallowed thickly, my heart hammering. “Yeah, baby?”
His eyes burned into mine, something unspoken lingering there—something aching, something inevitable.