He’s not the cold and uncaring guy I initially thought he was. There’s so much to unpack; however, I don’t know where to start.
I try giving him some reassurance, not fully understanding what he’s referring to. “Maybe instead of fighting whatever it is, you just accept it, then find someone to help you manage it. A professional or a doctor.” Is that what he means?
“Someone is helping me,” he admits, hugging me tighter.
“A therapist?” I ask, wanting to hear the full story he’s holding back. I wish I could look inside his mind to really understand what he’s talking about, but I’ve never been the type to pry into people’s private lives.
“Yes, a therapist, but I don’t believe it’s because of her that I’m doing better.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think you, Sapphire Feelgood, are helping me to feel good,” he says with a chuckle.
“Oh.” I thought I mainly annoyed him.
“You’re like magic.”
I scoff, leaning out of our hug, craning my neck upward. “I’m not magic.”
“Yes, yes, you are.” He bops my nose, making me giggle.
Yup, tipsy Eli is good-humored and sweet.
Maybe I should get him drunk more often.
That’s a terrible idea; shut up, Sapphire.
“Magic and beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the room.”
“No, I’m not.” I brush off his compliment. There’s a supermodel here today with her lawyer husband; now she is beautiful, with legs longer than… well, mine. Eli must be drunker than I thought.
He cradles my face with both hands, his attention bouncing all over my face as if not knowing what to look at first. “I find beauty in every part of you. The first time I met you, I found you annoying, though.”
“Wow.” Annoying? That’s a bit harsh. And honest. A bit too honest.
“Nope, let me finish.” He becomes serious, the air around him steadier than before. “But after we had dinner that night, something shifted in me, and I might have started having dirty thoughts about you.”
I tuck my lips into my mouth to stop me from laughing in his face because he’s going to regret telling me this in the morning. Maybe it’s wrong of me, but I don’t stop him from confessing further.
“I’ve thought of you every day in the shower,” he whispers.
Does he mean he jerked himself off in the shower while thinking of me? I think he does.
Words fail me for a moment, and I swallow hard, managing to keep my expression neutral because I’ve thought about him too while using my vibrator, and woke up with my hands down my sleep shorts more times than I can recall.
“I haven’t been with anyone since Tia,” he says, the alcohol softening him, stripping away his defenses, and what’s left is honest, raw, and exposed.
“Who’s Tia?” I ask, my curiosity sparked. He’s still gently cupping my face, and the room seems to freeze around us. I don’t want him to let go. I want to stay like this with him, unraveling his deepest secrets and whatever makes his brain not work the way he wants it to. I wish I knew exactly what he meant.
“She’s my ex,” he blurts out.
Ah! So he does have an ex-girlfriend. “I guess you split up?” That’s a dumb question; of course they did.
“She wanted to travel and live a laptop lifestyle, whatever the fuck that is.” There’s so much disdain in his voice.
Having watched my parents travel from place to place, it’s not my cup of tea either. I like having a steady job, and a roof over my head I can come home to every night. It may sound boring to some, but to me it’s important. “And you didn’t want to do that?” I ask.
The slight shake of his head is full of certainty, his voice strong and sure too when he replies, “I didn’t because I’ve always wanted to work for my father. She left, and I didn’t.”