13. Lennie
Lennie
T hursday has become my most booked day in forever.
I stuff a backpack with all the things I need for my sleepover at Elijah’s. I’m too nervous to read on the train when I head into work and on my lunch I’ve got a therapy appointment with Janis.
She senses my nervousness, but I talk about Nat’s pregnancy and how busy life is without giving too many details away. I know hiding things from your therapist is frowned upon, but explaining that someone’s trying to trap me into marriage seems a little hard to explain.
We go over breathing techniques and she asks about my journaling. And she compliments me on my hair which is in another chignon.
Dinner with Ren and Isolde passes quickly. They checked in on the status of Leopold but didn’t push about what was going on, which I appreciated. I’d rather Fujimori’s stay an asshole-free space and I don’t want to give him any more airtime.
“Text me when you get there,” Ren told me when I got up to leave. She flicked her eyeliner out today, her green eyes thoughtful. “Text me whenever you need to.”
“This is coming from the woman who never texts?” I joked but was secretly touched.
“Fun fact,” she replied, “I prefer phone calls.”
I waved to everyone on the way out and then made my way to the red-brick warehouse Elijah calls home.
Ivan keeps his distance but allows himself to be seen. That way I know it isn’t Leopold stalking me in the night.
Elijah opens the steel door before I can ring the bell and lazily leans against the doorframe.
“Hello.” His voice is a purr, the smile on his face one of his rare genuine ones.
It sends a jolt of nerves down me. “Hi.”
He opens the door wider, taking the backpack from my shoulders. It leaves me with the large leather workbag.
“Albert thought you wouldn’t come.” He takes the steel steps two at a time. I struggle to keep pace with him. There’s got to be an elevator somewhere right?
“Albert or you?”
I’m rewarded with a wicked grin.
His apartment is as warm and inviting as last time.
It surprises me in some ways, how comfortable it is.
There’s enough going on like an open bottle of whiskey, Albert’s leash on the entry table, and the TV playing, that proves there’s life happening.
It’s not overstimulating or clutter-filled, though.
“I didn’t take you for a basketball fan.” The Knicks are winning.
“You’re welcome to change it.”
“No, it’s fine.”
I have no idea what I’m doing. I brought three books on the off chance I’d somehow have time to read. The reality is it’s almost nine o’clock at night. I want to go to bed and maybe watch an ASMR video.
Elijah’s in a pair of pressed slacks, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up to showcase his forearms. He’s one of those types who looks good at all times and it’s incredibly unnerving.
The warm overhead lights reflect in his gray eyes. His hair is tousled from his hand running through it. He took his loafers off when we came back inside, but his socked feet are the only casual part of him.
“Don’t you have comfy clothes?” I ask.
“You don’t like my outfit?”
I changed out of my work slacks before I went to dinner. I can’t imagine hanging out at home in stuffy business casual.
“Don’t you want to put on some sweatpants or something?”
Elijah raises a brow. “Or something.”
I drop my bag onto the couch. “How is this supposed to work? You want me to come over here, just to tease me? What are we doing? How are we going to get Leopold to back off?”
Any amusement vanishes when I mention the name.
It’s too bad Elijah hasn’t punched him in his little weasel face.
He picks my bag off the couch. It contains my current read and I follow him as he walks back toward the entrance and hangs it on a hook.
“I hope you get used to Ivan being around,” he says.
Elijah did end up giving me Ivan’s number, not that he was pleased by my teasing text. Other than a quick introduction, by which I mean I met his eyes and he nodded after finding him eating lunch at Fujimori’s, the man stays silent and for the most part out of sight.
Elijah’s tense shoulders tell me how he’s feeling.
“It didn’t go well,” I say. He passes by and enters the door I noticed last time. He flicks on the light, illuminating a bedroom. “Wait, what are you doing?”
There’s a green chair in the corner, the color popping against a wall of exposed brick. Pretty arched windows must let plenty of sunlight in during the day. There’s an attached bathroom and I’m surprised to find a few more potted plants.
“Is this your room?” It’s not empty or still enough to be a guest room. There’s a paperback on one of the nightstands and toiletries line the bathroom vanity.
“And yours.”
“I’ll stay on the couch,” I say instantly. “Or I’m sure this place has other bedrooms. This place is giant.”
The empty space downstairs is probably safer than staying in Elijah’s room.
“Relax, Leonora.” I notice his voice grows quiet at times when he speaks to me. Like he’s disappointed I don’t understand that he won’t harm me. “I won’t bite. At least not until you ask.”
“See!” I fling a hand up. “The teasing.”
He pulls on my chignon as he passes back through to the living room. “It’s fun to make you blush.”
I slap his hand away and smooth my hair. “Could you not.”
He smiles, but there’s a sudden sadness clinging to him.
“What happened with Leopold?” I ask.
He goes into the kitchen, but I gravitate toward Albert, settling next to him on the couch.
“Do you want anything?” he asks.
“Water please.”
The fridge shuts and a cabinet door opens. He sets the glass on a coaster and sits down beside me. There’s plenty of space on the other side of Albert, but he stretches his arm out on the back of the couch.
I’m not nestled into him per se, but he’s awfully close.
“Thank you,” I say for the water. “Was Leopold an ass?”
His eyes don’t leave the basketball game. “You’ve said his name far too many times in the past five minutes for my liking.”
“He’s not backing down is he?”
Elijah called it correctly when I first came to him. Most men would take a look at the oldest Zimin brother and hightail it. Leopold’s doubled down.
My hands run through Albert’s thick fur as I consider it all.
Elijah can offer me the best protection and I don’t mind Ivan. It’s probably because he’s not one of my father’s puppets and he knows about Leopold.
I don’t want my parent's help and protection, but I’m desperate for Elijah’s. What is wrong with me? It’s a complete contradiction. But Elijah isn’t hiding me away. If Mom finds out I’ll be the princess locked in a castle until she decides she’s dealt with the threat however she sees fit.
“Some things take finessing. Don’t worry about Leopold.”
I don’t know when he inched closer, but Elijah’s fingers lightly brush my shoulder. They bring weight to his steady reassurances.
“If you say so.” My phone lights up with a message. Holy hell, Ren is worried if she took the time to text.
“Your friends,” Elijah says lightly.
“I’m not taking any questions regarding them.”
His lips twitch in amusement. “I’m not asking for trade secrets. You’re really friends with them?”
“Yes, really.” I’d like for people to stop sounding so shocked when they find out I have friends.
His thumb runs against my shoulder and the skin underneath my sweater lights up. “I’m simply curious about your life, Leonora. You’re mistaken in thinking every question I ask is out of mockery.”
Something important happens on the TV. The crowd’s excited, but I don’t know why.
“You typically make it your mission to mock people.”
He frowns. “Not you. Never you.”
It’s my turn to frown. “Are you forgetting our childhood?”
On my eighth birthday, I got chocolate ice cream all over my face and he laughed. One time I ran into a door and he wouldn’t stop talking about it. He made fun of me for mispronouncing the word ‘southern’.
“It’s easy to laugh at how adorable you are, but I’m not mocking you.”
I don’t know what he means by adorable but I guess in all fairness we were little kids.
“Can I shower?”
“Of course.” He nods toward the bedroom.
“Is there a guest bathroom I can use?”
“No.”
Cleanliness is important and I don’t want to be awkward. I firmly shut the bedroom door, locking it, and then for good measure I lock the ensuite bathroom door.
There’s a day’s worth of city grime on me and the water pressure is lovely. The body wash smells like cedarwood and I’m pleased there’s shampoo and conditioner instead of a two-in-one combo.
The water’s nearly boiling, but I stand under the stream, trying to sort through my feelings.
There’s a bit of nerves, yes, but so far everything’s okay. Needless to say, the whole sleepovers with guys thing, has alluded me my whole life. And I don’t doubt Elijah plans on sharing the bedroom.
He hasn’t made a move or mentioned the kiss on Monday. He’s not the type to forget about anything, but I don’t think he gets stuck in his head like I do.
I’ve revisited that moment constantly.
I don’t think I’d mind kissing him again, dangerous as it is.
Before the water goes cold, I turn it off, finding a plush towel hanging outside the tub. His bathroom is clean, the tile a mix of white and green, and there are two sinks along the vanity.
A new toothbrush sits beside one and I’m offended he thought I’d forget to bring one along.
Steam follows me into the bedroom where my bag sits on the green chair. I spent a lot of time debating about what items I wanted to bring. Mainly, what I planned on wearing to bed.
I dig through the backpack, my mind glitching. I run through it three more times, retracing every moment of when I packed it.
I know I packed pajamas. Just like I know I packed underwear.
“Elijah,” I curse under my breath. Wrapping the towel tight across my chest, I fling open the door and find him enraptured by the game.
“Elijah!”
He barely tilts his head back, indicating he’s listening.
“What did you do with my clothes?”
“What?” Someone makes a free throw and the crowd cheers.
“My clothes, Elijah. The door was locked, how did you get in?”
He leans forward, watching the Knicks.
An unflattering noise catches in my throat, my hands balling into fists. It’s a first-rate temper tantrum but entirely useless.
But it catches his attention, causing him to finally turn around. He freezes before a smirk forms and one brow lifts. I clutch the towel tighter.
“Where are my pajamas?”
“This is a pajama free household.”
“No, it is not.” I fume. “Now give me my underwear you pervert!”
“I can’t. It’s also an underwear free household.”
I stomp my foot, stepping back into the bedroom.
“Did you see the toothbrush I laid out for you?”
I slam the door shut.