5. 5 #2
“I know,” he said, a chuckle escaping. “I can see you from here. Just hand me the damn towel, it’s on the counter.”
I opened one eye, squinting so hard that it was nearly closed, and stood, feeling around for the towel. I grabbed it, and tossed it over the shower door, looking up at the ceiling. A hand reached up and caught it, and I returned to my place against the door.
“You can open your eyes,” he cooed. “I’m covered.”
The bathroom lights were an assault on my vision since I’d grown accustomed to the darkness behind my eyelids.
As they adjusted, I could see Elias, towel wrapped around his waist, wet hair dripping, leaning toward the mirror, inspecting his face closely.
He leaned back, and applied deodorant before turning toward me.
Eye contact was near impossible as I found myself following a droplet of water running down his shoulder onto his bicep.
He walked by me wordlessly, through the bathroom door into his bedroom, pulling clothes from the same wardrobe he’d gathered the ones currently on my body.
Stepping into his pants, he removed the towel only when he was situated.
I admired the strength of his back and how it flexed to pull over an old t-shirt.
The collar was torn, and the hem at the base of the shirt had seen better days.
To my chagrin, it fit loosely over his body, though the sleeves were short, and I could still see the girth of his arms.
“Are you done playing Peeping Tom?” He asked, turning around.
“I wasn’t–” I sputtered.
“If you invited me into the bathroom, I probably would’ve stared, too. I’m just not ashamed to say it.”
His forwardness always caught me off guard, no matter how many times he’d been a little too honest. I appreciated his honesty, at least. That was something I could count on.
“Alright,” he said, offering a hand. “Up, up. I’ve got something for you.”
I took his hand and stood. “Not another gun, I hope,” I muttered.
He said nothing, but put something from his dresser into his pocket.
I followed him through the house, grabbed the drink he'd made for me, and was surprised when we reached a French door leading to a small patio.
He opened the door, and I stepped out ahead of him, waiting for his next directive.
He sat at the wrought iron table, and pulled a pack of cigarettes and a zippo from his pocket, laying them down.
I sat next to him, a smile on my face.
“Weren’t you chastising me earlier about smoking?” I asked, reaching for the pack. He beat me to it, holding a cigarette out to me.
“I only smoke when I’m celebrating. Truth be told, there’s not much worth celebrating these days, so these are definitely stale.”
“I’m not complaining.” I put the cigarette between my lips and held my hand out for the lighter, but he ignored it, choosing to lift the lighter for me, and light the Marlboro himself.
Our eyes met while I took my first drag, and I wanted to look away, but he was so intense, my eyes wouldn’t cooperate.
He was all hard edges, strong jaw and muscle, but his eyes were soft. Underneath the steely exterior and the flirting, he was just a man. A man who had seen unspeakable horrors, cleaned up the mess, and lived with the guilt of surviving while others didn’t. It was all there in his eyes.
Looking down at his hands, he lit his own cigarette, and I was set free.
We smoked in silence, and my mind wandered.
Our push and pull flirting had gone on for months, and I knew the most exciting part of my workday was our conversations.
He never talked about himself, not really.
He asked about my work, my interests. He gathered information, and I couldn’t help but suspect that I’d been his target the entire time, and the Romeo in front of me was stringing me along.
I wanted to trust what I saw in his eyes, but I didn’t know if I could.
Not that I expected something more from him, but I had hoped that our feelings were mutual. I no longer was sure if that was the case.
Elias leaned back in his chair, cigarette in one hand, whiskey in the other, and stared off into space.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Thinking about tomorrow. You’re going to have to come with me to my office if I don’t hear back from command,” he said.
“Is that not what you originally planned?”
“No.” He took a drink. “You aren’t allowed in. But we have no other choice.”
“You won’t get in trouble or something?” I wouldn’t have him reprimanded on my behalf.
“I don’t get in trouble.” He put his cigarette on the ground, swirling it against the concrete to put it out. “This is a matter of national security, quite frankly. We have no idea who caused the attack or what their goals are with the virus.”
“What’s your goal with me?” I asked, point blank, no softness in my voice.
“What?” He looked up at me, genuine confusion on his face.
“You have the information you need from me, right? All this flirting and teasing. . . What are you trying to get out of it?”
His hand went to his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
“I think so,” I said. “I feel like you’ve had your sights on me the entire time I worked there. You wanted to get close to me. For what? Are you gonna kill me when you find your final piece of information? Trust me, I don’t have any answers about Baker and Pryor.”
He leaned forward, pressing his face into his hands.
“Jesus Christ, Cassie. I can’t mix a little business with pleasure?
” He met my gaze, defenses fallen. I felt my own face soften.
“I didn’t need to flirt with you to get the information I needed, okay?
I’m attracted to you. You’ve got the Goth Barbie thing going on and it really does it for me. ”
I blushed, as I normally did when I spoke to him. “Goth Barbie?”
He gestured toward me. “The piercings, the black hair, your long black nails. I’ve spent many mornings wondering about what tattoos you’re hiding underneath your lab coat.
I’ve just seen your toenails for the first time today and the first thing I noticed was that they’re painted black, too.
Not that I’m a foot guy. I’m not,” he stammered. “Just to get that cleared up.”
I tugged the left arm of my borrowed sweatshirt up, revealing that I really was hiding tattoos from him. “Just a taste for you,” I said. “Why didn’t you ever make a move, then?”
“If you can’t see the effect you have on me, then that’s your problem,” he said, pausing to take a drink. “I was attempting to be a professional. Attempt being the key word there. I did have work to do.”
“I really want to believe you.”
“I’m not worried. You will.”
“Aren’t you worried about my intentions?” I asked. “Maybe I know too much about you, maybe I’m a spy.”
He smirked. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I might even remember you kissing me at one point, then avoiding me out of embarrassment. I don’t think a spy would give up on her mission so quickly.”
“I only kissed you because I was drunk,” I argued.
He snorted. “Drunk enough to be brave, not drunk enough to be desperate. It’s okay to admit it.”
The whiskey gave me a similar courage to the tequila I’d had at the company party. “I’m not going to lie to you, I’m feeling drunk enough to be brave tonight, too.” My voice was low, and I leaned forward, putting my chin on my arm so that I could look up at him.
“Don’t do this to me right now,” he begged.
“Why?” I bit my lip, doing my best to be seductive.
“I’ve been awake for,” he looked at his watch. “Thirty-eight hours. Coupled with the whiskey, I don’t think I can even get an erection right now.”
“I haven’t been up for that long. I don’t mind doing most of the work.” I wiggled my eyebrows.
“God, please stop talking. I think your brain is scrambled from shock. I need a solid eight hours. I’m going to bed.
” He grabbed his glass, the cigarettes, and the lighter, and turned on his heels to book it back indoors.
Not waiting for me to decide what I was going to do, I grabbed my glass and ran after him, barely making it to the door before he slid it shut, clicking the lock on the handle.
I yanked on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.