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I wonder what it would be like to have Eli’s confidence in place of my shyness. Even for five minutes. I’m sure it would be revolutionary.
As it is, I’m just glad I had the wherewithal to say I wanted to keep kissing. Because Eli’s lips on mine have a sort of drugging power to erase any of my worries and issues. Even while ratcheting up other things, like need. Want. Hope.
“See?” he says, and I can only blink at him.
I don’t see. At least, not whatever he’s asking about.
Because all I see is the trouble lying ahead when I’m living in close proximity to the man who will soon legally be myhusband. The man I’m starting to feel like I wouldn’t mind marrying for real. The man who seems to have no qualms or confusion about pulling me into bathrooms for passionate make out sessions.
The one who doesn’t share my confusion for the whole situation.
“Cured your hiccups,” he says, sounding all too pleased with himself.
Right. Those.
CHAPTER 18
Bailey
With every boxstacked in the guest room upstairs and the other guys gone, I puddle limply on the living room floor, nose pressed to the carpet, which smells inexplicably like peppermint.
Nottheliving room floor.Myliving room floor? Technically, this is my new residence too. My house. My room.
But maybe because of the lack of bills I’ll pay (no rent money was part of the arrangement) or my name not being on the deed (getting my name on the deed was not part of the arrangement), I’m left feeling very much like a visitor. Not quite an intruder, but very much a guest.
I don’t know that this will ever feel likemyplace. When was the last time anywhere felt like a home to me? Definitely not my apartment, which I’m honestly relieved to be out of. Once Eli pointed out all the safety concerns, I couldn’tnotsee them. I think I’d been stuffing down my worry with a bright, forced optimism since my budget left no other choices. Before that, Ilived in college dorms, college apartments. And no place that smells consistently of ramen noodles and slightly stale weed can feel like home.
Honestly, I haven’t had aplacesince my parents died, I discovered they had a reverse mortgage, and I ended up having to give it back to the bank. Ever since their death, I’ve been floating, I realize. Not only in terms of not having a home, but in having no real anchors. Maybe that’s why I try so hard with Gran. She’s all I have.
It’s these morbid thoughts my brain is circling when I hear heavy steps and then feel something nudging my thigh. I tilt my head slightly to confirm it’s Eli, toeing me with one of his socked feet. They’re boring white athletic socks, but it’s oddly cute seeing him in them. Probably there’s no look that wouldn’t be attractive on him.And now I’ll be living down a short hallway from him, seeing them all.
Maybe the sketchy apartment is less dangerous—for totally different reasons. I return my nose to the carpet, squeezing my eyes firmly closed.
“You awake and alive?” he asks, amusement lacing his voice.
I grunt in response, too exhausted and, frankly, depressed, to use words.
“Aw, Leelee.”
My heart constricts at the tenderness in his voice, and it becomes hard to swallow. There’s suddenly a warm pressure on my back, a firm hand gently pressing as it glides up the length of my spine. Even without opening my eyes, I know he’s crouched beside me. I can feel the heat of him there.
It’s nice. More than nice.
“Today was a lot for you, huh?”
“Feel like my bones melted,” I mumble, aware that his warm hand on my back is both lulling me to sleep and waking up somefeelings I’d rather stay in an extended hibernation. I’m also aware I sound like an idiot.
“You look like your bones melted. Are you hungry?”
“No,” I say, as my stomach disagrees with a loud groan.
“Hm. Well, Mrs. No Bones?—”
“Melted bones.”
“Sorry, Mrs.MeltedBones—we’ve got dinner ready. And don’t worry about getting up,” Eli adds. “I’ve got you.”
If I weren’t already in a state of limp sloth, those three words would have immobilized me. I don’t think it’s ever solidified as a conscious thought before now, but I’m suddenly very sure thatI’ve got youmight trumpI love youin my book. Maybe it’s the overuse of the latter, the casual and interchangeable way people use love for their favorite ice cream flavor, their sibling, or their spouse.
