Chapter 19
“ S o, what do you think?” Eli asks, turning to face me.
I survey my options on the giant chalk-board style menu at Sweet Dreams, a late night ice cream shop that’s only open between eight p.m. and two in the morning. I’ve passed this place on my walks with Princess a few times before, but I have to admit it looks ten times better from the inside (with the lights on) than it does just peering in from the street.
The walls are painted bubblegum pink, with a giant LED moon and stars fixture on the back wall for customers to take pictures in front of. To the left is the display case for the various colorful tubs of ice cream, with the counter and menu behind it, and to the right are some adorable little tables shaped like waffle cones.
“I’m going with Choco Mint Surprise,” I reply as soon as I spot the option.
“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re one of those ,” he jeers, disgust painting his face .
“One of what?”
“A mint enthusiast.”
“What’s wrong with mint?” I laugh as the line moves up and we take a couple steps forward. It’s been my favorite flavor for as long as I can remember, so I’m a staunch defender of it—which means I already know what his answer will be before he says it.
“It takes like toothpaste.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at his predictable argument, because it couldn’t be further from the truth.
“So you’ve never tried it?”
He hesitates for a moment and I can tell I’m right. “How’d you know?”
“Because the only people who say that have never given it a chance. Case in point, it’s called Choco Mint Surprise , not Colgate .”
“And yet, the Surprise part doesn’t inspire much confidence in me.”
We move up again, putting us third in line to order, and I know what I have to do to convert him to the green side.
“I’m getting you a scoop of mint ice cream and you’re going to see for yourself that it’s delicious.”
“Please no.”
“Five bucks says you love it.”
“Ten bucks says I don’t,” he counters, and I cross my arms at his stubbornness.
“C’mon, you can pick what I get!”
A sly smile spreads across his face at my offer, and I realize a moment too late that this is a terrible mistake.
“Oh Gemma, you’re going to regret saying that,” he grins. “Which flavor do you hate the most? And don’t lie, it’s only fair you suffer too.”
I grumble at his excitement as we move up one final time, with ten seconds to decide my fate. “I don’t like fruit flavors. I mean, if you’re gonna have ice cream, might as well go all in. Don’t try to make it healthy with fruit, you know? It goes against everything ice cream stands for.”
He laughs at my logic but nods all the same, drumming his fingers on his chin as he peers at the menu.
I order his two scoops of mint in a sprinkle cone (I added an extra scoop when he wasn’t looking), and not a moment later, he leans over the counter to order me a Frosted Cherry Swirl.
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” I gloat as I pay for the cones, secretly hoping there won’t be chunks of cherry in it though.
“I hope you hate it.”
“And I hope yours rocks your world.”
The girl behind the counter hands us our cones, both of us accepting them with less-than-stellar enthusiasm. We turn around to take a seat at the cone-shaped tables only to find them all occupied, so we head back out onto the street.
It’s an unusually cool evening, the near-constant humidity that normally turns my hair into a frizzy mess replaced with a gentle breeze, the sunset painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. An unintentional smile tugs at my lips as I realize that, despite the weirdness lingering below the surface, I’m actually having a great time. I always do when I’m with Eli.
And I hate that I’m doing it again. That stupid lovey-dovey crush thing that I haven’t done since high school, where I’d do anything to be around a guy even if I know it’s temporary and it’s probably going to end badly. Because that rush of dopamine when you’re next to them, that half-anxious-half-exciting feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen, that hopefulness that anything could happen between you two (even though it probably won’t) is just too addictive.
Maybe I’m an emotional masochist or something. Things between Eli and I have been up, down, back and forth, and just downright confusing lately. And yet, I keep doing this to myself. Agreeing to go out with him, or sleeping in his bed, or putting myself in a situation where there’s no way not to get attached. I don’t know how to fight this compulsion to be near him at any cost, and I know somewhere deep down that I’m only setting myself up for heartbreak. Somehow, I don’t seem to care enough to put an end to it though.
“So tell me,” Eli starts as we walk down Second Avenue, shoulder to shoulder on the busy street. “When did you know you were born to be writer?”
I practically snort my ice cream out through my nose. “I feel like born to be is a bit of an overstatement.”
“I don’t,” he boasts. “That story I read was really great. How could your boss not give you your column?”
As much as a I want to believe him, I don’t dare to give myself false hope. The article I sent Amani is nowhere near as good as the short story I showed Eli, so the odds aren’t in my favor.
“I thought the whole point of this outing was to distract me from work?” I say with forced coolness, in an attempt to change the subject.
“Fine, what do you want to talk about?”
I take another lick of cherry ice cream as I contemplate his question (it really is kind of delicious), knowing there’s only one subject I want to talk about. “You.”
He glances over at me with hesitancy, so fast that I almost miss it. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Unlikely. For starters, I’ll throw the same question back to you: when did you know you wanted to be in finance?”
He gives a half-chuckle as we turn the corner, taking a few more prolonged licks of his cone like he’s stalling. My eyes accidentally drift down to his mouth, flooding my brain with flashing memories of the feel of his bottom lip and the taste of his tongue.
Big mistake.
“I don’t think I ever really knew,” he finally replies, snapping me out of my daydream. “More like I was told .”
“Oh.” Not quite the nostalgic memory I was going for. “Well, do you like it at least?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m good at it.”
“That’s not the same as liking it.”
He doesn’t say anything in response to that, and an unfortunate thought occurs to me while we come to a stop in front of a crosswalk.
“Eli, do you even want to work for your family’s company?”
He pauses next to me, his brows knitting together. “I’ve never really thought about whether I want to or not. Honestly, you’re the only person who’s made me feel like a have a choice.”
“Then let me be the first to say, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps as the light turns. “I think a part of me wants to pick literally anything else just to spite my parents. But realistically, I know I’d be an idiot to pass up an opportunity like that. So chances are I do it anyways.”
I nod in silence, not sure what else to say. He’s right, it is a great opportunity; I’m sure plenty of people would kill for that job. I only wish it didn’t come at the expense of his happiness.
“See? This is what happens when we talk about me,” he quips. “We end up sad and quiet. ”
“Okay, new topic then.” I grin, switching gears. “I haven’t seen you come home from one of your overnight sexscapades in a while, what gives?”
His smirk is enough to tell me he’s reverted back to Cocky Eli in the blink of an eye. “How do you know I’m not sneaking in before you see me?”
“Because you’re physically incapable of waking up before ten.”
Funny how we were complete strangers two weeks ago, and today I seem to have his sleep schedule memorized.
“Fine, you caught me. I haven’t had sex in a week, are you happy?”
“Aww, has someone been striking out?” I mock, jutting out my lip in a sarcastic pouty face.
“I’ve just been unlucky lately, that’s all.”
“Preaching to the choir.”
The look he gives me in return sends something hot rippling through me. “I thought you weren’t ‘interested in any kind of relationship’?”
“Let’s just say the feeling’s mutual.”
I may not want a relationship for my own commitment-phobe reasons, but relationships sure as hell don’t seem to want me either.
“Are you suggesting you repel them?”
“I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” I say, earning me a eyebrow raise in response. “I’m serious! One of my roommates, Cassie, is all into manifestation and energy and stuff. She planted a bunch of lavender outside our window because it’s supposed to ‘attract love’ into our lives. It’s been there nearly a year, and all three of us are still single. If that doesn’t prove I repel love, I don’t know what does. ”
“Maybe it’s because you’re a cynic. You have to believe in the power of lavender,” he teases.
I laugh despite myself, nudging his arm with mine. That small touch of his skin sends an electric current coursing through me, and I have to remind myself what happened the last time I gave into those feelings. It nearly ruined our friendship, so I force myself to lock those urges down before I make the same mistake again.
He finishes off the last of his ice cream, tossing the napkin it came with in a nearby trash can, and I can’t help but notice the complete lack of repulsion on his face.
“So, what’s the verdict? Do you feel like you just ate a whole tube of Aquafresh?”
“I guess the surprise in Choco Mint Surprise is how not-horrible it is.”
“I knew it! You owe me ten bucks.”
“Hold on a minute,” he objects. “You haven’t told me what you thought of yours.”
I pop the last bite of sprinkle cone into my mouth, giving him a satisfied grin. “I didn’t totally hate it.”
“Well, well, well, maybe you owe me ten bucks then.”
We come to a stop at another light, the clouds floating over the sunset starting to turn the sky gray. “No way, that wasn’t the deal. Besides, I just did you a huge favor.”
“Oh really? How’s that?”
“Now you can enjoy all kinds of mint-flavored things without that silly prejudice of yours. Mint ice cream, peppermint hot chocolate, those little mint chocolates they give out at Olive Garden,” I chime. “Really, you’re lucky to have me around.”
He turns to look at me, his eyes tracing my face, and a heat pools in my belly. “Yeah, I am. ”
His stare lingers a second too long, and I get that feeling again. That I might do something stupid. It’s not fair he has this effect on me without even trying. I’m doing my best to keep my feelings for him platonic, and I can’t do it when he looks at me that way.
I’m struggling not to get lost in his eyes again, to get sucked into his universe, when all of a sudden a drop of water hits his cheek. Another one lands on my arm, then on his shoe, and on my head. I tear my eyes away from him to look up at the sky, just as a downpour of rain erupts from the clouds above.
Saved by the bell .
We rush to cover our heads as a smile spreads over his lips, the raindrops already starting to wet our clothes.
“This way!” he calls as he grabs my hand and leads me down the street, swerving around the crowds of others trying to get out of the storm.
We hurry back to the penthouse in a frenzy, laughing and shrieking at the puddles that splash our legs when we run through them. My shoes are already soaked by the time the building comes into view, and Eli doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re safely shielded from the rain underneath the awning.
I have to pinch my arm underneath my sleeve to remind myself that this happiness is temporary. A fairytale. The closer I get to him now, the more it’ll hurt when he leaves. I can’t be running around town giggling with him without a care in the world; I have to be smarter than that. To protect myself.
We’re completely out of breath when we walk into the lobby, panting as we head toward the elevator around the corner. My head is spinning from the adrenaline and the cold and probably the sugar too, and I brace myself to keep a level head for just five more minutes. Five more minutes and I’ll be in my room alone, thankful I didn’t give in to fleeting feelings.
We ride up to the penthouse, wiping dripping water from our hair and clothes, eventually kicking off our drenched shoes in the foyer. I get a vivid flashback of our kiss when we walk past the spot where it happened, and I actually get goosebumps. Eli doesn’t seem to notice.
A small wave of relief washes over me as we walk up the stairs, glad to have made it further than the last time we went out together without an incident happening between us. One more minute and I’m home free.
I walk up to my door, pausing to thank him for a fun night, and the worst happens. I turn to find him wiping the rain from his forehead with the hem of his shirt—which just so happens to expose a fair bit of tanned, glistening skin beneath it.
Fuck me.
“See something you like?”
My eyes shoot up to discover he caught me staring, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement.
“No! Sorry, I—I was just staring off into space.”
My face turns beet red, and I know he’s not buying it. Hell, I’m not even buying it. I was practically salivating at his body, and I know I’m not that good of a liar.
“You sure about that?”
I can’t look at him. I know he sees right through me, sees how much I want him and what he does to me. It’s no fair my face can’t keep a secret.
“Gemma,” he lilts.
I force myself to meet his eyes, only to find him staring back at me with that unnamable look. His gaze flicks down to my lips, and I think I might not make it .
“You can’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asks confidently, feigning ignorance.
“Like you’re going to do something we’ll both regret.”
“And what exactly would that something be?”
I don’t dare to answer him, because it feels too heavy to speak into reality. As long as I don’t admit to it, I still have the upper hand. I can still pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Something like kissing you again?” he probes.
My throat tightens.
I should never have turned around. If I had just gone into my room like I was supposed to, I would never have seen his Adonis-like body and I wouldn’t be finding myself here with him once again: completely mesmerized and absolutely, irrefutably screwed.
“So you do remember…” I trail off, my voice coming out fainter than intended.
“How could I forget a kiss like that?”
I want to say something along the lines of You sure made it seem like you forgot when you acted like nothing happened , but he’s walking over to me. Why the hell is he walking over to me? My pulse quickens with every step he takes, rendering me completely unable to speak.
“I’ll never forget the way you tasted like whiskey and lemons,” he adds.
Stay strong, Gemma.
“Or the smell of your shampoo,”
Don’t get sucked in. Do NOT get sucked in!
He’s only a couple feet away now, and I can practically feel the good sense leaving my body. That little voice of reason in my head goes into cardiac arrest, and that bitch signed a DNR.
“With your legs wrapped around me,” he drawls, taking his last step toward me and sliding his arms around my waist.
Breathing. I know how to do it, right?
“Eli,” I start, trying to talk some sense into him with the last bit of willpower I have left.
“Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it too. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk away right now.”
I want to. I want to tell him I haven’t been thinking about him, or that kiss, or his lips at all. I want to pretend he means nothing to me, that he hasn’t been consuming my every thought during the day and starring in all of my dreams at night. I want to say all of it so badly.
But like I said earlier: I’m not that good of a liar.
“You know I want you,” I breathe.
His eyes flicker between mine before a devilish smile flashes across his face. “Knew it.”
It’s official: there’s no turning back now. I am totally, unequivocally consumed with Eli. He knows it, I know it—and I’m done fighting it.
He pulls me into him, so close I’m pressed into his body, and my breath hitches.
“In case it wasn’t already clear,” he whispers into my ear. “I want you too. I have since the very first night.”
My legs are wobbly, my insides on fire. The words swirl around my head as time slows to a stop, before he brings his face to mine. His thumb is rubbing soft, slow circles on my lower back, and I watch his lips part before catching mine.
He smells like rain and faded cologne, and tastes like my favorite ice cream. He must be a dream—so perfect he can’t possibly be real, and yet here he is. Holding me in his arms. Kissing me roughly .
Any lingering questions about why he walked away before, why he pretended the first kiss never happened, and what’s going to happen between us once he leaves dissolve into background noise when he moves us backward and pins me to the wall.
He toys with the hem of my still-drenched shirt, pulling his mouth away from mine to lift it over my head and off my body. I feel a chill from the dampness of my now exposed skin for no longer than a second before the warmth of his arms encircles me once more.
A craving burns in my stomach to have him, all of him, while I still can. I start undoing his belt while he plants fervent kisses on my neck, an almost imperceptible moan of pleasure escaping his lips when I pull it off the belt loops and let it drop to the floor.
My hands make their way up past his shoulders and into his wet hair while his skate up my back, reaching for the clasp of my bra and undoing it with ease. I can feel the satisfied smile that spreads across his lips, and it sends a heat coursing through my veins. He starts to pull the straps down my arms, softly, gently. Anticipation pulses through me as his fingers drag the material down my skin, until it falls to our feet to join his belt.
I’m overtly aware of the sudden nakedness of my torso—that is, until he starts to drag his mouth down my neck to my chest, inching closer and closer to my breasts. Then all I can think about is his mouth. And tongue. And the excruciating pleasure they’re giving me.
My head falls back as he works his way down, my breath coming out as a whimper when his lips brush against my nipple .
“Eli,” I murmur, tugging on his hair to steady myself.
He looks up with a glint in his eye that tells me he knows what he’s doing to me.
I pull him up to my face, with the strength to voice out only two words. “Bed. Now.”
“With pleasure.”
We stumble backward into my room, pulling off what remains of each other’s clothes. A damp shirt, pants, boxers and panties come flying off and thrown to the floor with reckless abandon, until we fall back onto the bed.
All I know for certain is if this is a mistake, it’s the best damn one I’ll ever make.