Chapter Thirteen
It had been a long day of research for an article on the oldest buildings in New York City. Up writing since seven in the morning, by the time noon rolled around, Elliot had finished the pieces on the Morris-Jumel Mansion in Manhattan, the Van Cortlandt House in the Bronx, and the Flushing Quaker Meeting House in Queens, and he still had Staten Island and Brooklyn to write about. He’d even called about getting a home alarm system installed for the following week, and Elliot had to admit he was feeling pretty accomplished.
His shoulders felt tight from sitting over a keyboard all morning, so Elliot rolled them and checked his messages, hoping against futile hope he’d see something from Win.
No such luck. “Idiot,” he chastised himself. “He left at five in the morning to go to work on a super-serious job. He’s not the type to think about anything else during the day.”
What he did see was a text from his mother, and his good mood vanished.
When are you going to see your sister? I’m still waiting for pictures.
“Hello to you too, Mom,” he muttered. “How’re you? My day’s great, thanks for asking.”
A sigh of frustration escaped as he noted it was her second message that day.
“What the hell. I need a break anyway.”
Quickly showering, enjoying the aches from the night spent with Win, he was dressed and out the door in less than half an hour. From his monthly trips, he knew it wouldn’t take longer than twenty minutes to get to his sister, and he used the time to enjoy recapping the delicious sex with Win.
God, that man knew his way around the body. There wasn’t one part of him Win hadn’t kissed or set on fire with a mere touch. He’d never had a lover so intent on giving him pleasure instead of taking for himself. He wished…it didn’t matter. Breakfasts together and dinner plans weren’t part of their easy-breezy arrangement. Just sex and fun. He could do that. He hoped.
The group text he had with his friends popped up on his phone.
Spencer: Elliot, have you gotten laid by the sexy detective yet? I’d better get a yes.
Wolf: Maybe Elliot likes to know the first and last name of the person he’s intimate with, instead of jumping into bed right away. Something you’re unfamiliar with.
Spencer: He knows. So do I. I also saw him, and even you, boring workaholic that you are, would jump his bones.
Chess: Tell us about him, Elliot.
Despite his annoyance with Spencer for putting it all out there instead of giving him the chance to tell everyone, he was interested in hearing what his best friends had to say.
Elliot: His name is Winston, and he’s a detective. He lives next door, and yeah, he’s gorgeous. I can’t even try and deny it. BUT he’s not interested in a relationship and made it clear to me.
Wolf: And the problem with that?
Chess: Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Especially since you know from the outset. No expectations.
Spencer: HAVE YOU DONE THE DEED?
Chess: Jesus, Spencer. Maybe Elliot doesn’t want to talk about it.
Spencer: But it’s us.
His fingers stilled on the phone. Normally he didn’t mind Spencer’s probing. They were all so close and would talk about their dates, boyfriends, or hookups. But he hesitated, not yet willing to reveal what had happened between the two of them. “Special” didn’t begin to convey his emotions surrounding their night together.
Elliot: We’re friends. And that’s all I’m going to say right now.
Spencer: You’re no fun.
Wolf: I’m sure you’ll get your jollies somewhere else.
Spencer: Not a question.
Chess: Can you both shut up? Elliot. Do you like him? How’re you dealing with the just-friends thing?
Elliot: It’s what he wants, so I don’t have a choice.
