Chapter 21
REESE
TRACK: The Staves, “I’m on Fire” (Bruce Springsteen cover)
When Eli opens the door, my heart does a whole flip. He looks gorgeous with his dark hair flopping onto his forehead and his rumpled shirt and loose tie. But he looks a little wrecked, too. His eyes are strained, his shoulders tight.
“Hey,” he says. “No Rufus?”
“He’s having a sleepover at Jude’s. Nora asked yesterday.”
For the briefest moment I wonder if it was Rufus Eli wanted to see. But Eli gives a half smile. “It’s fine, I think I’d probably disappoint him tonight anyway.”
“Impossible.”
Eli’s smile broadens a little, and I feel warm inside that I made that happen.
It’s not even his best mega-watt grin, but I still soak it up like sunshine, relief that I made the right choice in coming loosening the knot in my chest. I’ve been more than a little freaked out by my boldness the other day.
Then Eli’s eyes drop to the giant bag I’m carrying. “You staying awhile?”
My cheeks go pink at the implication of staying, but I smile sheepishly. “I know I said I’d bring wine, but I couldn’t tell from texting if it was actually more of a hot chocolate, wine, or tequila kind of day, so…I brought all three.”
Eli holds the door open for me and I pass through, trying not to visibly inhale his scent as I do. He smells way too good for a man in his state. “Do you use those laundry booster things?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. You smell nice.” Idiot.
Eli gives me a strange look, but luckily, he’s too distracted to notice my yammering.
A nervous energy sparks through me as Eli leans in close, taking the bag from me. For a moment, his eyes meet mine, which only makes that energy thrum hotter.
“I could have sworn you were avoiding me, Reese,” he says, turning away and heading back to the kitchen.
Thank God he can’t see my face, because he’d see right through me. “I’ve been busy,” I say. Which isn’t a lie. But it’s not the whole truth, either. The whole truth is I’ve been having way too good a time with you, Eli, and I was feeling good, so I gave you a blow job in my office.
Of course I don’t say any of that. I look away, trying to cool the heat in my face. I slip off my shoes, then make a show of looking around his place. I’ve never been here before. “You have furniture!” I say.
Eli shoots me a look, and I wonder if he’s not going to drop it. But his mouth turns up in a grin. “I still have those lawn chairs down in my storage locker.”
I laugh. “Good. I liked those chairs. So homey.”
I’ve never been to his apartment here, but when I first met him, he lived in a sad apartment building in Jewel Lakes County, New York.
He said he’d taken the first lease he could find after the divorce, and it showed—his furniture consisted of a pair of lawn chairs in the living room and a new box spring and mattress set. That was about it.
Now, he has a proper couch and chair. In fact…I run my hand along the back of the couch, which is a stylish box style with plush navy cushions I recognize. “This is a ten-thousand-dollar couch, Eli.”
Something strange tickles my skin. “It’s from Restoration Hardware,” I say.
I always wanted one of their living room sets.
I used to order their catalogues just to daydream, even if I could never afford their stuff.
And that tickling is a sudden vivid memory of him flipping through one of them at my place back in Jewel Lakes.
From where I am now, I can see Eli in the galley kitchen. He’s watching me, his lips turned up in a little smile. “I don’t know the first thing about decorating. But when I needed to buy furniture, I remembered that place.”
I pinch my lips shut.
Before all this, any recollection of our short time together all those years ago felt painful. Like a flash I’d rather forget. I thought doing that with him would only exacerbate that. But somehow, spending time with him has brought back the good memories I’d completely forgotten.
I have a sudden image of Eli lying in my bed, stroking my hair as I pointed out all the places in my bedroom I’d change, naming a Restoration Hardware product for each, him teasing me for wanting to decorate my place from a hardware store.
“It’s not a hardware store,” I say softly.
Now Eli laughs, and my whole body loosens into a puddle. This is not good. This warmth I feel in my chest, this heat—the way his laugh makes me feel like there’s nothing wrong with the world—it’s dangerous. My pulse flutters in my throat.
Eli’s smile drops, and he looks quickly to the bottles on the counter. “Wine okay?”
For a moment, I wonder if maybe I should go now, before anything more happens.
Because I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t bring all this alcohol over hoping it might make something happen.
Was this a terrible idea, to let this turn from something fake into something suddenly a lot more real?
I hear my sister’s worried voice in my ear. I don’t want you getting hurt, Reese.
But then I hear Nora’s. You said you missed fun, remember?
I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “Yes. Wine.” I think of the email I got this morning from the realtor in Sebastopol. New condos under construction and coming on the market around the time I plan to arrive.
Fun. That’s all this has to be.
I come over to the kitchen and sit up on the counter while Eli uncorks the bottle.
“This is a very decent bottle of wine, Franco,” he says.
“I thought tonight might call for the good stuff.”
He pours the glasses, not looking up. I consider asking him what happened today, but I don’t have to. Because he hands me a glass and holds it up for a cheer. “To fuckups.”
I laugh. “To fuckups.”
I take a sip of wine, letting the warmth of the alcohol spread through me, instantly undoing the last of my nerves. “You want to elaborate?”
Eli looks at me almost a moment too long, then he says, “I don’t know if I should.”
Which is cryptic and slightly worrisome too.
Then he scrubs his jaw with his hand. “There are several shitty things happening at once, honestly.”
“Okay… How about one thing?”
Eli sighs, then leans back against the counter and tells me about the billboard and his brother.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, when he’s done. I know he won’t agree. But it isn’t, really.
“I should have caught it,” he says, just as I thought he would.
His arms are folded, the arm on top holding his wineglass.
He takes a sip. “The thing is, I don’t even know what Griffin does, exactly.
No one does. So, are the pictures a serious security risk?
Have we put someone in danger? Or does he just generally not want to be perceived? ”
I smile. “I don’t know Griffin very well at all. But from what you’ve said about him, I’m sure he’d have acted differently if someone was in imminent danger, wouldn’t he? Like get everyone to drop everything to take them all down?”
Eli nods. “Yeah. He would have.” Another moment passes, then he says, “Hey, Reese?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to stay away from Neil.”
“What? Why?”
“He and Kelly aren’t getting along, and I think”—Eli looks down—“he’s just not himself. I don’t want you in the middle of that.”
“Okay,” I say, confused.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s been a shit week.”
I decide not to press him. Mostly, because I don’t want to be thinking about Neil and Kelly right now.
“Anyway. I don’t want to talk about them. Or work,” Eli says, like he read my thoughts. More likely he read the room. “Because it’s not just work that’s put me in a shit mood.”
His eyes meet mine, sending a flurry of butterflies exploding in my stomach.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Reese.”
I lift my glass to my mouth, taking a bigger than necessary sip.
Eli drains the last of his glass and sets it down. He props his hands behind him on the counter, pinning me with his eyes.
“I’m in a shit mood because I can’t stop thinking about a woman. That’s what it all boils down to.”
My stomach does a full-on barrel roll. He might as well have pinned me physically, because I can’t move as his eyes bore into mine.
“Is that right,” I manage. I finish my wine too, but don’t let go of the glass, holding it tight.
“Yeah. I’ve been having an incredible time with someone I care about. A lot. And the other day, I could have sworn she felt the same way, too. Because she got down on her knees and took my cock in her mouth.”
His words are shocking. They send a rip-roar of heat through me. I swallow hard, the wineglass threatening to shake in my hand. I hold it to my chest. “Maybe she got carried away,” I whisper.
“That’s what I thought,” he says. Then Eli pushes off from the counter, coming over to where I’m sitting.
Up on the counter, he’s still got an inch or so on me, but we’re close to eye level.
“But she pulled away after that. Said she was busy. But now she’s here in my apartment, acting like she cares about me too. ”
“I do,” I whisper.
Eli takes the wineglass from me, setting it on the counter.
Then his hands go to my knees, which are pressed primly together.
He gently presses them apart, sending heat swirling down toward my center.
“I deserve that, you know,” he says gruffly, as with a soft pull, he brings me toward him, so my legs are on either side of him, the crotch of my jeans only an inch from his body.
Any closer, and only a couple layers of fabric would be between us pressed up against each other.
“Deserve what?” I say, as he slides his hand up and cups the back of my neck.
“I deserve you messing me up. Wanting you so badly it’s all I can take not to storm down to that restaurant and throw you over my shoulder.”
His lips go to my neck, breathing warm air over my skin.
“I don’t want to mess you up,” I say, shivering at the feeling of him. I can feel myself growing wet, too. But more than that, I feel an ache in my chest and a pull on my conscience.
“Eli,” I say, laying my hands on his shoulders. I need to tell him the truth. That I’m leaving next year.
My tone has its desired effect, and he pulls back, meeting my eye, his brow furrowed in a question.
I open my mouth to speak, but suddenly I have no idea what to say. If I tell him I’m leaving, he’s going to pull away.
He’ll be pissed, I know. He’ll skitter back down to his foul mood. We’ll probably fight. Then I’ll have to go. I’ll storm out of here and we’ll be worse off than we started.
Or right back to where we started.
And that’s the last place I want to be. I want to be here, with him. I want to have fun.
So I take a different tack. “How about tequila?” I ask instead.
Eli’s eyebrows shoot up, but I don’t miss the relief that slips over his face. “So you had a shit day too?”
Yeah. I wasn’t with you.
“Kind of,” I manage.
He searches me with his eyes.
“I want to have fun, Eli,” I say softly, brushing his hair from his brow. “You make me remember what it’s like to have fun again.”
Eli nods. “Fun.” Then he turns to the bottle, and I let out my breath. My hands are shaking.
“I don’t remember the last time I drank tequila,” he says, frowning. “But I do remember I didn’t always make the smartest decisions after.”
“Perfect,” I say, so quietly, I don’t think he heard me. But he looks over his shoulder at me and grins.
I almost tell him to forget it, to come back over here and press that bulge in his pants against me for real, no more teasing me.
“You drink a lot of tequila in college?” he asks, pulling two tumblers out of the cupboard.
“From time to time,” I say. “At shows, mostly.”
“Shows?” He pours a finger in each glass.
“Do you have any lime?”
“No…but I do have this”—he opens his fridge and comes out with one of those little lime juice containers.
I laugh. “It’ll do.”
“Tell me about these shows. Were they you singing?”
“Sometimes. I sang with a band once.”
“No shit! What were they called?”
“Eat Me.”
Eli chokes, but recovers. “Great name.”
“Not really,” I laugh.
He hands me my glass. “Did you ever do any of those shots they do on those reality TV shows?”
“Eli Dunham. You watch reality TV?!”
“I had to brush up on Chef’s Apprentice! It was Blake’s suggestion. He had me and Jude go over to his and Cass’s place to watch a bunch of older seasons. We kept getting ads for this one called College Co-ed Chaos, and one time we watched an early season and Jude uh…recognized someone on there.”
“Oh my God,” I laugh. “He slept with one, you mean?” I knew something of Jude’s pro tennis career—Nora said he’d had a couple of wild years, but he wasn’t happy, and it ended anyway, when he got someone pregnant. He did a full 180 into dad-life.
“Yeah. Apparently, they kept in touch a little, though not in a romantic way? She’s married with a couple of kids somewhere in the Midwest, he said, and she gives him parenting advice. Jude’s fucking weird.”
“I think that’s nice. He’s a great dad.”
Something runs over Eli’s face, but it’s gone too fast for me to catch it. “I guess he’s all right.”
“So they drank tequila on that show?” I ask.
“They did body shots.”
I pinch my lips together.
“Wait.” He pauses. “You’ve done those?”
“Just once. It was a wild night.”
Eli narrows his eyes. “Do you mean to tell me some guy drank tequila out of your belly button?”
“Oh. No, it was the other kind. He uh…” How do I say he drank a shot from my cleavage without sounding ridiculous? “No, there was no actual contact with the one I did. Not really.”
“So no one’s ever done that with you?”
I shake my head. We’re still holding our glasses, and I bring mine up. “Want to try?” I’m joking, kind of.
Eli gapes, but his pupils seem to widen before my eyes. “Fuck yes.”
Fun. It’s all for fun.