I’d been a bowl of emotional soup when I’d turned up at Elliot’s earlier in the evening. Nervous. Regretful. Determined. Excited. After having the revelation that I desperately wanted my best friend back and would stop at nothing to make that happen, I’d soon after near fled like Cinderella when noticing how lust-soaked his eyes had been when they devoured me shortly after he’d opened his apartment door. They’d stirred my anxiety and my fear that, I, too, wouldn’t be able to resist him. But I’d pushed all of that aside. I’d mentally blocked out the deliciousness dressed in a tuxedo because, had I not, my eyes would’ve been just as lust-soaked as his. And now, at dinner, sitting opposite his pesky, persistent sister, I felt protective. She was a canon, firing one ball after another at him, hoping she’d tear a big enough hole to expose our lie. I didn’t like it. I wanted her to point her relentless barrel elsewhere.
“Elliot! You need to buy Danielle a proper ring, ASAP!” Jeanette barked, almost loud enough for the people sitting at the tables surrounding to hear.
Elliot’s fingers stopped tracing circles on my shoulder. “I will, Mum! Bloody hell!”
I shuffled closer to him in the hope he’d continue the delicious finger-spiralling, and in the hope it would calm him down. I don’t know, maybe the wine was aiding the emotional soup, but all I wanted to do was help defend the family attack.
“Honestly, schnookums,” I said, candidly, successfully keeping a straighter face than the last time I’d said the stupid word. “I don’t want a ring. I’m happy with my Cheezels.”
Elliot nearly choked on his beer.
“Schnookums?” Laura asked, one side of her face lifting distastefully.
I nodded enthusiastically at her. “Yes! He loves it. He’s my cuppycake, schnookums. My pumpy-umpy-umpkin, aren’t you?”
This time, Elliot did choke, so I rubbed his back like the good fake fiancée that I was before playfully grabbing his chin. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t love my nicknames,” I added, my voice baby-like. Condescending.
He tried to bite my fingers, his pearly white teeth gleaming. “I love them just as much as you love yours, honeybunch, gumdrop, pookie-ookie cookie-pie.”
Pookie-ookie what the fuck?
I bit my lip, my nostrils flaring, my cheeks stretching into an uncontrollable smile.
His eyes lit up. “You’re going to snort-laugh, aren’t you?
I shook my head.
“Yes, you are. Do it,” he coaxed. “You know you can’t fight it.”
I bloody well could. The last thing I wanted to do was snort-laugh in front of Jeanette and Laura.
“Come on, let it out, pookie-ookie—”
“Stop!” I snorted. “Stop!”
Burying my face into his chest, I hid my embarrassment as I continued to honk and giggle quietly, each breath I inhaled delivering the intoxicating scent of his aftershave. He smelled good, oh so good. Fresh and musky. Clean and manly.
“Danielle,” he whispered. “I’m not crack. Stop snorting and sniffing me.”
I should’ve stopped. I should’ve let go of his crisp, white shirt and distanced my nostrils from him. I just … I just didn’t want to. I was happily warm. Snug. I was in manly aroma heaven.
“Do I have to?” I murmured, inebriated by his fumes.
Elliot lowered his head, his lips brushing the tip of my nose. “No. I’m happy for you to stay right where you are, indefinitely.”
The warmth of his breathy words and the heat from his body were all the fuel and ignition needed to set me alight from within, a raging inferno of desire blazing to the surface of my skin, scorching my cheeks and parching my mouth. I shouldn’t be feeling this. I. Should. Not. Be. Feeling. This.
Slowly pushing back from his chest and sitting upright again, I gave him a shy smile, my hand dropping to safely rest on his thigh.
He glanced down at my fidgeting fingers for a moment then covered my hand with his, as if it was how our hands were supposed to be, and what was even stranger was that, in that moment, it felt as if they were.
After Laura’s presentation, we didn’t hesitate to make a hasty exit by delivering an Oscar-worthy performance that portrayed Elliot as a workaholic and married to a high profile case, and me as the super supportive fiancée that encouraged his dedication. It was perfectly executed and unchallenged by its audience. Well, everyone except Laura, who had insisted we stay for dessert.
We didn’t.
“Seriously, your sister is one determined peacock,” I said, glancing out of the Uber’s window.
“A Peahen,” Elliot corrected.
I turned my head to my right, my nose bunching. “What?”
“She’s a peahen. Peacocks are male.”
“Do you religiously watch David Attenborough in your spare time?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know all this factual bullshit?”
He casually rested his elbow on top of the door trim. “Facts aren’t bullshit.”
Rolling my eyes, I whacked him on the arm. “ELLIOT! Just answer the bloody question.”
“Fine. I like facts,” he said with a shrug. “Always have.”
“Is that why you became a solicitor?”
“Yep. Fact.”
I smiled. “I always thought you were incredibly smart.”
“I am.”
“And obnoxious,” I added.
He scoffed. “You’re lying again.”
“Nope.” I shook my head with confidence. “Not this time.”
“Yeah, you are. You never thought I was obnoxious, because I wasn’t. You think it now, though, because I am … now.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck? “What I think is that you easily give me a headache.”
Light from a passing streetlamp flickered across his wide-open and excited ice blue eyes. “I know just the cure.” He waggled them and then leaned forward in his seat to speak to the driver. “Can you pull over at the next corner, please? We’ll get out there.”
Noticing we weren’t back at his apartment, I was curious as to what he was up to. “Where are we going?”
“To cure your headache … and get dessert.”
“Oh!” I smiled. Dessert made me very happy. I loved dessert, all kinds of dessert. “Good. I was kinda bummed about missing it at the gala.”
“I know. And I’m guessing even more so because cheesecake was on the menu.”
The driver pulled to a stop, and I grabbed the door handle, opening it to get out. “Oh my God! Seriously, Lots, your memory is faultless.”
“Oh, it’s definitely faulty.” He scooted out after me. “And anyway, how could I forget … you had cheesecake as your birthday cake every year that we were friends.”
I shrugged as I stepped onto the pavement. “True. So … where are we going for sweets? The Cheesecake Shop?” I couldn’t contain my excitement and bounced on my toes.
“No.”
My bouncing stopped. “Aw.”
“Stop pouting. It’s better than that.”
“It better be,” I said, resuming my bouncing. “Because you got me all excited.”
Stepping up beside me and threading his fingers through mine, he raised a smug eyebrow. “Don’t speak in past tense just yet.”
I couldn’t help but smile, and again, just like at the gala, I should’ve stepped back, created some distance and reminded him that we no longer needed to pretend to an absent audience, but … I didn’t, because his hand in mine felt harmless. Nice. Supposed to be.
Swallowing, I straightened my shoulders and tried to be clever. “I will speak in past until the past becomes present.”
He chuckled. “The past cannot become present.”
“Yes, it can.”
“Nope.” He tugged me along. “The past will always be the past.”
“Damn it, Lots, stop confusing me.”
“You’re confusing yourself.”
“Fine,” I said, trying to free my hand. “If the past cannot become the present, then you can’t excite me again.” I lifted our hands and pointed at his chest. “Ha!”
He held on tighter and guided my fingers to his lips, brushing them with a kiss ever so slightly. “Of course I can. And I will.”
“Oh my God!” I mumbled, “I take it back. You can excite me … multiple times.” I dipped my spoon back into my Yogurtland cup and greedily shoved more New York Cheesecake flavoured yogurt into my mouth. “This is amazing!”
“Told you it was better than the gala cheesecake.”
Swallowing, I craned my neck and peeked into his cup as we walked side-by-side. “What flavours did you get?”
“Red velvet, peanut butter, toffee pecan, annnnnd coconut.”
“Shut up! There was toffee pecan? Damn it! I didn’t see that.”
“That’s because you were too busy squealing over the cheesecake and cookie dough pieces.”
“Can you blame me? They’re the best yogurt toppings ever!” I shovelled in another spoonful, nearly smearing it onto my face when my heel caught a crack in the pavement, causing me to stumble before landing safely in Elliot’s arms.
“You okay?” he asked, holding me tightly.
I think I nodded, but I wasn’t quite sure. I definitely swallowed, though, my throat thick as I stared into his concerned eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.”
He helped me to my feet again, so I giggled to hide my embarrassment. “It’s just a little difficult to walk, talk and eat. I don’t want to sacrifice one for the other, you know?”
“We could’ve sat at Yogurtland and eaten. I did say that.”
“No. It’s okay. To be honest, I want to get back to your apartment.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Really?”
I playfully shook my head at his suggestiveness. “Yes, really. I’m kinda worried about Dudley and the state of your laundry.”
His waggling stopped. “What do you mean the ‘state’ of my laundry? What ‘state’ is it gonna be in?”
“Oh, it should be fine.”
“Should?”
I tried to avoid his gaze by looking into my cup. “Yeaaaah.”
“Right,” he said, spooning the last of his yogurt into his mouth and tossing his empty cup in the bin. “Get on.” He patted his back.
“What?”
“Get. On,” he repeated, finishing his mouthful.
I stopped in my tracks, spoon poised. “Where? On your back?”
“Yep. You can eat and talk, and I can take care of the walking.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because isn’t an answer.”
“Elliot, have you ever been piggybacked while wearing a dress before?”
“Of course not.”
“Then that’s why.”
“That’s a stupid explanation. Get on.”
“Nooo.”
I tried to walk past him but he secured my waist. “Come on. It will be just like when we used to walk home from school together, when you complained that your legs were allergic to walking, except you won’t be holding our backpacks this time.”
Pursing my lips, I tried not to smile at the memory of me draped over Elliot’s shoulders, one backpack on my back and the other in my hands, dangling in front of his chest.
He bent over. “Come on. I know you want to.”
“Ugh! Okay. You do realise that anyone behind us is bound to see my arse.”
“Good. I’ll ask them to take a picture for me.”
“Ha ha, very funny.” I placed my yogurt cup on top of a mailbox and hiked up my dress, stopping it from riding any higher than the apex of my legs. “Ready?” I asked, preparing to jump.
“Go for it.”
Placing my hands on his shoulders, I leaped onto his back and wrapped my legs around his hips. He secured them with his arms and hiked me up even farther.
“Oh my God!” I squealed. “Please don’t drop me.”
“I won’t.”
“Good, because I’ll take you down with me. Just sayin’.”
He laughed. “I’ve no doubt you will. Now, don’t forget your yogurt.”
“Elliot! I’m slipping,” I cried, desperately trying not to tip the last of my yogurt down his chest. Mind you, licking it off could be fun. No, Danielle! No licking, remember?
“Hold on, we’re nearly there.”
“Quick!” I slid down his back a little more, my arms locking around his neck, forcing a choking sound from his throat.
“Can’t … breathe.”
“Hurry up then.”
“Egggg.”
“What?”
“LEG. POCKET. KEY!”
“Let me down then, you goose.” I tried to unwrap my legs but he wouldn’t have it, instead choosing to fumble in his pocket for a few seconds before producing a key and slotting it into his door.
“Hurry up!” I giggled. “I’m sliding down you like I would a fireman’s pole.”
I scrambled up his body, releasing my stranglehold around his neck.
“Fuck! Don’t talk about sliding down poles right now.”
I laughed. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be distracted by the thought and drop you on your arse as a result, that’s why.”
I slipped again, and this time I yanked on his shoulders as I fell. He stumbled backward into the wall, my back coming into contact with the plaster, his arse pressing into my open legs. My clit buzzed to life at the sensation, and I gasped, wishing he was facing me and not the other way round, his hands cupping my breasts, his tongue and lips tracing a hot, wet trail along my neck, his cock positioned at my—
“Shit. Sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
I shook the thought of Elliot’s cock out of my head. “What?”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Oh, no. I mean, yes. I mean, HURRY UP!”
Elliot giddy-upped down the hallway to his living room and dropped us onto his leather sofa just before I slipped completely. My body bounced onto the cushions, my head falling back against the headrest with a thud, my eyes closing as I laughed like we did when we were kids.
“You’ve lost your piggy-backing touch, Lots. That was the bumpiest ride ever.”
“I can’t help it if my jockey’s riding skills aren’t what they used to be.”
My eyelids flung open, and I turned my head to face him, a small stretch of our necks the only distance between us. “Your jockey’s riding skills are better than they’ve ever been,” I reiterated.
His eyes were sparkling like two Caribbean rock pools, his skin pink and slightly sweat-dampened. “Is that right?” he asked, his voice low.
Elliot’s gaze dipped to my mouth, his tongue gently sweeping over his perfect, soft, tasty lips.
Abort. Abort.
Those lips.
That tongue.
That licking.
Argh! It was something he’d done when we were teenagers, and all because I’d stupidly opened my big mouth one time and told him that Brad Pitt did it and that I thought it was sexy. From that day on, he’d done the same thing as a joke to deliberately drive me mad, but little did he realise that when he’d done it, it was just as sexy as Brad, if not more.
Opening my mouth to allow oxygen to my brain, I swallowed heavily instead, my heart galloping as he leaned in closer, my neck stretching to meet his advance. I wanted his tongue, his lips, his mouth. I wanted his hands on my body and in my hair. I wanted to kiss him just like I’d dreamed of kissing him all those years ago, except now, I wanted so much more than a kiss.
I wanted it all.
Except, I didn’t want it, either. I didn’t want to ruin what we were once again building — our friendship. The best friendship I’d ever had. That was far more important. But fuck all the shits, because those lips were going to be my undoing, and they were slowly edging toward mine. Nothing was going to stop me from tasting them again. Nothing.
Feeling is his warm breath on my face as lips feathered mine, I startled at the sound of Dudley’s desperate yap. Shit!
I shot up, because the only thing running through my mind at that point was the fucking laundry
… and if it still existed.