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Ha! Apparently, it just takes the right guy. Then I can go all-in on abs.
When I hear the bathroom door close with a quiet click, disappointment surges in a hot wave, followed by an equally hot flood of embarrassment. This isn’t what we agreed to: feelings, desire, disappointment. It should be easy enough to keep the lines drawn. He gets to stay here and so does Maggie. I get some relief from the financial burdens I’m half-buried under. Simple. Cut-and-dried.
But the moment I kissed Eli, it moved the goal post. I’m not sure it’s even planted firmly in the ground. Feels more like it’s moving and shifting with each little gesture, each kiss. I think the goal post was obliterated altogether when Eli pulled me into the bathroom earlier.
Until he reminded me he was only kissing me to help get rid of my hiccups.
If that wasn’t just an excuse. And I don’t think I’m reading too much into Eli’s gazes and glances, his touches and kisses. Maybe I’m not the only one considering how things could be between us.
Or it has more to do with the fact that Eli is the most physically affectionate person I’ve ever seen.
He passes out hugs like parade candy, and always seems to be touching someone. With his teammates, it’s everything from high fives and fist bumps to shoves and hair ruffling. His mom gets a gentler, yet still playful, side of him, whether he’s carrying her when her joints are bothering her or simply reaching for her hand. It’s … almost sickeningly sweet.
So, how much meaning can I attach to the way he touches me, kisses me? Even with his tactile propensities, I don’t see Eli as a casual hookup kind of guy. He isn’t careless. Just … generous with his affection.
If I am the only one with feelings, and all of Eli’s gestures and actions are simply part of his effusive and enthusiastic golden retriever personality, I can’t fathom confessing feelings and then living here still with an unrequited husband.
Fake, I remind myself. The only thing real will be the marriage certificate, making this legal. Otherwise, it’sfake, fake, fake.
I’ll probably fall asleep tonight counting fakes instead of counting sheep. If I fall asleep at all.
When there’s a light knock on the door, I almost leap out of bed. My heart takes off, torn between the knowledge that it’s Eli and the split-second when it was simply reacting with fight or flight.
“Eli?” I whisper.
The door creaks open, and his big form appears, backlit by the hall light. “Expecting someone else?”
I may not be able to see his expression, but I hear the smile in his voice.
“Van mentioned stopping by to borrow a book sometime?—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence because Eli is suddenly striding into the room, kicking the door closed behind him. The room goes dark, and there’s a thump and a grunt. The room is still a maze of boxes, and there is one more grunt and then a kind of growl before the bed dips and Eli is climbing in.
“Scoot over, Leelee.”
I’m not going to argue. Not with that husky command. I slide over in the double bed to make room. I almost immediately roll back his way when Eli’s weight fully settles on the bed. When I try to sit up and leave space between us, he curls an arm around me and drags me to him, my head landing on his bare chest. His hand rests on my lower back, two fingers touching the bare sliver of skin between my shirt and shorts.
The heat of him, the scent of him—it’s intoxicating. My fingers flex, wanting to explore the bare skin I feel under my cheek, to know what those muscles feel like beneath my palms. Under the soft glow of the nightlight I plugged in earlier, Eli’s eyes are hooded, his beard looking darker.
“Having trouble sleeping?” he asks.
“I wasn’t until someone interrupted me.”
“Liar. I could practically hear you worrying.” I don’t bother protesting this time, and Eli adds, “Want to talk about it? You don’t have to. But you can. I’m also fine with just being here for as long as you need, just being quiet.”
“Really? Because you haven’t stopped talking since you walked in the room.”
Eli’s hand on my back presses in, giving me a playful shake. “Wow. Nighttime Bailey is feisty. Or is all this big talk how you are once you’re really comfortable around someone?”
“Guess you’ll find out,” I say.
He chuckles then shifts slightly, lifting his other hand until he’s stroking my hair. The light scrape of his nails against my scalp, the soft press of his fingertips—it’s almost enough to lull me to sleep. But it stirs awake longing too, making my skin hum and my belly flutter.
“Having second thoughts?” he asks.
“No.” I’m honestly shocked by the question. But then, maybe that’s how he’s interpreting my behavior today. How quiet I was at first with his friends and then again at dinner with Maggie. I’m nervous. I have worries. But I’m not rethinking. Just … overthinking. “You?”
He’s quiet for too long. Shame burns hot in my throat and my eyes, and I start to wiggle away. His hand on my back presses forward, holding me in place as his fingers stroke my hair with a little more pressure.
