Chapter 34 Eliana
ELIANA
fam·i·ly meal: /?fam(?)lē mēl/: noun
“Jesus Christ!” I yelp, slapping my hands over my eyes.
“Eliana!” Yasmin shrieks, scrambling for the sheets.
“What the fuck?!” Zeke roars, diving to cover himself.
I spin around so fast I nearly trip over my own feet. “I’m so sorry! I thought— Your phone— You didn’t—!”
“Get out!” they both scream in unison.
I slam the door shut and press my back against it, heart going approximately a billion miles an hour. “I’m so, so sorry! I got worried when you didn’t answer and I thought maybe Brandon—”
“Brandon is not here!” Yasmin yells through the door.
“I can see that!” I yell back, then lower my voice to a frantic whisper. “Well, I can’t see that anymore, thank God, because I’ve seen enough naked Zeke to last me a lifetime—”
“Oh, screw you!” Zeke shouts.
“No thanks, you’re clearly busy in that department already!”
There’s muffled cursing and rustling from inside the bedroom. I hear drawers slamming, fabric swishing, and Yasmin repeatedly hissing something that sounds like “Where are my pants?”
I stare at the ceiling, click my heels three times like Dorothy in Oz, and try very hard to unsee what I just saw. It’s not working. My brain has evidently decided to immortalize the image.
“Okay,” Yasmin calls out, slightly breathless. “You can open the door now.”
I crack the door open cautiously. They’re both semi-clothed—Yasmin in an oversized Northwestern sweatshirt and leggings, Zeke in his jeans and nothing else, his chest still extremely bare.
I pointedly look at the ceiling. “So, um… Yeah.”
“Yeah,” says Yas.
“Yeah,” says Zeke.
I wince. “How long…?”
“First time—” he blurts at the same time that Yasmin says, “Since right after you left last weekend.”
“Wow,” I say.
“Wow,” Yas says.
“Wow,” Zeke says.
“I would very much like this moment to be over, please and thank you,” I mumble. “Maybe if we all just do everything we just did, but in reverse, time will sort of unwind itself?”
Zeke crosses his arms over his bare chest and leans against Yasmin’s dresser with a smirk that can only be described as obscenely smug. “I mean, if we’re rewinding, I should probably warn you, the first time was pretty vocal. You’re gonna wanna bring popcorn for the replay.”
“Zeke!” Yasmin throws a pillow at his head.
He catches it easily out of mid-air. “What? I’m just saying, if she’s gonna barge in and traumatize herself, she should at least know what she’s getting herself into. You invoked the names of several deities.”
“Oh my God, I hate you,” Yasmin groans, burying her face in her hands.
“That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago—”
“Okay!” I interrupt, my voice climbing several octaves. “Okay, okay, okay. We’re done. This conversation is over. I’m leaving. I’m going to walk backwards out of this apartment, get in my time machine, and travel to a dimension where I never saw Zeke’s bare ass.”
“It’s a great ass, though,” Zeke says thoughtfully. “Very sculpted. Hours of squats. You should feel honored.”
“I’m going to murder you,” I tell him flatly.
“Get in line,” Yasmin mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips now, and her cheeks are flushed in a way that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
I look between the two of them—Zeke still grinning like an idiot, Yasmin trying and failing to look annoyed—and despite the absolute mortification still coursing through my veins, I can’t help but feel something warm for both of these idiots.
Yasmin looks happy. I mean, she also looks like she just got run through a car wash, but it was a happy wash.
She’s needed something like this, a fun golden retriever of a man like Zeke.
Brandon wasn’t just a black cat; he was a black hole, just a lifeless vortex of fun-sucking doom, and he stole years of her life he didn’t deserve.
This is… Maybe this is good.
“Well,” Yasmin says, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt, “you might as well stay, since you’re already here. The worst of the mortification is over with.”
“Is it, though?” I ask, still dubious.
“Definitely not,” Zeke confirms cheerfully. “I’m a multiple rounds kind of stud, as Yazzy here can attest to. But we can all power through the lull together. I’ll make dinner.”
“You cook?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He gives me a scathing look. “I’m literally a Michelin-starred chef.”
“Right. Yes. Of course you are.” I press my palms against my eyes. “Sorry. My brain is still rebooting from the trauma.”
“Come on.” Yasmin grabs my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you some wine. You look like you need it. God knows I do.”
Zeke follows us, still shirtless, which I’m choosing to ignore for the sake of my sanity. He starts rummaging through Yasmin’s fridge while she pours me a very generous glass of pinot grigio.
“So,” I say, taking a large gulp, “this is happening.”
“This is happening,” Yasmin confirms as she perches on a barstool beside me. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Zeke emerges from the fridge with an armful of ingredients. “Don’t worry, Eliana. I’ll make you something so good you’ll forget you ever saw my ass.”
“What I need is eye bleach. Mouth bleach. Bleach for the soul,” I mutter into my wine glass.
“Tsk, tsk,” scolds Zeke. “So ungrateful. Many women worldwide would’ve paid for the privilege you just enjoyed for free.”
Yasmin points a chef’s knife at Zeke and narrows her eyes. “Then ‘many women’ better keep their money in their pocket, buster. I’m not the kind of girl you mess around on.”
Zeke gulps and nods. “Yes, Chef.” Then he delicately reaches forward and pries the knife from her grasp. He has as much faith in her caution with pointed objects as I do.
I take another much-needed sip of wine and turn to Yasmin. “Okay, but seriously. How did this happen? Last I checked, you’d just given him your number for ‘recipe ideas.’”
Yasmin’s cheeks flush pink. “Well, about that… He texted me Saturday night after you left. Then we started talking about food, and then it turned into talking about everything else, and then—”
“Then I showed up at her door with takeout from Nova,” Zeke interjects as he pulls a cutting board from under the sink. “Figured she could use a good meal after dealing with stalker ex bullshit.”
“He brought me foie gras,” Yasmin says dreamily as she makes gaga eyes at her new boy toy. “And these little chocolate soufflés that were still warm.”
“And then?” I prompt, unable to help my smile.
Zeke grins as he starts chopping vegetables with impressive speed.
“And then we talked until three in the morning. Tuesday, I took her to this hole-in-the-wall Korean place in Lincoln Park. Wednesday was axe throwing at my buddy’s bar, plus a little goodnight smooch.
Yesterday was some over-the-pants hand stuff in the Uber home, then we got to the couch and started—”
“Zeke!” shrieks Yasmin.
“We get the picture,” I interrupt, holding up a hand before they spiral out of control again with this nauseatingly cute bickering. “You’ve been busy. I assure you that I do not need the details.”
Zeke shrugs and goes back to chopping. “Suit yourself. That’s the fun stuff, though.”
I pinch Yasmin in the ribs. “I can’t believe you kept me in the dark, you little skank.”
She laughs and knocks my hand aside. “I really am sorry. I was gonna tell you, I swear. I just needed to get a handle on things first.”
We both pretend not to hear Zeke muttering, “Oh, you got a handle on it alright. Several handles.”
Fixing her hair, Yas looks at me. “What’s up with you, though? You’re not usually the type to jump straight to the worst-case scenario. Is something wrong?”
I consider not telling her, but since we’ve already opened this can of worms, I figure a little SparkNotes version can’t hurt. I give her a brief rundown on the fiasco at Olympus and the strange lack of a response at Frank’s trailer.
“Okay, so just work stuff,” she summarizes.
“Well, yes and no,” I hedge.
“Uh-oh. What’s that mean?”
Zeke turns to face us again as the aroma of garlic fills the air. “It means Bastian probably has his panties in the most extreme of twists.”
“I mean, it’s construction,” Yasmin objects. “Delays happen all the time, right?”
Zeke’s grin stays firmly in place, though, and the more Yasmin looks between it and my reddening face, the more she starts to understand. “Oh. Oh. You mean… It’s not just work stuff, is it?”
I look down at my lap, though that doesn’t do much to hide my cheeks, which are roughly the temperature of the surface of the sun. “It might be a teensy bit more than work stuff.”
“Teensy bit?” Yasmin’s eyebrows fly off her face. “El… Time to spill.”
“We kissed,” I say. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Okay, fine. He also… may have…” I gesture downward toward my lap. “What’d Zeke call it?”
Zeke’s eyes go wide. “No fucking way. Hand stuff?!”
“But like, barely!” I cry out. “The whole thing was bizarre. He just, like, showed up at my house, and we went to the lake to watch the sunrise, because it was on my bucket list, which he stole off my desk, because personal boundaries are not a thing for him, and then there was coffee, and blankets, and I don’t even know how it happened but all the sudden we were kissing, and the sun was so pretty, and then his hand was in my pants, and—
“Stop.” Yasmin holds up both hands, laughing hard enough for tears to roll down her cheeks. “Oh my God, El. You totally buried the lede!”
“When did this happen?” Zeke asks. He couldn’t possibly look more delighted.
“Tuesday morning. Like, crack-of-dawn Tuesday morning.”
Yasmin says, “So who was keeping who in the dark, missy?!”
“You were busy getting your own hand stuff!”
“True,” Zeke acknowledges. “In an Uber, no less. The depravity.”
“Okay, okay, enough,” I say, waving my hands to bring this whole dog-and-pony show to a screeching halt. “Can we please stop talking about my sex life—or lack thereof—and focus on literally anything else? Please? Please?”
But my voice cracks on the last word. Both of them go quiet.
Yasmin reaches over and pulls my hand into her lap. “El… are you okay?”
I open my mouth to say, Duh, yes, of course I’m fine, but what comes out instead is a choked little laugh that sounds dangerously close to a sob. “I don’t know. Maybe? I just… I don’t know what I’m doing, Yas.”
Zeke turns down the heat on whatever he’s sautéing and leans against the counter. His smirk has faded into something a touch more serious. “With Bastian?”
“With everything.” I take a shaky breath.
“I’m just a little overwhelmed at the moment.
My vision’s getting worse. Work is a dumpster fire.
My mom’s got some new deadbeat boyfriend who gives me the creeps.
And now, Bastian’s being all Bastian-y about things, and I don’t know if we’re just messing around, or if this is something real, or if I’m just setting myself up to get my heart broken in eighty-two days when everything goes dark anyway. ”
The kitchen falls silent except for the soft sizzle of garlic and olive oil.
Then Yasmin pulls me into a fierce hug. “You know I love you to pieces, El, right? It’s all gonna be fine. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Zeke rounds the counter and pats me on the shoulder. “I can fillet a whole fish in sixty seconds flat. If Bash does anything cruel, I’ll have his guts in your mailbox in no time, alright?”
I snort a teary laugh. “Reassuring. Thanks, Zeke.”
Yasmin squeezes me hard enough to crack bones, then holds me at arm’s length.
“The important thing—well, the important things, plural—is one, not to wallow, and two, decide what you want out of this. What do you want, El? Forget everything else, all that stuff you just mentioned. You. What do you want?”
I scour around for an easy answer. “To eat Zeke’s apology noodles in peace?”
“Not what I meant, and you know it.”
The scent of ginger, garlic, and chili oil curls through the air as Zeke plates the food. “Bash’s got some issues around letting people in,” he explains. “But you already knew that.”
Yasmin swats him. “Offer helpful context or GTFO, dude.”
“I’m getting there, I promise. So. After his brother’s accident, Bash went full fortress mode. Kept everyone at arm’s length. But you?” Zeke points his spatula at me. “You’re the first person he’s thrown ropes to since me. The guy is terrified of you, in the best possible way.”
“Terrified? Bastian?” I scoff. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Oh, how wrong you are, chiquita. With you, he’s adrift. Unmoored.” Zeke slides a steaming bowl in front of me. “On a regular day, run-of-the-mill humans scare him. And you, my friend, are far from run-of-the-mill. You’re basically a Category 5 hurricane in kitten heels.”
Yasmin turns to me again. “So therein lies the rub. Do you wanna be the girl who makes Bastian Hale feel things? Or the one who walks away before he burns you?”
The garlic burns my tongue as I chew too fast. “What if I want to be neither?”
Zeke laughs. “Not how hurricanes work, sweetheart.”
“Our metaphors are getting really mixed here,” I mumble.
I chew another bite of noodles. The heat and spice ground me. Zeke’s food really is incredible—perfectly balanced, the kind of thing that makes you forget your problems for just a moment.
But only a moment.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admit finally. “That’s the problem. Part of me thinks I should just enjoy whatever this is while it lasts. I’ve got eighty-two days left to see the world, right? Why not spend some of them with someone who makes me feel happy?”
“And the other part?” Yasmin prompts gently.
“The other part knows that Bastian Hale is a human wrecking ball, and getting too close means I’m gonna get demolished.
” I push the noodles around my bowl. “Plus, there’s the whole boss-employee thing, which is a lawsuit waiting to happen.
And the fact that I’m literally going blind.
And that he’s emotionally unavailable on a level that would make Freud weep. ”
“So basically,” Zeke concludes, twirling his fork, “you’re fucked either way.”
“Eloquent as always,” Yasmin mutters.
He shrugs. “Just calling it like I see it.” Then he levels me with a surprisingly serious look. “Ultimately, we can advise, but we can’t decide for you. So what’s it gonna be? You gonna hop off the Bastian train? Or are you gonna see just how far it can take you?”