Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT
ELOISE
Is there a limit on how many times you can listen to a voicemail before it’s burned into your memory?
If there is, I’ve surpassed it many times over.
I can even time his sigh, as if he couldn’t quite find the words to say and opted for an unscripted and vulnerable version of the truth. There wasn’t as much confidence—or smooth edges—around his attempt at being honest with me about why I hadn’t heard from him.
But even with his vulnerability and likely earned response from me, I didn’t give him one. I opted to keep my silence—my power—close to my chest instead. And maybe my anger at his lack of contact with me prior made it easier.
If I’m going to be inconvenienced by the feelings he’s stirred inside of me, he’s going to be ignored.
I’ve closed the shop early for lunch, tucking my keys into my purse as I turn to head to the diner to pick up some food to-go. I yearn for a silence only the lake can offer. And when I feel like coming back to work, I will.
Relief at the sight of the near-empty restaurant tells me that I made it before the lunch rush, where people openly stared and whispered before aiming a fake smile in your direction.
It isn’t that I dislike my life here; it’s that lately, it’s felt far more suffocating than it used to.
I’m about to approach the counter to order when I hear someone yell out my name. My correct name. It startles me as I turn to face Benjamin, who’s sliding into a booth with a small smile on his face. He waves me over, and though everything is telling me to shake my head and continue with my plans of eating alone, I heave out a sigh and head in his direction.
“You’re a glutton for punishment,” I tell him as I slide into the booth across from him before I press my lips together. He takes a moment of silence and then exhales before speaking again, the ends of his lips upturned ever so slightly.
“There’s nothing punishing about being in the presence of a beautiful woman,” he offers, leaning back and letting his eyes roam over my face. His stare feels like itchy wool, chafing at my skin. I fight the desire to fidget.
I want to tell him that the punishment is in the fact that he’ll never do more than look. He’ll never be more than who he is right now. And I’ll never feel even a fraction of what I’ve felt for Ezra.
Instead, I lift a brow, regarding him with eyes that express nothing more than disinterest.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he insists, and I wonder where he’s found the nerve after all of these years. I remember being a freshman when he was a senior. I remember him on the football team while I was quiet and forever reading a book. I remember he briefly dated one of the cheerleaders as I worked after school and summers at the bookstore.
I hadn’t noticed his interest in all that time, even when Sophie poked fun at me for the way he always managed to make it home from college in time to snag a seat near us for the big Thanksgiving football games.
Or how he’d come to the bookstore and purchase books, even when I wasn’t there. My mom always had a sparkle in her eye as she convinced him to buy the filthiest of stories.
Now, here we are, years later with him finally finding the balls to ask me out. And I could think of millions of things I’d rather do than share a meal with the man who dealt with the ins and outs of the near demise of my family’s business, regardless of our history. If I’m being honest, I have no intention of sharing even this one with him.
Before I can reject him, before I can even muster up the denial that sits hot at the base of my throat, another voice cuts in.
“Doesn’t seem interested, does she?”
What the…
You can’t be serious.
I glance up at the man standing to my side, his charcoal suit fitting him like a dream while simultaneously making it so obvious that he doesn’t belong here.
I shake away the notion that I might not either and place my hands on the tabletop to stand, rolling my eyes to the ceiling.
“This is a pissing contest I have no plans on standing in the middle of,” I announce, catching the cool glare Ezra wears before I shove past him and walk out. I’ll just fucking starve. Or go home for the day.
Hell, I’d even skip town at this point to avoid having to deal with this shit.
As I rush out toward my car, I wonder if I’m the glutton for punishment. Is that why, even as I run away from him, my heart still surges at the sight and sound of him.
“Eloise,” he calls out after me. I glance around, hating that there are more people milling about now. People who openly stare as he approaches, while I try in vain to get my car unlocked as quickly as possible. His hand hits my driver’s side door just as I get it unlocked.
“Move,” I hiss, averting my gaze. I can’t stare at him when he’s this close. It all comes back to me. Every moment I deigned to reminisce over. Every moment I yearned to relive, every time he brought my body back to life like some kind of electrical current.
“What? Am I not following proper protocol here?” His sneer hits me in the gut and I turn to glance at him.
“You know you aren’t,” I whisper, an edge of pleading in my tone. Not here, not now. Not when there are so many eyes on us.
“I came back here for you,” he follows my gaze as I try to look away, leaning down to snag my eyes with his own. “I want you to come with me. Does that mean nothing to you?”
What do I say to that? Do I let myself fall? Do I skip straight to our inevitable end, reminding him that we don’t have much time left together?
“I can only offer you what’s stated in our contract,” I answer, my voice still low. Because when he leaves—and he will—all I’ll have is my peace here. And that’s what will help me pick up the pieces that I’d willingly handed to him in the short time we’ve known one another.
He steps back, removing his hand from my car. I take a deep breath, reaching for the door’s handle, unsure how to move forward except to listen to my intense desire to escape him, even as a larger part of me wants to stay.
“Don’t leave on my account,” he starts, stepping onto the sidewalk. “There’s a willing suitor inside who’d love to take you to dinner.”
His words sting and I want to hide my face, the telling burn of my cheeks at his insult.
“Once the contract ends, I just might take him up on that.”
I’ve never wanted to apologize for the consequences of my harsh words. Never felt instant regret at the way I wield my power, protecting myself at all costs.
But one look at Ezra and I wish I could gobble the words back up.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice soft but I don’t miss the venom in them. “You have a contract to fulfill.” I gulp at his words, keeping my stare even to match his. “Meet me at my place tonight.”
He doesn’t offer another word as he turns to walk away from me.
The idea that both of us could be so wrapped up in one another that we refuse to walk away without experiencing the full sting of our connection makes me realize something: we aren’t gluttons for punishment. We’re starved for it.