“This is the part where I prove I’m a man and admit I don’t notice her shoes.” He narrows an eye at me. Something he does when he’s curious or asking questions. I’m registering way too many things about him. Like the fact that he waited for me to pick up my spoon first, before picking up his own. The well-muscled stomach beneath his undershirt that boasts just enough padding to make him human. And the way his chest hair curls over his neckline, black and unruly, so at odds with his perfect gentleman vibe. “So the rain boots are an obvious choice for bad weather, sandals for summer…”
“Sneakers for running.” Realizing my voice has dropped to a low rasp, I clear my throat. “Heels for going out to meet men.”
Why do I say that? For two reasons, I think. One, I want to see his reaction. Is he really as immune to me as he seems to be? This attraction I’m battling for him is wrapped around me so tight, it’s hard to believe it doesn’t run both ways. Two—and this is most troubling—I’m trying to reassure him I’m only interested in friendship. Because I don’t think he’ll stay otherwise.
And God, that makes total sense after what he went through today. He’s probably—no, definitely—still in love with Naomi and only putting on a brave face, because that’s what war veteran politicians with blue blood flowing through their veins do. If I’d been stood up at the alter, I wouldn’t appreciate a man trying to get into my pants the same day, either. I would knee his balls up into his neck for good measure. Friendship is what he’s offering me. So I say the thing about going out to meet men. I say it so he’ll feel comfortable being my friend.
“Right.” Elijah coughs into his fist. “Well, I’m sure they do the trick.”
Is that it, then? The line is drawn? I’ve never been in this kind of situation. Wanting a man I don’t think I can ever have. If sexual attraction was the only reason I was drawn to him, I would go stand in front of his chair and disrobe slowly, drag my nails through his hair and whisper bad things beside his ear.
Sex is rare for me, but when I let myself indulge, it’s like going on vacation. It’s a free pass to let my thoughts blur and physical instinct to take over. I love sex. The idea of it, mostly. Two people moving like violin and bow until the strings snap. I don’t get close enough to men to get bogged down by emotion, though. Or let insecurities prickle under my skin. It’s just me there in the darkness. Would it be that way with Elijah? Something tells me no. I’d be very aware of him there with me in the dark. So very aware.
If I turned on the sexy, he might resist, but he’d ultimately follow me to the bedroom. That would be it, though. He would leave. And I don’t think I’d see him again. At least not in this capacity, where it’s just the two of us and there’s no social protocol. Every minute that passes with him in this apartment—which felt so lonely until now—makes me hate the idea of losing the possibility we could spend time together again. God, it might not be possible either way.
“My grandmother only had one pair of shoes. Galoshes. They were army green and she wore them year round.” I scrub at a spot on the table with my fingernail. “She would say I’m being very extravagant with four pairs of shoes.”
When I look up, his eyes are so bottomless and compassionate, I could fall into them and sink for decades. “You miss her.”
I shrug in an attempt to shake free the knot in my chest. “I should have visited more.”
“How long had it been?”
Six years. I can’t even bring myself to say it out loud. “New York is hard. First you’re scrambling just to get a stable situation. A job, a place to live. And then it’s a non-stop grind to maintain.” My mouth edges up. “Every time we spoke on the phone, she would tell me she didn’t have time for visitors, anyway.”
Elijah’s laugh lines appear on either side of his mouth, carved into his strong, stubbled jaw. “You two sound nothing alike.”
I wrinkle my nose at his sarcasm. “What are you going to do tomorrow, Elijah?”
The smile flattens. “I don’t know.”
“What do you want to do?”
His surprise lets me know how often he acts selfishly, doing only what he wants and not what’s expected. Never, probably. But he takes a moment to think now, his fingers tapping on the table. “I want to walk into my office like nothing happened. I want to ignore questions. Just walk in and get back to work. I don’t want advice or sympathy or greeting cards.”