“No, no, no, no, and…hmmm. No.” His eyes darted to my chest, lingered there a moment before jerking away. “So, we cooking or not? I’m starving.”
“Yes. And you can tell me all about your date with Captain Perfect while we do it.”
I got out two cutting boards and knives. Elijah washed his hands, and we stood side by side in my kitchen, chopping.
“It wasn’t a date.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he wanted it to be, but I figured he must, right? He was all googly-eyed over the guy.
“Why the aquarium?”
“I love going there. I want my own tanks one day. We hadn’t hung out in a while, so he called and invited me.”
It was perfect really because Danny knew everything about Elijah, what he liked and didn’t. He knew his past and had been there through hard times. They’d laughed, and had sleepovers, and I couldn’t help thinking of Richie. There was a pain in my chest, and I raised a hand and rubbed my pec.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Go on.” It wasn’t often I let memories of my childhood best friend get to me, and I sure as shit didn’t plan on starting now.
“There’s not that much else to say. We spent some time in the aquarium and drank lemonade afterward. We chatted, and it was fun. He said he missed me, and I missed him.”
It was so strange to me to hear things like that. Will was my friend. I cared about him. Yeah, I loved him, but if we didn’t see each other for a week, I didn’t miss him. My brain couldn’t process it, which made me wonder if maybe there truly was something more between them and I hadn’t wanted to see it.
“Oh, and he said he’s still fucking Garrett, but that he realizes he doesn’t want more with him. So there’s that. I need a colander.”
I reached under the cabinet and grabbed it. “Wait, slow your roll here, man. This is… These are breakthroughs. He called to hang out—after our little dinner. He doesn’t like me. He’s still jealous of me. That’s good for you. Plus, he said he misses you. First, gag. It’s been like three seconds. But that, added to him not wanting anything more with Garrett, those are all good signs for you, E.” My stomach clenched and twisted.
He turned, looked at me. Our shoulders were close enough that if I leaned a couple of inches to the left, we’d be touching.
Fuck, I was pretty sure I wanted that, which was all kinds of screwed up. In no universe was this supposed to happen.
“Do you think so?” he asked, which was like ten gallons of water thrown on the ember of want I’d been feeling. Or maybe I was exaggerating, and I wanted that to be the case.
“Yeah, I do.” My voice was thick, cottony, as though the words hadn’t wanted to come out.
Elijah didn’t reply right away. He put the veggies into the colander and went to the sink to rinse them. With his back to me, he said, “The thing is, it felt…different.”
“Different how?” I asked, realizing I suddenly felt pretty fucking different myself. Tingly and happy. Like there was a butterfly garden in my chest. Jesus fucking Christ, I was crushing on Elijah. What in the hell was wrong with me?
He turned so he was facing my way, but stayed close to the counter across from me instead of coming back over to where we had been working. “I don’t know. I’m sure it’s nothing, but it felt more…normal. Like I wasn’t being a fool for him, I guess. As I said, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
It didn’t sound like nothing to me. My pulse sped up. “Or maybe you realize you don’t have feelings for Danny that way.”
“I don’t know why everyone insists on telling me how I feel. You’re not the first person to say that. What are you suggesting, that it just happened? That poof, like magic, I fell out of love with him?”
Or, as I’d already said, he’d never been in love with him. Or, it was wishful thinking on my part, which was annoying as shit. I needed to get my head in the game, but I’d worry about that when Elijah wasn’t standing there, staring at me with those big brown eyes of his, like he was waiting for me to know what to say. I didn’t. For the first time in a long-ass time, I was lost. “I don’t know, E. You know how I feel about love in the first place.”
He frowned, then turned away and started opening cabinets. “Where are your skillets?”
It had one hundred percent been the wrong thing to say, but really, maybe that meant it was the right thing to say. Whatever this moment was—this night and, well, the past few times we’d hung out—no good could come of it. I went to the correct cabinet, pulled a skillet out, and handed it over. “Here you go.”