“That’s right.”
He adjusts his hold on the glass, his knuckles going white. “Is there any particularreasonyou’re wearing it tonight?”
I wish he’d stop being such a coward and ask me straight out whatever question is in his head instead of dancing around it. But that isn’t Elliott’s style. He’d rather be all cryptic and shit.
Idiot.
I shrug as casually as I can. “I’m going out.”
“On your own?”
“With Meg.” Not that it’s any of his business. I mean, if he wants to make it his business, I’d totally be open to negotiations. But since he tricked—sorry,goaded, me into kissing him two days ago, he hasn’t brought it up once.
It’s like it never even happened.
But itdidhappen, and my vibrator has been getting a serious workout these past few nights as a result. Like the wise Meg once said: If he wanted to be my boyfriend, he would have said so. If he wanted to date me properly or for us to be exclusive, he would have said so.
Instead, he chose to say nothing.
Which brings us to this moment.
“Is that okay with you?” I ask.
He finally takes that drink, a big gulp that makes his Adam’s apple bob. Why is that so hot? It’s just a lump in his throat, but for some reason, I have this crazy urge to lick his. I’d lick all of him if he’d let me.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he mutters.
Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because we kissed each other’s faces off and he hates the thought of me doing the same with someone else.
Men.
His loss.
Except as I hurry to answer the knock at the door, it feels a lot like my loss too.
Meg is smoking in a tight blue dress and a pair of nude stilettos.
“Damn.” I whistle through my teeth. “My best friend is hot.”
Her long layers fall over her shoulders when she laughs. “You’re one to talk. Turn around and let me see your ass in that dress. Fabulous. Just fabulous. I need you to know that I am one hundred precent borrowing that next weekend.”
With her boobs, she would absolutely slay in this dress. “Oh! I haven’t even shown you the best part! It has pockets. See?” I don’t know why it’s a requirement to stuff your hands into the pockets and flap them around to prove the existence of said pockets, but it is.
“Convenient.”
“So convenient.” And they’re big ones, too. Not like those Thumbelina pockets in most women’s clothing. I could fit both our phones in these things—not that I will since I’m trying to avoid unnecessary lumps.
Elliott is watching us from the couch with a scowl that would be scary if I cared about what he thought.
Meg glowers right back. “Oh, hey, idiot.”
Elliott blinks at her, his scowl transforming into this confused little furrow between his brows. “Did you just call me an idiot?”
Meg’s maniacal laughter makes me jump. “What? Of course not. I said Elliott.”
I bite my lip to keep from bursting out laughing. “Bye, Elliott.”
He twists back to the TV, telling me to have fun. I tell him that I will. And then I add, “Don’t wait up,” for good measure, kinda hoping he waits up anyway.
