Chapter 13
ALEX
“No me gusta la comida.” I take a dramatic bow after reciting my newly learned Spanish phrase.
Elijah doubles over in laughter.
“What?” I ask, arms falling to my sides. “Am I not saying it right?”
I know damn well I am. I’ve been practicing. Nonstop.
“Come on, Elijah. I’ve been working hard at this. Ana’s been teaching me Spanish, and I’ve been practicing for two weeks straight.”
He arches a brow, still grinning. “Is that so? And since when did you start listening to Ana?”
“Since she’s more fluent in Spanish than I am.” I shoot back.
“Oh, no argument there,” Elijah chuckles, his smile growing wider by the second.
I narrow my eyes. That laugh is too smug. I’m starting to think I just got played by a teenager.
“What?” I whine.
Elijah snorts. “You just said you don’t like the food. Very boldly, I might add.”
I blink at him, dread climbing up my spine. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He spreads his hands, all faux innocence. He’s enjoying this far too much.
I run a hand through my hair, groaning. “Ana said that meant ‘I like the food.’”
“That’s me gusta la comida,” he corrects, slow and smug, like he’s the adult in the room.
I point a finger at him. “So, she set me up?”
Elijah shrugs, failing miserably to hide another laugh. “Maybe she thought you needed some humility.”
“Oh, I have humility,” I mutter. “More than I want, actually.”
He laughs again, louder this time, and despite myself, I feel a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Great.” I sigh.
“Relax. My parents will love you. This will just… give them something to tease you about for the next five years.”
“Perfect,” I deadpan. “Exactly what I hoped for.”
He nudges my shoulder. “Hey. At least your accent was good.”
I glance at him, suspicious. “Was it?”
“No,” he says instantly, and doubles over laughing again.
I toss my arms up. “I officially resign from Spanish. Forever. Please inform Ana.”
“Not a chance.” Elijah grins. “She’s gonna love this.”
I flop onto the sofa with a groan, hip bumping his thigh and sending a splash of bourbon over the rim of his glass.
He snorts, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at the bourbon soaking into his pants.
Next week, we’re flying to Puerto Rico to visit his parents, and honestly, I’m looking forward to the time away. A change of scenery, some sun, and finally meeting his family—it all feels like a step forward.
Of course, nothing in my life is ever simple. I’m under contract for a photoshoot with an up-and-coming clothing designer on the same day we’re set to leave. So I’ll be joining him a day later—fashionably behind schedule and already stressed about it.
Once Elijah finishes fussing with the stain, I swing my legs over his lap and lean my head back against the cushion. But my body doesn’t relax. Because my mind is still stuck on them. Gabriel and Noah.
“I still can’t believe Gabriel is dating Noah,” I say, letting out a long, slow sigh.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it.
“Honestly, I would have never guessed Noah was his boyfriend,” I go on, brow furrowing. “He just doesn’t strike me as Gabriel’s type.”
“Not sure Gabriel has a type.” Elijah sighs, tossing back the rest of his bourbon. He sets the glass aside and rests a hand on my knee.
I roll my eyes. “What I mean is, Noah’s nothing like you.”
He chuckles, thumb tracing lazy circles around my kneecap. “As I said—Gabriel doesn’t have a type. He’s vers.”
“Seriously?” I sit up straighter, eyebrows raised, leaning forward like I need to hear it again just to make sure I heard right.
“Yep. Just so happens he enjoys topping and bottoming.”
I let that sink in for a minute, then give him a pointed look. “Hmm… interesting. Because if I recall correctly, you told me that you only top? In fact, you said you never let Gabriel fuck you—your words,” I add, holding my hands up, having a “gotcha” moment.
He strokes the scruff on his chin. “That’s right. Gabriel has never fucked me. But…”
His hand slips from my knee to the back of his head, fingers pressing in like he’s trying to buy time.
“But fucking what, Elijah?” I plant my feet on the floor, irritation rising—not just at his hesitation, but at the constant buzzing of my phone. And the way everything suddenly feels off.
He exhales. “I let him fuck other men.”
“You what?”
The words knock the air out of me. My mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again, but he cuts in before I can speak.
“Look, it’s not something we advertise, and I’d appreciate you keeping this between us.”
I stare at him, heart pounding. “So what—you’re telling me you had an open marriage?” My voice cracks, sharp with disbelief. “What the fuck, Elijah?”
“Not quite.” He exhales, placing his hand back on my leg. “Gabriel’s a fantastic bottom. He enjoys it immensely. But he also likes to top. I never wanted to take that away from him. So… occasionally, we’d invite another man into our bed. Just a fuck. That’s all it ever was.”
I push his hand off my thigh, but he catches my wrist before I can pull away.
“I know what you’re thinking, Alex,” he says quickly, eyes searching mine. “But Gabriel is incredibly faithful. His love runs deep. He’s one of the most affectionate people I know. Trust me—he wouldn’t have gone looking if I hadn’t offered it.”
“Like you offered Noah to me?” I snap, the pieces falling together, bitter and sharp.
He threads his fingers through mine like it’ll soften the blow. “Gabriel will be good to Noah. I can promise you that.”
I yank my hand back. “So we’re avoiding the question?”
The buzzing of my phone gives me an out. I grab it, this time welcoming the interruption.
A text lights up on the screen.
I need you.
I’m at Gravity.
“Who is it?” Elijah asks, tilting his head back against the sofa.
“My agent,” I lie, powering down my phone. If Noah needs someone, he can call his goddamn versatile boyfriend.
I shoot up from the couch a little too fast and shove the phone deep into my pocket, like I’m trying to bury the whole moment with it.
“You’re in charge of finding a restaurant,” I say, brushing off the tension like it never happened. “Somewhere romantic. I need to be spoiled tonight.”
Leaning over, I press a kiss to his cheek.
“Make it count,” I add. “I want wine. Candles. Dessert.”
I turn and head toward the shower—done with the conversation, at least for now.