Chapter 15
T hree hours and a few too many drinks later, I’m thoroughly ready to head back to the penthouse and get what little sleep I can before my meeting tomorrow. Somewhere after my third cocktail of the night, I lost track of time, abandoning my earlier promise to only stay an hour. It didn’t hurt that I was having the time of my life with his friends, too. It’s not that I wasn’t expecting to like them; more like I wasn’t sure if they’d like me. After all, I was kind of crashing their boys-night-out.
Luckily, a few of the other guys had brought their girlfriends along, so I wasn’t the only one intruding. I was, however, the only platonic-friend-slash-roommate that tagged along, a fact that was quickly overshadowed when Eli told them I was a writer for Flourish (conveniently leaving out the part about it being a one-time trial run).
The girlfriends were all too excited to learn I work for their favorite local magazine, telling me about the S like there’s a need between us and an unspoken agreement not to acknowledge it.
We sit in the silence of our shared tipsiness for the rest of the ride back, neither of us daring to say anything more, as the city lights glide over the windows and bathe us in a golden glow. Except the entire time, my mind is completely preoccupied with the feel of his leg against mine and the faded smell of his cologne lingering around me. That, coupled with the constant replaying of his voice in my head, makes me buzz with a desire I wish I could shake—so much so that I almost don’t notice when the cab pulls up to the penthouse and lets us out.
Without uttering a single word, we step onto the curb and into the lobby, heading for the elevator around the corner. My mouth is completely unable to produce a sentence, like there’s nothing to be said and too much to say, all at the same time. The silence is deafening as we ride up to the penthouse, with no conversation to distract me from my thoughts. The next thirty seconds feel like the longest elevator ride in the history of the world, and one thing becomes utterly clear.
I want him .
I want to forever be in his presence, to feel the giddiness of being seen and known by Elias Kaplan. Because that’s the thing with him: he does see me. He makes me feel like I’m not fading into the background. He makes my troubles feel smaller and every joke feel infinitely funnier. From making me breakfast to helping me with my article, to just sitting and listening when I need someone to talk to. He’s good to me in a way that makes my insides feel all gushy.
…And then I remember that I’ve been lying to him.
Guilt sweeps over me at the memory of that first afternoon we spent together on the couch where I basically told him I was a Columbia alumnus. Even though I know it’s not like I’ve been hiding life-altering news or some horrible crime, it still doesn’t sit right with me. It’s the fact that I let him believe I’m someone I’m not; that I misrepresented myself when he’s always been straight with me about exactly who he is. Not only does it feel icky and dishonest, but more than anything, I want him to really know me—the real me, not some fake Master of Arts version of me.
I feel a pit form in my stomach, partly made up of guilt but mostly worry about how he’ll react when I tell him the truth. The elevator dings to signal that we’ve reached our floor, and I take a deep breath as I brace myself to come clean.
“Eli?” I start as the doors open and he steps out into the foyer. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
He looks back at me with the faintest hint of anticipation on his face, his smile almost enough to make me chicken out. Almost .
“I didn’t go to Columbia,” I blurt out before I can change my mind.
Smooth, Gem.
His smile quickly turns to confusion, though I’m not sure if it’s the liquor or the complete randomness of the statement that caused it. “Huh?”
“The first time you helped me with my article, I lied to you. I let you believe I had an MFA and that I went to Columbia, but none of that is true. I went to community college and got a certificate in creative writing, which basically couldn’t be further from a school like Columbia. I mean, I do live near it though, right on Claremont.” You’re rambling! “But that’s not the point. I’m so sorry I lied, I feel awful for not telling you the truth sooner.”
A moment passes before he reacts, this brief millisecond feeling like an eternity, and I wonder if I’ve just completely ruined everything.
All I get in response is a frown. “Why?”
“I—I don’t know why I did it… Maybe I wanted to impress you, or maybe I thought it would be nice if we had something in common?”
“No, I meant why you do feel bad?” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Honestly, I forgot we had that conversation. I was pretty hungover that day, I don’t think anything was registering for me.”
Oh.
Shit.
Looks like I didn’t need to confess my sins after all. And now I feel like the most dramatic person on Earth.
“Well now that you know, aren’t you mad that I lied..?” I ask, admittedly pushing my luck but needing to know the answer now that the truth is out there.
Much to my surprise, he gives me a knowing smile like it’s the silliest question he’s ever heard.
“Gemma, I don’t care where you did or didn’t go to school. It doesn’t change what I think of you.”
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to know what he thinks of me.
I’m stunned by his total nonchalance at my confession, still standing in the elevator with a dumbfounded look on my face. I’m not sure exactly how I expected him to react, but it sure as hell isn’t this.
“Besides,” he continues. “I think we’ve already established that you make much smarter decisions than me.”
“Um, I think you’re forgetting about the time I threatened your life with a vase in this very spot,” I object, snapping back into it and cringing at the memory.
“You know what I mean,” he laughs. “You take life more seriously than I do—or did , I guess. You work two jobs, one of which actually involves picking up after dogs in your free time, and somehow you still manage to find time to pursue your writing. That kind of work ethic can’t be taught, no matter what fancy school you go to.”
And there it is again, his ability to say the perfect thing at the drop of a hat. His magical way of making me feel important and capable—something I’ve never been very good at doing on my own. Why is it that everything he says seems to summon a butterfly to my stomach?
“Thanks Eli, that’s… really sweet,” I manage to get out. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty impressive yourself.”
“You’re making me blush,” he jests, that cocky smile making another appearance as he presses his hand against the elevator doors that start to close me in. “Now are you coming, or what? ”
The little naughty voice in my head wishes he meant are you coming to my room , but I quickly quiet her with a clearing of my throat and step out into the foyer to join him.
“Well, thanks again for a fun night. I really appreciate it,” I say as casually as humanly possible.
“Anytime.”
My heart aches at the sentiment, knowing in the back of my mind that as soon as the week is up and we part ways, the odds I ever see him again are slim to none. Much as I would love for us to be real friends who hang out at the bar every weekend—or to be something more than friends—the reality is it’s never going to happen. Us meeting was entirely accidental and there’ll be no real reason for us to keep in touch once we both go back to our separate lives.
It makes me miss him even though he’s standing right in front of me, and I realize I have to get out of here before I show my hand.
“Now to see if I can sleep off an obscene amount of liquor in about four hours,” I chuckle half-heartedly. It’s met with silence on his end. “Um, goodnight then.”
The unreadable expression on his face gives me pause before I turn around and make a beeline for the staircase, knowing I can’t hide my emotions nearly as well as him. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll notice the longing on my face (if he hasn’t done so already), and I’d rather avoid the obligatory ‘ I just see you as a friend ’ speech. I’m right about to make it to the first step when I feel him grab my hand, and my breath hitches.
“Wait,” he says abruptly, and I curse my inability to make a quick escape. “Before you go, there’s something I should probably confess too.”
It takes everything in me to conceal the look of hope in my eyes before turning around to face him.
“Don’t tell me you don’t go to Columbia either?” I tease, poorly masking the rollercoaster of emotions I’m currently experiencing. “I knew it, no one in their right mind loves math enough to get a degree in finance.”
His hearty laugh sparks a fire in my chest. “Unfortunately, that part is true.”
“Then what?”
I’d almost feel bad for sounding pushy if it wasn’t for my desperate need to know what he’s about to say.
“Remember that first night when you caught me down here with someone? The night of the vase-threatening?”
Oh no .
My breath hitches once more, but this time it’s out of sheer panic. This better not be going where I think it’s going.
“Remember how, uh—how your towel fell?” he continues.
Please no .
“And the next day you asked me if I saw anything, and I said I hadn’t?”
Begging.
“Well…” PLEADING! “I did.”
F u c k.
“Oh. My God,” I finally utter, my eyes practically bulging out of my head.
“I didn’t want you to feel weird that a total stranger saw you naked, so I lied,” he urges. “But you were just brave enough to tell me the truth, so it’s only fair I do too.”
I am speechless. Mortified. Nay, horrified. My hands race up to my face to cover my shame, and I wish the floor would swallow me up whole.
Flashing a complete stranger who I’ll never see again is one thing. Still embarrassing, but recoverable. But flashing Eli , the guy I’ve been sharing a bed with, the guy I’ve been harboring secret feelings for (both emotional and carnal), and in an attack position of all things, is much, much worse.
“Is it possible to die of embarrassment? Because I think that’s what they’ll have to write on my tombstone,” I shudder from behind my palms, trying to scrub away the mental image of the trainwreck he must have witnessed.
“Trust me,” he says warmly, placing his hands on mine and gently pulling them away from my face. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as he lowers my hands, because there’s no way in hell I can ever face him again.
“Gemma,” he croons, my name rolling off his tongue like silky caramel. “Look at me.”
The heaviness in his voice mixed with the goosebumps I’m sporting from his hands on mine is just enough to entice me to crack one eye open.
I find him smiling back at me, sincerity mixed with a flicker of something new in his eyes.
“Embarrassed is the last thing you should feel.”
“Are you saying you liked what you saw?” I scoff at the mere suggestion of it.
“What if I did?”
The silence that follows is deafening. I can’t possibly have heard him correctly. Because if I did, that would mean…
“Did you..?”
The corner of his mouth hitches into a laugh as his gaze settles on my lips. “Maybe. Would that be so bad?”
My heart starts beating rapidly and I’m suddenly very aware of my mouth. There’s no way around it this time, no ambiguity to make me doubt the signs: Eli is flirting with me.
We’re just friends. We’re just friends!
Except right now, it feels like we’re anything but. My brain short-circuits as I try to remember how the hell flirting works. I know I’ve done it before, but right now I feel completely out of my depth.
“I suppose not,” is all I can get out between the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.
His hands slide down to my waist, slowly wrapping themselves around me and pulling me closer to him.
“What about this, any objections?”
My legs turn to jello, and if it weren’t for his arms steadying me against him, I think I’d topple over.
“None,” I breathe.
His amber eyes darken with intensity as they meet mine, like he can see right down to my soul. They move down to my lips once more, and everything goes numb. I’m melting into him, into his warmth and his scent and his gaze, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss that is Eli without any hope of stopping myself.
“And what if I do this?”
He tilts his face down toward me, so close that I can feel him breathing, and my heart leaps into my throat. I’m praying that this isn’t yet another dream when his lips part and brush against mine, ever so softly. It’s slow, tender. It’s the kind of sweet kiss that makes your toes tingle and your head feel dizzy.
I’m just starting to wrap my head around the feel of his lips, to drink in the taste of him, when all at once it’s over. He pulls back and studies me, waiting for me to say something or freak out or give him any kind of reaction at all.
But I’m greedy .
One second of Eli isn’t enough for me, and my body demands more. If all I have is this one drunken night to be this close to him, to get a glimpse at the pure bliss of being wanted by him, then I need to make the most of it.
So I kiss him again. I kiss him with a need I didn’t know was there until now, a hunger my mouth demands to be satisfied. And he complies.
His arms wrap tighter around my waist, pressing me into him as his mouth coaxes mine open. There’s an urgency in him, a determination I’ve never seen before. Every movement is deliberate, every swipe of his tongue skilled. Needless to say I expected he would be a good kisser, but good God .
I let myself give in, to him and to the moment and to my feelings, knowing somewhere deep inside that this is probably a terrible mistake but not having the good sense to stop myself.
My head is swirling when suddenly he’s lifting me up, my legs wrapping around his waist like they have a mind of their own. His mouth tears itself away from mine to kiss my jaw, then my neck, moving lower and lower as pleasure courses through my veins.
I feel his lips melting into my chest and can’t help but let a moan of appreciation escape my throat. He, in turn, takes this as a sign to torture me further, slowing down when he reaches the top of my breasts and giving them tender, drawn-out kisses.
It’s agony and pure bliss all at once, and a need burns in me to have him closer. To take it one step further, to be engulfed by him. In this moment there’s no logic or voice of reason to tell me that going there with him is a bad idea. There’s only Eli; his lips and his tongue and his hands, and I couldn’t want anything more .
“Should we go upstairs?” I whisper amid heavy breaths, pleading with the universe to let me have this. To have him, just for tonight. If I can, I’ll never ask for anything ever again.
His mouth pauses between kisses and he looks up at me, his hair all sexily mussed and his lips raw. I’m trying to catch my breath as I search his face for an answer, but something changes in his expression when he looks into my eyes. The hunger that was there only a second ago melts away, a soberness taking its place, along with something that I fear looks a lot like regret.
He clears his throat and looks away, my heart sinking to the bottom of my gut.
It’s over.
What the hell just happened? Did I do something wrong? Was I too forward?
My mind is racing trying to figure out how I managed to ruin the best kiss of my entire life in the span of five seconds, when all at once he sets me back down on the ground. I freeze when my feet touch the floor, unable to say or do anything to change his mind, feeling utterly confused and completely heartbroken.
“I’m so sorry,” is all he says before his hands leave my body and he walks away, up the stairs and out of sight, leaving me feeling painfully empty.