Chapter 22
LOREN
Meg
Still dead
Raincheck on bowling?
I bought myself a steak.
I shouldn’t have splurged on so much meat, but I did. The wine probably wasn’t the best idea either considering the Tuesday I put down, but today calls for a celebration and since Meg and I aren’t bowling, this was the next best thing.
The only problem is, I have no steak sauce. The steak gods are probably cringing over the fact that I use steak sauce, but they can enjoy their sauceless steaks in peace and leave me to mine.
The grocery store is ten minutes away, and by the time I go back there, buy steak sauce, and then get home, this glorious hunk of meat sizzling in the pan will no longer be at the perfect temperature, and I’m pretty sure microwaving a steak will anger the steak gods way more than a bit of sauce.
So I set down my dinner and head over to Elliott’s.
He answers on the third knock, his dark hair damp and sticking to his forehead.
Did I mention he’s shirtless?
Because he is very, very shirtless.
I knew he was fit, but this is…this is something else.
Not only that, but there is a towel wrapped around his waist. A very trim, very cut waist with those V’s in his hips that you only see on TV.
He clears his throat, dragging my gaze up to his smirking face. “Did you knock just to stare at me or…?”
Of course, he had to open his mouth and ruin everything. I did come over here for some reason, but at the moment, all I can think about is licking the drops of water falling down the ripples of his very defined abs.
Let me see.
Promotion. Celebration. Dinner. Steak. That’s the one. “I need steak sauce.”
His dark brows jump beneath his fallen hair. “For what?”
“Tuna fish. What do you think? A steak, obviously.”
“What kind of steak?”
“A ten-ounce filet.” Not that it’s any of his business.
At that, his eyes brighten. “What are we celebrating?”
“I am celebrating a promotion. Do you have any or not?”
He disappears into his apartment and returns with a bottle of steak sauce in hand. When I go to grab it, he holds the thing up over his head, just out of reach. “What do I get if I give you the sauce?”
“Why can’t you ever just do anything out of the goodness of your heart?” He already won a week’s worth of crab cakes that I’ll have to make good on at some point.
“It’s not my fault you mentioned steak at dinnertime.” He pats his stomach, bringing my gaze right back to his bellybutton and the thin trail of dark hair that disappears beneath that towel.
Focus, Loren. He has sauce, you need it for your steak; you really don’t have much of a choice. “You can have two bites.”
“Half a steak sounds good to me.”
“I said two bites. One. Two.” I hold up my fingers so we’re clear.
“No deal. I guess I’ll see you later…” The knowing grin on his too-full lips expands as he eases the door closed nice and slow.
Here’s the thing: my love of steak is only surpassed by my love of the sauce you smother it in. Sauce that is slowly disappearing through the shrinking gap in Elliott’s closing doorway.
If I don’t have sauce, then what’s the point?
“Fine. You can have half my damn steak. But you have to put on pants.”
He swings the door wide once more. “Just pants?”
“Clothes, Elliott. Put on all the clothes.” Can’t have the man sauntering over half dressed, distracting me from my party.
I snag the sauce and head back to my place to cut the steak in “half,” leaving myself the bigger piece. This is my celebration steak, after all.
My neighbor doesn’t arrive empty-handed. He brings over two Tupperware containers, one with spinach salad and one with leftover scalloped potatoes.
Maybe having him over isn’t such a bad thing after all.
“Did you make these?” I pop the lid on the potatoes before throwing them into the microwave. Au gratin. My favorite.
“My mom did.” When he douses his steak in sauce, I like him even more. Josh always had a smart comment to add when he took me out for steak and I asked the server for sauce.
I dump a little more over my own steak to spite him.
Ratbag.
“Does she live around here?” I assume, since this salad seems fresh.
“Yeah. About twenty minutes away.”
I don’t miss my parents as much as I thought I would. Sure, it would be nice if they were closer, but having them as close as Elliott’s parents would give me a crutch, and I am determined to make life work without their help.
Thanks to this promotion, that might actually happen.
“Any word from your boss on the whole ex-fiasco?” Elliott asks, dragging a few spinach leaves onto his plate with his fork.
I shake my head and shove the bite I took to the side of my mouth so I can speak. Not the best manners, but this is my home and I’m hungry. If he wants to chat, he’s getting heathen Loren.
I explain what happened in the office earlier today, the way she answered ratbag’s call. The fact that I didn’t see her again for another hour, and when she did emerge, the skin beneath her eyes was puffy and red.
“I hope Rebecca ditched him.” I also kinda hope she lights him on fire, but that would land her in jail, and I like her too much to see her incarcerated. Maybe fate will light him on fire for us. Or strike him with lightning.
Yeah. That’s what we need.
A lightning strike.
“So do I.”
Of course he does. Why are men so freaking predictable? “What are you going to do next? Ask me to bring her by the bar?”
He reaches over to the counter to snag a paper towel from the roll, then dabs at his lips. “I’m not interested in your boss.”
Yeah, okay. Do I look like I was born yesterday? I stab my steak, pretending it’s his eye. “Why are men such liars?” Does it have to do with their DNA? At some point during evolution, were they all tainted by rats?
“It’s not a lie. She’s hot, but she’s not my type.”
“Rebecca is everyone’s type. Hell, she might even be my type.”
“Really? Tell me more.”
“Shut up. Just admit that you’d date her, and we can move on.”
Shaking his head, he tilts the wine bottle into my glass before filling his own. “Except I wouldn’t date her.”
“Right. Sorry. I forgot you have an aversion to commitment.”
He sets the bottle back down.
I’d say his wide eyes look innocent if I didn’t know better. There’s nothing innocent about Elliott Grant.
“What makes you say that?”
“Did you forget we share a wall?” A very thin wall. “Guys like you don’t settle down. You’re always searching for your next conquest, thinking the grass is greener in someone else’s pants.”
The corners of his lips slant up. “If grass is growing in your pants, you should probably seek medical advice.”
“Stop that. You know what I mean.” He’ll still be hot and single well into his forties, maybe even his fifties, sleeping with women half his age.
Meanwhile, I’ll be getting older and wrinklier but not wiser because my curse is to fall for guys who disappoint me. Sad, but true.
Elliott finishes his steak while I take my sweet time with mine, both of us falling into companionable silence that I feel no need to fill. For some reason, the blurting isn’t quite as bad with Elliott. Maybe because we’re not romantically involved and there’s no pressure to go down that path.
Thank goodness for that.
He’d break my heart the moment I offered it to him.
Elliott sits back, resting one hand on his stomach as he sips his wine, watching me finish my last few bites. “So are you going to move back home since it didn’t work out with shitbag?”
Talk about bringing down the mood. “Not if I can help it. I love my parents and all but their opinions on what I should be doing with my life do not line up with mine.”
“How so?”
I set my fork and knife aside in favor of my drink, leaning back in my chair as well. Where do I even begin? “They think I should take over the family business.”
“Which is?”
“A funeral home.”
He blinks at me. “You’re joking.”
“Afraid not.”
“I can’t imagine you working in a funeral home. You’re too full of life. You’re like bubbles.”
“Bubbles?” That’s a new one.
“Yeah. Always rising up, effervescent, giddy. Shiny. Iridescent.” A wince. “Sorry. That’s weird, isn’t it?”
“You’re fine. I’ve decided to take it as a compliment.”
“Good. Because I meant it as one.” He glances down at his empty plate, his smile faltering. “I know what it’s like to not live up to your parents’ expectations. My mom always wanted me to be CFO of a Fortune 500 company. She was so disappointed when I quit to work at the bar with August.”
Are we the same person?
Who knew I’d have so much in common with this guy? Does this officially make us friends? Heaven knows I could use another friend in this place, especially after losing the reason I moved here.
I could be friends with Hot Elliott as long as I don’t let myself get hypnotized by his blue, blue eyes. “Elliott Grant, CFO. I can see it.”
His nose wrinkles. “Really?”
“Yeah. I can.” He’d look so hot in a three-piece suit. He’d look hot without one too. Moving on… “Did your mom threaten to disown you too?”
“Every single day since.”
I hate that for him. For both of us. “Well, I’m proud of you, Elliott.” His eyes widen. “I am. It’s important to do what makes you happy, even if the people you love think you’re wrong.”
He holds up his glass of wine. “To being wrong.”
Sounds like the perfect toast for tonight.
Smiling, I clink my glass against his. “To being wrong.”