Chapter 14
“ M orning sunshine,” I hear a voice say as my head rolls over to the cool side of the pillow, my eyes cracking open.
I’m disoriented for a second before they’re able to focus, but I soon see Eli standing in front of me, throwing on a hoodie. He’s sporting bedhead and that ever-present cocky smile of his: a lethal combination if I’ve ever seen one.
“Morning,” I’m able to croak back.
I push a piece of hair out of my face and sit up in his bed, stretching my arms out. All the while, he’s just standing there, staring at me with his eyebrows raised.
“What?”
“I’m just waiting to see if you’re going to run for the hills,” he mocks.
“And why would I do that?”
“Maybe because the last time you woke up next to me, you pushed me out of your room?”
“I apologized for that,” I point out, huffing. “And I’ve matured since then.”
“Since twenty-four hours ago?”
“Precisely.”
I flash him my most innocent smile before pulling off the covers and standing up, tying my hair into a loose bun with the elastic on my wrist.
“So you’re not weirded out that we slept together again?”
“Why would I be? I have sleepovers with my friends all the time.”
Okay, I’m reaching a little here, but the truth is that I’m not weirded out. Not at all. Now that I know him better, know he understands the kind of loneliness that’s plagued me my entire life, I feel like we get each other. Get the need to be seen by someone, to surround yourself with other people just to make yourself feel like you’re not alone.
So I know last night was just about being there for each other, nothing more. Our clothes stayed on, hands kept to ourselves (alright, maybe we held hands, but that’s so innocent even preschoolers do it), and there were absolutely no feelings involved whatsoever. It wasn’t intimate, it was a mutual kindness.
“A sleepover ?” he repeats, the side of his mouth hitching up. “Is that what we had?”
“Seeing as a sleepover is when two or more friends spend the night together—in a totally non-sexual way—yes, that’s exactly what happened.”
“So we’re friends now?”
“Eli,” I sneer, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Once you bitch about your childhood with someone, you’re a hundred percent friends.”
Sure, there’s a physical attraction there (at least on my part), but that doesn’t mean anything. I can do this. I can be friends with Eli: a kind, caring, unreasonably handsome guy who holds my hand and lets me vent to him, without catching feelings. I know I can, because the alternative is not having him around at all—and that’s the last thing I want.
“Alright, friend . Want me to go start a pot of coffee downstairs?”
“I would love that, friend .”
I got this. I don’t want him that way. I won’t want him that way, it would ruin everything.
I am in control.
***
“And this is going to help me how, exactly?” I ask Eli as we’re clearing our plates after dinner, not totally convinced of his proposition.
“You need at least some experience in a bar to write this article, Gem. Scratch that, you need to have experienced going to a bar before your twenties are over,” he smirks in response, feeding scraps off his plate to an eager Princess at his feet.
“I’ll have you know I have been to a bar before.”
I’m not sure which insults me more: the fact that he assumes I’ve never been to one in my life (which I totally have—sure, it was only once with Veda and Cassie like two years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that) or the fact that he thinks I’m that near to turning thirty.
“If it wasn’t in the past six months, it doesn’t count.”
“I beg to differ.”
I shove my dirty plate into the Kaplans’ stainless steel dishwasher and huff, knowing he has a point but not wanting to admit it. Am I actually scared to go out? It’s not like we’re going on a date, it’s just a friendly invite to tag along while he meets up with his friends.
Totally harmless.
I think.
“C’mon, please? It’ll only be for a couple hours, I promise you’ll be back in time to watch more of your grisly crime shows before bed.”
Damn it, he knows me well.
He leans over to put his own plate into the dishwasher, his arm brushing up against mine in the process. A bolt of electricity runs through me despite my best wishes, and I straighten in an attempt to hide my visceral reaction to his touch.
“Why do you want me to come so badly, anyway?”
He shrugs, picking up Princess and scratching her behind the ear. “Can’t a guy want to hang out with his temporary roommate outside the confines of their penthouse?”
“Not normally.”
“Hey, you said it yourself: we’re friends now. And friends hang out.”
He’s got me there.
“Look, even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I can’t. It’s a Sunday, I have to go into work tomorrow,” I say as my last attempt to use logic to get out of this.
Unfortunately for me, that probably means nothing to him. All of his friends are Ph.D. students like him, and since it’s the summer, tomorrow is just another day off for them. Or, maybe every day is a school day while they’re working on their theses? Admittedly, I’m not clear on how post-grad studies work and likely will never be, seeing as more schooling is absolutely not in the cards for me.
“No one’s saying you have to get plastered,” he laughs.
I give him a defeated look that’s partially pleading with him to let it go, but mostly too tired to argue any longer. I mean, how bad could it be? It’s not like he’s going to tell his friends about our recent habit of sleeping together without actually sleeping together.
“One hour. That’s all you get.”
A satisfied smile spreads across his face, a small consolation for letting him win. “You won’t regret this.”
Except that it’s nearly eleven by the time he successfully drags me out of the cab in front of Echo, the hot new bar in the Village, and I am very much already regretting it. I can’t help thinking I should be in bed right now, cuddling up with Princess and letting the soothing sounds of my favorite show lull me to sleep.
Instead, we left her fed, brushed, and sleeping on my bed alone (none the wiser that we had even left the penthouse), and the only sound I can hear is the blaring bass emanating from inside.
I catch a glimpse of the mass of people inside while we get in line out front and my stomach turns. I’m trying to hide my nervousness by ironing out the front of my shirt, but it only adds to the stress when I start to overthink my outfit. Since I didn’t bring a lot of options with me when I came to the penthouse, I’m stuck wearing the same black shorts I wore on that first day, along with a v-neck tank top. It’s casual at best.
Eli swore it was fine and that I wouldn’t feel underdressed, but looking around at the gorgeous women in bodycon dresses and designer stilettos next to us, I’m not so sure. I’m wondering if it’s too late to fake a cough and hop back into the cab to avoid this whole thing, but am sadly denied the opportunity as we reach the front of the line.
“Cover’s fifty,” the scarily muscular guy at the door announces, staring us down expectantly.
DOLLARS? That better be for the both of us.
“Each,” Muscle-Man adds as if he can read my mind.
I go to pull out my wallet from my purse but before I can even undo the clasp, Eli is handing him a crisp hundred dollar bill like he’s the freaking Monopoly man.
Muscle-Man nods and waves us through the door, and I take a deep breath to brace myself. Eli must sense my reluctance because he reaches back to grab my hand and guide me inside; a gesture that seems to have no effect whatsoever on him while simultaneously making my heart skip a beat.
“It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” I mumble back, doubtful he heard me over the increasingly loud sounds of music and chatter.
He tugs me along as we weave our way through the crowd of huddled, tipsy bodies until he spots his friends flagging him down near the back. He waves back to what looks like half a dozen twenty-somethings sitting in a cozy corner booth, before coming to a stop.
“We’re gonna go grab some drinks!” he calls out to them and motions toward the other side of the room.
Still grasping my hand, he guides me toward the impossibly large bar lit by grandiose hanging fixtures, which are reflecting light off the mirrored back wall filled with rows upon rows of high-end liquor bottles. We push our way to a vacant spot that’s barely big enough for the both of us, forcing us to stand shoulder to shoulder .
Eli leans in toward my ear to tell me something over the surrounding noise, as if I wasn’t already too close to him for my own good. “Article tip: this is normally where I would offer to buy a beautiful woman a drink.”
The feel of his breath on my neck when he speaks sends my brain into a near-total failure, preventing me from saying anything in return.
“So what’ll you have?” he asks, his lips barely grazing my ear in the process.
Am I crazy, or did he just inadvertently call me beautiful?
“Surprise me,” I manage to answer through the burning in my throat.
He motions to the bartender and orders two whiskey sours, just as someone comes up next to us and pats Eli on the shoulder, pulling me back into in the real world.
“There he is, the elusive man of the hour! Haven’t seen you around in a few days,” he says to him before turning to the bartender. “Can I get a gin and tonic?”
“What can I say, I’ve been busy with my research,” Eli replies casually before standing back to introduce us. “This is Parker. He thinks just because he graduated last year that we should all be free to get wasted every night.”
Parker smirks and extends his hand to me, adding a “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Gemma,” I smile, shaking his impressively firm hand.
“Oh, so this is the famous Gemma!” he exclaims in a semi-drunken state, earning him a bug-eyed look from Eli.
“Famous?”
“We’ve heard lots about you,” he elaborates, and I swear I see Eli nudge him in the ribs. “Err, just that you’ve been unfortunate enough to have to put up with this guy for the past week.”
The bartender places our drinks in front of us in glasses that look much too delicate for the likes of me to handle, and if it wasn’t already blatantly obvious, I get the feeling this isn’t an ordering-a-pint-of-beer kind of place.
Parker tells the bartender to add the drinks to his tab then turns back to me. “So Gemma, what’s your secret for getting this guy to give up his bar-hopping, skirt-chasing ways?”
Come again?
“Let’s go join the others!” Eli blurts out, grabbing our drinks and heading back in the direction of the booth.
Parker raises an eyebrow at him in amusement as we follow shortly behind, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Eli had almost been blushing.