Chapter 2
ELIAS
The air between us pulls tight as I wait. Everything narrows down to her—the slight widening of her blue eyes, the small intake of breath, the way her fingers nervously twist the sleeve of her sweater.
The whole world slides to a stop around us, and a bolt of heat sears through me.
Elise Walters. Standing before me after all these years.
Ten years of wondering what could have been. Ten years of thinking about that girl from the tutorial who made 1984 make sense and wrote horror stories that kept me up at night. Ten years of trying to forget and failing miserably.
She opens her mouth and closes it again, reminding me of a beautiful fish out of water. I fight to keep my expression casual when all I want to do is cross the distance between us, touch her face, make sure she's real.
Her hair is different now—shorter than it was in high school, chocolate brown waves that barely brush her shoulders instead of the long ponytail she used to wear.
But those eyes are the same piercing blue that haunted my dreams. Her curves fill out her jeans and sweater in ways I'm desperately trying not to focus on.
"What are you getting out of it?" she asks. There's suspicion in her tone, a self-protective edge that wasn't there before.
It's a fair question. Why would NBA star Elias King want to be her fake date?
I shrug, aiming for casual, even if my mind keeps spinning with all sorts of wicked answers. "I've never liked Mia, if I'm being honest. She was mean in high school, and from what I hear, not much has changed."
Elise tilts her head. "Didn't you two date in high school?"
The horror that flashes across my face makes both Elise and James burst into laughter.
"God, no." I shake my head vehemently. "Never. Not even close. I don't know what you think of me, Elise, but I actually have standards."
Her laugh hits me in the chest, and my self-control cracks, a rush of longing rushing through the gap. The sound wraps around my ribs and squeezes.
"So..." I try not to sound too eager. I wasn't planning to show up at the reunion, even with James's insistent urging, but plans have changed. It all hinges on Elise's answer.
"Okay," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Let's do it."
The relief that floods through me is embarrassing. I clear my throat, trying to play it cool.
"Just so we're clear." She jabs a finger at me. "This is fake. No feelings. No falling in love."
I lift my hands in surrender and feel a smirk tug at my mouth. "Relax. No feelings. Check. I think I can manage that." But my mind is thinking ...
... Too late! Ten years too fucking late.
But out loud, all I do is grin and add, "Scout's honor."
"Well." James claps his hands together with undisguised glee. "This calls for dinner. My treat. There's a great place around the corner."
Elise glances at James, then back at me, her expression still slightly dazed. "Sure. I could eat."
As we walk toward the restaurant, with no paps or fans, thank God, I catch James sneaking me odd looks at every opportunity, brows raised, knowing smile. I ignore him.
The restaurant James has chosen has dim lighting, comfortable booths, and exposed brick walls. James positions himself at the head of the table, leaving me directly across from Elise.
Perfect.
She unfolds her napkin and places it carefully in her lap. I notice her fingernails are short and unpolished. The memory of her bent over my essay slams into me with unexpected force.
Senior year. The tutoring center. I'd been struggling with an assignment on 1984 and was desperate enough to seek help.
When I walked in, she was sitting alone at a table, nose buried in a book, brown hair falling across her face.
She looked up, and for a moment, I forgot why I was there.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might escape.
Sitting down at that table opposite Elise, her eyes boring into mine, I couldn't even figure out what to do with my fucking hands.
Up until that point, I was a fairly confident guy. Had been all through high school.
I did try dating Mia more in response to her outrageously desperate flirting and constant attention. She virtually stalked me for a whole year. I almost ran out of excuses to avoid her advances and invitations.
When we did arrange a meet-up, she came onto me so hard I shut her down.
She went ballistic and flew into a rant, verbally attacking everything about me.
How I was all show and no sizzle. Just a pretty boy not worthy of her high standards.
Not the jock I made out to be. I escaped from that date, and then she gaslit me for the rest of the year.
But I know she and her circle kept close tabs on me, especially on every female I chatted with.
Mia sucked some of my confidence, or, at least, she tried, but obviously, not much.
Mia did show me what a nasty piece of work she is, though.
"Wine?" James asks, jolting me back to the present.
We order a bottle to share. I watch Elise scan the menu, her teeth catching her bottom lip in concentration, exactly like she used to do when reading my terrible attempts at literary analysis. The urge to tug it with my thumb is so overwhelming I have to dig my heels into the floor for distraction.
"So," James says after our drinks arrive, "what's the plan for this reunion showdown?"
Elise takes a sip of wine. "I haven't thought that far ahead. My brain is still trying to process all this."
"It's simple," I say. "We show up together, looking good, act like we're into each other, and let Mia stew in her own juices."
"Okay?"
"What are you thinking, Elise?" I tell her, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "Show up, make Mia's head explode with jealousy, leave?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of a dramatic entrance and then hiding in the bathroom for two hours."
James snorts. "Classic Elise strategy."
"What?" She shoots him a look. "It worked in high school."
"That's why none of us ever saw you," I say before I can stop myself. Her eyes flick to mine, surprised. "I mean, you were always in the library or something. Hard to track down."
A pastel flush colors her cheeks. "I didn't think anyone was looking."
I was. Every day.
At the cafeteria. In the gym. By the parking lot.
And so was Mia. The thought flashes from nowhere. I immediately push it aside. As unwanted as ...
Our food arrives, saving me from revealing too much too soon. I try to focus on my food, but my attention keeps drifting to Elise. I eat and pretend not to stare, but every part of her pulls at me. I've spent years missing these things. Now they're right in front of me.
"I saw Mia's post, by the way," I say when there's a lull in conversation. "About the coffee shop."
Elise's expression darkens. "I'm going to write her into my next novel as the first victim."
"Nah, that's too quick. She deserves a slower death. And you'd want her terrified, like maybe every other character dies, and she's the last one standing, and she knows the monster is coming for her."
She looks at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, quickly replaced by something warmer. The corner of her mouth twitches up. "You're right. I'm thinking something with insects. Or maybe tiny demons that slowly hollow her out from the inside."
"Starting with her personality shouldn't take long. There's not much there."
She laughs again, and the sound travels straight to my core.
This is the Elise I've always wanted to know.
The real Elise emerging from behind her walls—darkly funny, sharp-witted, slightly macabre.
Exactly the girl I glimpsed in those horror stories she wrote for the school paper, the ones I collected and kept hidden in my desk drawer.
"So you still write horror?" I ask, genuinely interested.
"Trying to. I've got a manuscript making the rejection rounds." She makes a face. "Number seventeen arrived this morning, actually."
"Their loss." When she raises an eyebrow, I add, "I used to read your column in the school paper. The horror stories."
She looks genuinely shocked. "Shut the front door. You did?"
"Every issue. That one about the locker room that ate the swim team? Couldn't shower after practice for a week."
Her face lights up in a way that makes my chest ache. "I can't believe you remember that."
"It was good. Really good. Have you ever thought of publishing them as a compilation?"
"Hmm, no. I never thought of that."
"You should consider it. I mean, I'd buy the first one thousand copies. James would buy the next two thousand."
She doesn't say anything.
Silence stretches between us, taut and humming. I can feel it in my chest, the pull toward her, the restraint it takes not to give in. Her hand accidentally brushes mine, just barely, and that's all it takes to make the moment feel unbearable.
She doesn't look away. Neither do I.
James, bless him, starts talking about his renovations, giving me a moment to breathe.
When she turns to ask James a question, I study her profile—the slope of her nose, the curve of her jaw, the subtle dip above her upper lip. I want to touch that spot with my thumb, feel her breath against my skin.
Look at me being pathetic.
The conversation shifts to basketball somehow, and I'm surprised when Elise makes a comment about my three-pointer in the fourth quarter.
"You watched the game?" I ask.
"I was literally in the front row," she points out drily.
I can't help grinning. "Yeah, but you were watching moi."
"James made me," she says quickly, her face beet red.
"Right," James drawls. "I forced you to learn all those stats and player names."
She kicks him under the table, and I feel an unexpected stab of jealousy at their easy banter, the years of friendship they've shared while I've been on the outside, wanting her from a distance.
"You saved my ass in English, you know," I say, bringing the conversation back. "I would've failed without you."