He smells so damn good. And his eyes, those lips … his hands … ARGH! Elliot was so bloody infuriating. I couldn’t remember him ever being that infuriating. Why is he so infuriating?
Sighing, I slumped against the front door and closed my eyes.
“That was interesting.”
My eyes shot open again, and I grasped my chest. “Shit, Chris! You scared me.”
“You blindsiding me with the fact we are dating, scared me.”
“Sorrrrrrrry,” I groaned, rubbing the palms of my hands over my face. “If it’s any consolation, I blindsided myself as well.”
Chris pried my hands from my face and fired me a condemnatory smirk. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with Mr Know-It-All?”
I furrowed my brow. “Mr Know-It-All?”
“Yeah. Mr ‘Feet not Paws’, and ‘There’s millions of Chris Mitchells in the world’.”
I laughed, my head falling back against the door. “He said that to you?”
“Yeah. The fucking flog.”
Giggling, I followed as Chris led me down the hallway to the living room where I flopped onto our beanbag. “Technically, he’s right, you know.” Technically? Goddamn it, I even sound like him now.
“Technically, he’s a flog.” Landing with a thud beside me, Chris almost launched me off the beanbag and onto the floor. “So, you and pretty boy geek are fucking, yeah?”
“He’s not a geek, and no, we’re not.”
“He is a geek, and you do want to fuck him.”
“No, and no.”
He pointed the remote control at the TV. “So what’s the deal then?”
“There is no deal.” I squirmed to get comfortable, and to piss him off.
“You’re such a fidget arse.”
“And you’re such a huge arse. Get off! I was here first.”
“No. It’s my beanbag.”
We both growled and wriggled for a few seconds before settling, somewhat uncomfortably, which was when Dudley jumped onto my lap. I patted his ears and made kissy noises at him.
Chris scrunched his noise at us. “So, where’d geek boy come from?”
“His mother’s womb,” I deadpanned.
His head slowly rotated in my direction, exorcism style.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Ugh! Fine. I’ll tell you. But first you have to make me a Milo with the frothy milk, like you did last time.”
He looked at Dudley then to me and shook his head, smiling. “Deal.” Chris jumped up, causing the beanbag to slump and Dudley and I to roll onto the floor. “You’ve never mentioned geek boy before.”
“Actually, I have.”
“When?”
“Well …” I scrambled to my feet, followed Chris into our kitchen, and took a seat at the breakfast bar while he opened cupboards and proceeded to make the World’s best Milos. “Remember when I told you about nearly drowning in a storm drain as a kid with my best friend?”
“Yeah.”
“Elliot was that best friend.”
“No shit?” Chris levered open the lid of the Milo tin and dipped in his spoon. “I just assumed your best friend was a girl.”
“Nope. It was Elliot.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, pulling out the spoon and pointing it at me. “Was he also the best friend that ended up moving, the one you never saw again and missed like crazy?”
I covered my eyes with my hands and peeked through my barely spread fingers. “Maybe.”
“Ha! This is all making perfect sense now.”
“What is?” I dropped my hands from my face and reached for the tin.
He yanked it away. “Why you missed your best friend so much.”
Looking to the ceiling, I searched for clarification, as if it was just dangling there above me like a monkey on a tree branch. “I don’t get it. Why does it all make sense now?”
“He’s a dude.”
“Yeah … so?”
“Dudes and chicks that are best friends can’t really be best friends until after they’ve fucked.”
I facepalmed. “Oh my God, Chris. Not everyone needs to fuck.”
“We did.”
“Annnnnnnd we don’t ever talk about that, remember?”
“Yeah, because we don’t need to. We fucked. We got it over and done with. And now we’re best friends.”
I opened my mouth to object but snapped it shut instead. He had a point. Kinda.
“Ahhh, see?” Chris heaped a massive spoonful of Milo into his mouth. “I’m right.”
“Don’t double-dip—”
The shithead double-dipped.
“Do you have to do that? It’s gross.”
“It’s all part of my Milo-making process.”
Grumbling, I didn’t argue with him, because I wanted his Milo-making process to include making me one.
“You still haven’t answered how geek boy is back on the scene. When did this happen?”
“He’s not a geek,” I reiterated through gritted teeth. “And just this week. He thinks we’re engaged.”
Chris dropped the spoon in the tin and stared wide-eyed at me. “Da fuck?”
“Well, not really. At least I don’t think he’s serious about our childhood Cheezel engagement.”
“Cheezel engagement?”
“Yeah. When we were eight-years-old, he gave me one of his Cheezels and asked me to marry him. I said yeah but that we’d have to wait until I was thirty.”
Chris belly-laughed. “You’re engaged, kiddo. A Cheezel proposal is the real deal.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
Leaning forward across the benchtop, he offered me a spoon of Milo. “Do I need to keep a close eye on him for you?”
I sighed and opened my mouth so he could feed it to me. “No,” I mumbled, shaking my head and swallowing the malted chocolate heaven. “I would trust Elliot with my life if I had to. Honestly. Despite having not seen him for years, some things just never change. And although he’s physically changed, I sense he’s still the same Elliot.” Shaking my head, as if to shake the newly formed craziness from within it, I wiped the corners of my lips. “These past few days have just been a bit full on, that’s all. He’s practically come out of nowhere. I’m still processing it all.” I closed my eyes and massaged my temples to relieve the pressure that had begun to build there. “Not to mention he has a big, stupid mouth that told a big, stupid lie to our mothers.”
As if Mum shared the same psychic ability she thought I possessed, my phone rang her assigned ringtone: “She Drives Me Crazy” by Fine Young Cannibals.
I glared at the phone and groaned. “Ugh! WHY?”
Before I could bury it under my arse cheek, Chris scooped it up from the bench.
“Noooo! Don’t answer—”
“Hi, Mrs Cunningham,” he bellowed with a wink. You son of a bitch!
Chris smiled, proud of himself, but all I could do was drop my head to the bench, lift my hand, and flip him the bird.
He slapped it away and kept sweet-talking my mum. “Why did I answer your daughter’s phone? Because her hands are busy, that’s why. She’s currently practising sign language.”
I flipped him some more ‘sign language’, one I liked to call a double FU.
“I’ll tell you what, Mrs Cunningham. How about I put you on speakerphone? That way you can speak to Dani while she busily practises.” He poked at my phone screen like the cocky shithead he was and placed it back down on the benchtop.
“OH, THANK YOU, CHRISTOPHER. IS IT WORKING?”
“Yes, Mum, it’s working. You don’t need to shout. Just talk normally,” I explained.
“Oh, hello, dear. So, you’re learning sign language as well as getting engaged? Anything else you’ve failed to tell me?”
I held my fingers to my head in the shape of a gun and pretended to pull the trigger. “No, Mum.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Danielle Uma Cunningham.” Her tone was low. Disapproving.
Chris mouthed my middle name with a dirty look on his face then burst into silent hysterics, clutching his abdomen.
I glared at him.
“DANIELLE?”
“Yes, what?” I asked, snapping my attention back to Mum.
“Are you going to explain to me how it is that you’re engaged to a man I didn’t even know you were dating? Look, don’t get me wrong; I think it’s wonderful news. I’m just a little shocked, that’s all.”
Chris silent-laughed even harder and proceeded to place the back of his hand to his mouth, opening and closing his fingers like a duckbill. What the fuck is he on?
I glared some more and mouthed, ‘what?’
He pointed to me and kept quacking his hand.
“Um … Mum, can I call you back?”
“No! Danielle, I want answers. I’m your mum. I worry about you.”
“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. I promise. It’s complicated.”
“Not good enough, young lady.”
“Listen, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back, okay?”
Before she could argue any further, I ended the call and then tossed a nearby tea towel at Chris. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Your initials spell DUC.”
He laughed and quacked, and then quacked some more.
“Oh my God. Really?” I drawled, sarcastically.
“Yeah. D. U. C. Duc.”
Sliding off the barstool I was sitting on, I climbed down from the breakfast bar and headed toward my room.
“Where are you going?”
“Bath.”
“Come on, Dani. I’m sorry. I was just mucking around. What about your Milo?”
“I don’t want it.”
“Sure you do.”
I shrugged. “I’m exhausted, and I want my bubbles.”
“And your rubber ducky?”
Chris choked on his own amusement, so I raised my hand and flipped him one last bird before exiting the room.
Slowly lowering myself into the perfectly heated, scalding hot water of my bath, I ooh’d and aah’d as my body adjusted to the delicious assault.
“Yesss … burn, baby, burn,” I cooed, smiling as the hot water and amber glow from my candle flame soothed me. There was nothing quite like soaking in a hot, luxurious bath at the end of a shithouse day.
I closed my eyes and savoured the moment until my phone buzzed not too far from my head. Startled, I reached for it to find a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: I fucked up today. Sorry.
Elliot. It had to be.
Biting my thumbnail, I shook the excess water from my fingers and typed a response.
Danielle: Yeah, you did. What was with that?
He didn’t respond right away, so I sunk lower into the water and closed my eyes, seeing only his. Their bright contrast to his jet-black hair really was striking. Captivating, even. My God, he’s so damn good looking now.
Elliot’s looks had never been lost on me. I’d always found them unique, mysterious, and intriguing. But now, with his broad shoulders, slim frame, and perfectly chiselled face, the sight of him — even behind my closed eyes — was playing havoc with my body.
I squirmed, swishing the bath water over the side of the tub. It had been ages since a man had had that effect on me. The last guy to do so was my then best friend turned fuck buddy turned boyfriend, Alistair. He’d been one of the Bomber’s fitness coaches until soon after our split, which was when he traded to another team. He’d assured me that it had nothing to do with our breakup, but I hadn’t believed him.
I haven’t heard from him since.
And then there was, Jared: another friend turned sex sidekick turned boyfriend turned mutist. The difference with Jared, though, was that we saw each other practically every day, and practically every day we pretended we’d never even met.
He served me a Chai latte. I paid him. I left.
Not awkward at all.
So, yeah, after Alistair and Jared, I vowed never to sleep with and date any of my friends ever again, which was why when Chris and I screwed up and screwed each other, I nipped that shit in the bud. It was the best thing I’d ever done, because neither of us had ever looked back.
Friends should just not have sex.
The message ping of Elliot’s response once again startled me, and I nearly dropped my phone in the water.
Elliot: I’m putting it all down to nerves from not having seen you in so long.
A smile played at the corners of my mouth. I understood where he was coming from because seeing him for the first time in seventeen years had shocked me, too. That said, my shock hadn’t resulted in me announcing a bogus engagement.
Danielle: I was nervous about seeing you as well.
Elliot: You’re still every bit the chocolate-haired, apple-cheeked Danielle I spent my childhood with.
His description of my hair and face jogged a memory of when we were younger, when we were sitting on the branches of a pine tree together and eating his birthday cake. He’d told me my hair reminded him of the chocolate curls covering the icing, and I’d thought it was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever said to me.
I still do.
Heat flushed through my body, and not because of the temperature of the water.
Danielle: And you’re still the tall, dark and handsome, giant elf who lived next door.
I hit send and instantly regretted it, never before having told him I thought he was handsome. Shit!
Before I could type a friendly fob-off message, such as, “Gotta go. It’s late. Talk soon. Bye”, he replied.
Elliot: Does Chris know you think I’m handsome?
No, and he wouldn’t care, either. In fact, he’d probably laugh and childishly chant for us to get it on.
Not knowing how to respond, I screwed my nose up and hovered my finger over the keypad. He can’t know I’m not dating Chris. He has to believe it’s the real deal so he can get this ridiculous engagement scenario out of his head.
Danielle: No. And that’s a good thing. He’s incredibly jealous.
Elliot: He didn’t seem jealous tonight.
Danielle: That’s because you weren’t a threat.
Elliot: Why wasn’t I a threat?
Sucking in a deep breath, my stomach churned at the lie I was about to type. I didn’t want to type it. It was bound to bruise his ego and make him think less of me, and, deep down, I didn’t want Elliot thinking less of me or thinking I’d grown into a heartless bitch. But, I had to thwart his obnoxious advances — nothing good had come from them … apart from a very delicious kiss.
Danielle: Because he knows you’re not my type.
Once again, I hit send and waited, my stomach churning, my throat dry, my heart pounding like a ticking clock within my chest, each beat louder and louder until the beep of my phone broke the count. What I’d said was uncalled for and blunt. Even worse was that it was untrue. Elliot was very much my type. He always had been.
Elliot: I guess some things never change then.
Staring down at his response, my bottom lip curved and trembled as a tear trailed down my cheek.
Yeah, maybe they don’t.