“How long ago was that?”
“Five years ago.”
Hell, that’s a long time not to have been with anyone else and it’s no wonder there are no images of them together online. One, he’s very private, and two, many years have passed since then.
His next confession hits me hard. “I survived her trying to break my heart.”
It’s taken more glasses of champagne than me for Mr. Buttoned-Up to admit to something so deep.
“And how is your heart now?” I ask, my own heart stumbling over a beat.
“It healed a long time ago. But my heart is now very sick.”
“It’s sick?”
What the hell does he mean? Does he have something wrong with his heart?
His nod is certain, and a playful twinkle in his eye stops me from worrying. “It keeps doing this mad shit when you walk into a room, Sapphire. It feels like it might explode.”
What? No way.
I let out a short laugh, my lips curving into a small smile.
Also, thank the Gods he’s not sick, or has heart failure like he had me believing.
Alcohol is Eli’s Achilles’ heel and a truth serum, it would appear. Plus, he’s never cussed in front of me before; he’s always been well-mannered and polite when he’s with me. The perfect gentleman, albeit a grouchy one.
I’m a terrible person for trying to unpick his thoughts while inebriated. Still, my stomach is doing back flips at his drunken honesty, confirming what I suspected: I wasn’t imagining the spark I’ve felt since day one.
“Maybe you should get it looked at,” I suggest, knowing precisely what’s wrong with him: he’s attracted to me.
His shoulders slouch down, and he falters with a gentle nod. “You don’t understand what I mean.”
“I do, Eli.”
“You do?” His brows fly up to his hairline in surprise.
“Yes,” I confirm. “Mine does the exact same thing every time I see you, too.” Before we meet. During. After.
I hope he remembers this conversation tomorrow.
With a mix of mischief and happiness, his cheeks flushed from alcohol, he smiles broadly as if his grin is too big for his face, his unrestrained joy shining from him.
“Will you stay with me here tonight?” He presses his lips together, before he then adds, “Let’s stay here tonight and not return to the city in one of the wedding coaches like we planned. Be here with me. Please.”
Other than what I’m wearing, I don’t have a stitch of clothing.
To hell with it, I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Mistee is also taking care of Ghost, and she won’t mind staying over at my place to cat-sit. “Okay.” I’ll text Mistee and let her know.
Eli gently kisses my forehead; it might not seem like much to anyone else, but for me, it’s exactly what I need. It reveals that his rough exterior isn’t all there is to him. He’s layered and tender. It’s his subtle way of showing he cares and that I matter to him.
Quicker than the speed of sound, he slips his fingers into mine, casually pulling me toward the exit of the wedding tent while waving goodbye to everyone, his family laughing at how flippant and carefree he’s acting.
I swipe my purse off the table as we walk by, trying my best to keep up with this reckless, happy-go-lucky Eli. It’s kind of exciting. Also, I’m not sure what he means by staying the night. Does he mean, like, sex, or just sleeping together in a bed? I hope it’s the latter, I’m not into drunk sex, and I don’t think he is either.
Next, we’re entering his mom’s house, running up the stairs, which he stumbles up three, if not four times, cussing to himself under his breath at the steps for being wobbly and asking why they keep moving.
I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t have a hangover in the morning or a broken toe at this rate.
