30. Been Waiting
Been Waiting
My trench coat hangs open while I lean into the mirror, smudging liner over my lash line. The maroon turtleneck clings to my ribs—warm but suffocating now that Riley won’t stop talking.
“It’s not a date, but you’re wearing thigh-highs,” Riley says, chin in her palm, stretched across my bed like it’s hers. “So…it’s a date.”
I cap the eyeliner. “We agreed it’s a not-date. He said dress warm.”
And slutty.
She scoffs, “Warm is jeans and a snow suit. Not socks that say, pussy right, pussy tight, pussy wants to fuck all night.”
I turn, smoothing down my tartan skirt. “Would you rather I wore jeans and a hoodie?”
“Honestly, yeah. Then I wouldn’t have to emotionally prepare for the aftermath of you accidentally falling onto his dick.
” She sits up, crossing her legs and grabbing a throw pillow like it might shield her.
“You know how you get when you’re near him.
All breathy and stolen side glances you think no one notices. ”
“We agreed. No sex…Not right away, anyway.”
“You’re gonna cave,” Riley says, one leg bouncing lazily. “My money’s on 9 p.m. He’ll be balls-deep by then.”
“Riley,” I mutter, twisting at my ponytail until the elastic digs into my palm. “He’s been pushing for more lately. I’m just humoring him. We’ll do this, then it’s back to business-as-usual sex.”
“You’re in denial,” she scoffs.
“I’m not.” I grab my coat off the hook.
She snorts. “You really think you can hold out? I saw the way you were looking at him on Christmas Eve. That whole night you were basically eye-fucking him with a candy cane in one hand—face it, Elena, you’re obsessed.”
“Yeah, well, we didn’t have sex, did we?” I shoot back, pulling the trench coat tight. “I passed out. Because I was too drunk.”
“Yeah, drunk Elena was a riot that night—I love her.” She laughs.
I lift a brow. “Speaking of Christmas Eve…”
Her grin freezes.
“We’ve yet to discuss your little tryst with a certain bodyguard?”
She blinks, then reaches for the pillow again, smacking it over her face with a groan. “I knew you heard.”
“Heard? Riley, the whole building heard…walls rattled. I thought we were in a goddamn earthquake.”
She drags the pillow down, cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just—heat of the moment...mistletoe proximity…”
“Uh-huh. And I’m Stevie Nicks.”
She sits up straighter, eyes darting. “It’s not like that. I don’t do feelings. I don’t know what the hell this is. Every time I see him, I get this weird...tight feeling in my chest. And he looks at me like I’m something golden and delicate and I hate it.”
I cross the room, taking a seat beside her. “Sounds like you might like him.”
Riley stares at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never liked someone like this before.”
I stare at her in disbelief, for all her confidence. There are times I’m reminded of the little girl from Jervis Bay who ran around barefoot in dirty clothes.
I sigh. “Luca would be so lucky. You’re brilliant. You’re loyal. You’re pure sunshine wrapped in the most beautiful packaging.” I boop her nose with my fingertip.
Her eyes snap to mine—wide and glassy, like something I said actually touched the part of her she never lets anyone reach.
Then she smirks. “If I give Luca a real chance…maybe you should give Broderick a real one!”
I roll my eyes, tightening my coat. “We’re not doing this.”
“Oh, we’re definitely doing this.”
I groan, grabbing my purse from the hook behind the door. My phone buzzes—
Broderick
On my way. Hope you’re hungry. And bring some music for the drive.
Elena
Always. Hope you’re in the mood for Tuvan throat singing.
Riley watches me slide the phone into my bag like it confirms every unspoken thing.
“What did lover boy say?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
“He’s on his way—bring a playlist.”
“Oh my God, did you make him a playlist?” Her head snaps up. “Babe. That’s third base for you. That’s basically an emotional handjob.”
I throw a sock at her face. And reach for the CD Broderick gave me for Christmas—Elena’s Mix Vol. 2.
She catches it midair. “Not denying it though.”
I turn back to the mirror. Noticing the flush creeping up in my face and it’s not just the blush I might have been a little heavy handed with.
This isn’t a date. It just isn’t not one either.
The buzzer chimes, I go to leave my room to let Broderick up.
Riley jumps to her feet “Girl no…I’ll get it. Wait here. I’ll call you. This isn’t just a random catch up, make an entrance.”
I roll my eyes. “Riley, he’s seen me a hundred times.”
“Yeah, but tonight’s different.”
“Alright.”
She dashes out and I pace back and forth…waiting.
I hear the door open and the sound of their voices floating through the apartment.
“Elena, there’s a man at our door proposing for your hand in marriage in exchange for lands and titles,” she calls out her voice dripping with feigned sweetness.
I giggle to myself, one final look over and I grab my purse, trying to steady my breath.
There standing in the entryway is Broderick, holding a bouquet of red tulips and a gift bag. He’s dressed in a cream sweater which warms up his face, making him younger. Black trench, dark jeans, sneakers. Hair pushed back like he didn’t even try.
“Hey, baby,” he says before flashing that full dimpled smile that makes my knees weak.
If my cheeks were flushed before they’re molten now.
“Hi,” I murmur.
Riley looks between the both of us, her face riddled with all the cheeky things she wants to say.
I notice Broderick from the corner of my eye raking his gaze over my outfit. Eyes dropping to the thigh-high socks anyway. His chest rumbles with a suppressed chuckle.
A smirk curls up at my lips. He did say dress slutty.
“Elena, you look…stunning.”
“You don’t clean up too bad yourself, Mr. Schwartz—shall we go?”
“These are for you,” he says handing me the bouquet. “And some sweets for my sweet.”
“—Oh I’m definitely skimming those for the best friend tax,” Riley quips.
“Thank you,” I say to Broderick, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.
“Aww you guys are so sweet, so have her back at midnight or else she’ll turn into a pumpkin—if you excuse me, I’ll pop these in some water.” Riley grabs the flowers and candy from me.
“Ready?” Broderick asks.
“Sure one sec,” I say opening the coat closet to fetch my boots.
“Let me help you with those,” he says, taking them from me, he drops to his knee the other propped up. He pats the top of his thigh. “Foot, please.”
“Broderick.”
“Come on.” He taps it again.
I do as I’m told, placing my foot on his knee. He grabs hold of it slipping the boot on, before sliding the zipper up the length of my leg slowly, his eyes watching the motion.
The wetness pools, that simple act is so fucking hot.
When he gets to the top, he skims the exposed skin between my socks and skirt. He hums a low sound of appreciation. He does the exact same thing with the other leg.
He looks incredible like this.
And worse—he smells even better—his cologne is earthy and sultry.
We walk hand in hand, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. He stops at the complex door, and I say a silent prayer, hoping paparazzi aren’t waiting.
“Hey, wait here, I’ll check the coast is clear,” he says.
“Thank you.”
It touches me that I don’t even have to ask, he just knows.
He’s back a moment later. “All good.” Taking my hand again.
I look for his usual SUV but instead he leads us to something sleeker—sexier. Matte black, tricked out with all the bells and whistles. He opens the passenger door, helping me in.
He shuts the door, slow and smug.
Once he climbs in, the car fills with his cologne. The car roars to life, a deep purring from the engine, muffles the sound of my heart thudding against my ribs, before he pulls away from the curb with one hand on the wheel.
“Alright, DJ what have you got for us tonight?”
“Does this thing have a CD player?” I ask
He presses a button on the console and a little latch drops revealing a slit where a CD can be inserted, I pull it out from my bag, “Elena’s Mix, Vol 2”.
“You didn’t? Really?” he says in disbelief.
“You made it special for me, I thought it was fitting.” I put the CD in and “Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran plays through the speakers.
He grins from ear to ear, dimples on full display. “Thought you might show up with one of your weird vinyl’s instead.”
I shrug. “You’re lucky it’s not Japanese jazz and obscure French disco.”
He nods, clearly pleased. “Damn, that’s exactly what I wanted to listen to while I charmed the pants off you.”
“Lucky I’m not wearing pants.”
His eyes drop to the bare strip of thigh between my skirt and socks. His jaw twitches, eyes darkening.
Hmm. There it is.
“Charmed you so hard you didn’t even bother with pants—easy access.”
I turn toward the window, biting back a smile. “Not before dinner, I’m starving.”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“So where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises,” I deadpan.
“Good thing I’m not taking you to one of those murder mystery dinners then.”
I shoot him a look. “Are you?”
“No,” he says, smiling. “But now I know what to book for Valentine’s Day.”
“Wow. Already planning that far ahead?”
He taps the wheel, turning toward me with a lazy smile. “Yeah. Always. How’s this for planning ahead—us, twenty years from now. You still dressing like a sexy librarian. Me with a bad hip and a white beard. You yelling at me for eating too many hot dogs.”
“Broderick, you’re already old,” I tease, knowing he’s on the cusp of his birthday.
He fake gasps. “Wow. I let you in my car, and this is the abuse I get.”
“You’re thirty-two.” I give him a look. “Almost thirty-three.”
“Exactly. But who’s counting?”
“Apparently not your knees.”
He laughs—loud and real. “Ten years isn’t that bad. We’re basically the same age. In spirit.”
“Sure,” I say dryly. “Spirit of a dad who drives a hybrid and watches the finance channel for fun.”
“Hybrid?” he scoffs, caressing the steering wheel like it’s sentient. “Don’t let her hear you, El—this is a Mustang. Have some respect.”
I laugh.