Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 73846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
But… I wanted to see him again. Beyond just as a client. The small amount of time we spent together in my office the other day was enough to light a fire somewhere inside me. I had to decide whether I wanted to stoke the flames or let them die.
I shouldn’t.
The phone went back in my pocket, car coming to life. What was I even thinking? As if Elijah were interested in me enough to hang out in the first place. The drag idea was just something to try and get him to hold on to his passion, although I couldn’t deny that spending time with him would have been a huge fucking bonus. But I had zero signs that it was a mutual attraction, except for maybe the fleeting glances at my lips and the way he brushed against me on our walk out of Stonewall. Tiny things that left questions behind in their wake but still small enough to make me think it was all in my head.
It didn’t help that the last three guys I’d been talking with ghosted me. I started to wonder if my middle name was Casper. That shit sucked, especially since I had been really catching feelings and found myself being extra vulnerable on a couple of occasions.
All to get my “good morning handsome” texts ignored. Three of them. None with the decency of calling me and saying “hey, listen, this isn’t going to work romantically, but maybe we can stay friends” or some other Hallmark card bullshit. I would have taken anything over me texting into a black hole, my hope and expectation for a reply dwindling with every passing minute.
My mind was made up. I wasn’t about to go through that shit again.
But that smile of his.
Fuck. It was a difficult smile to earn, but the payoff was so worth it. On top of that charming smile, there was a certain electricity to him that had filled all the space in the room. Like holding him for too long would leave your hair standing on end. I liked that. His sass was a big bonus, too. I could already tell I’d be cracking a few ribs with how hard he’d have me laughing.
Oh, and his ass. His ass was way up there on “reasons why you should text him” list.
The yellow light ahead of me flicked to red. I slowed to a stop, only a few streets away from my house. I could go home and try to get some work done. Maybe meal prep for the week and handle some laundry that couldn’t be ignored for much longer. It sounded terrible, but it also sounded safe. No possibility for ghosting or heartbreak or disappointment.
No possibility for fun conversation and flirty jokes and mind-blowing sex.
No chance of getting to know Elijah more. Getting to know his likes and dislikes, his fears and hopes, his favorite Spice Girls, and his least favorite season of Drag Race.
Fuck laundry.
I grabbed my phone before the light switched to green and opened my contact list. I tapped on Elijah’s name and typed up a quick message without thinking too hard about it. “Hey, was just wondering if you’re down for the drag-formation today? I’m free now if you are.”
Sent.
Buzz. Buzz.
Whoa, that was quick.
I glanced down at my phone and read the message Elijah sent, the timestamp showing as identical to my previous text. “If you want I can put you in drag today. I could use a good distraction.”
Another message followed immediately after. “Haha we just text-synced. Crazy.”
The smile spread across my face. I replied with “Lol definitely wild. It’s a sign. I’ll be over in ten.” A car honked at me from behind, making me realize I’d been parked at the green light. I raised an apologetic hand and made a U-turn, heading to Elijah’s house and trying hard not to floor it all the way there.
10
Elijah King
Hanging out half-naked in my living room watching a collection of my favorite Golden Girls episodes with a bag of truffle chips next to me was arguably my absolute favorite pastime and usually helped me clear my mind of whatever dumb bullshit had been plaguing it. The intro song and dreamy shots of Miami were my visual form of Xanax, able to soothe most any mental wound.
Except today. My head was all over the place, and the truffle chips had lost their appeal by about the fourth handful. I texted Ryan on a random whim that I assumed would lead nowhere, even if I kind of wanted it to lead everywhere. I hadn’t been lying either; I really did need a distraction. Dorothy shading Blanche and Rose just wasn’t cutting it for me. My thoughts would swing right back to the dumpster fire that was the entirety of my life.