I can feel him pressed against every inch of me, and I can hear the little whines.
Stop it, Rowan. This isnotBenjamin.My mind is so fucked.
“Rowan?” I snap back to reality at the sound of his voice, and I realize I must be staring at him like I want to lick every inch of his skin. Those heated hazel eyes are staring back at me, a response to my own desire, and I find my shaking fingers wrapping around the shot of liquor.
He clinks his against mine, and together we toss the burning liquid back. Elijah grimaces, setting the small glass to the side.
“What cologne do you wear?” he suddenly asks, still choosing to stand next to his stool rather than sit again.
“Cologne?” I cock my head, trying to remember if I put any on before I left for the store. “None right now, I don’t think.”
Elijah’s brows furrow.“No? Hm, how weird. You just… you smell like flowers.”
Flowers? I have never been told that—not once in my life. I can see him try to lean in subtly, taking in a deep breath.
“Chrysanthemums,” he says. “Or maybe sunflowers. That’s what I think of.”
I say nothing. What am I to say?
But my body is heating up, and I fear it has nothing to do with alcohol. Does he feel it? Does he feel this zap of energy that is moving between the two of us?
I think he does; if his eyes are anything to go by, if they’re being wholly honest, then he does. And I… I kind of want to feel more of this. This warmth, this sensation of being complete. Even if it hurts.
“So, I heard that you’ve lived here your whole life. Why do you stay if you don’t like the people?”Elijah asks.
I watch him for a moment, a bit startled by the question. I feel transparent in front of him.
“Well,” I start, rubbing my hands over my jean-clad thighs anxiously, “I like the solitude of my property. And just because the locals are… a certain way toward me, doesn’t mean I’m giving it up. I don’t need to be liked.”
Elijah assesses me, seeming to consider my words for quite a while. And after a minute, he leans forward again and whispers,“You don’t need to be liked, or you’re used to feeling like you can survive without it?”
When I say nothing, when I just stare into those large, knowing eyes, Elijah offers me a soft smile.
And then he tells me, “You’re a lot easier to understand than everyone makes you out to be.”
“I…” Once again, I’m not surewhatto say to that. Because he might be right. I’m used to being alone. I don’t know how to live any other way. But… do I need it? Do I need others in my life?
“I want to see more of your work,” Elijah suddenly says, cutting off my spiraling thoughts.
“Sorry, but I don’t have any on me. I don’t keep any professional shots on my phone.”
Elijah does not seem dissuaded by this.
“Then take me home.” As my eyes widen, he gives another small laugh. “Take me home and show me your work,” he clarifies.
“No—” I start. Only, as I stare at his face and those steady hands tapping the table, I can’t find a good enough reason to decline.
I kind of want to get him alone.
“Hm?” he questions.
“Okay. Follow me?” I offer.
Elijah’s eyes brighten once again, his back straightening as he nods. “Okay! Let me pay really quick.”
“Wait, I can—” but he’s already gone, ignoring me and skipping off to the bar to pay for our two beers and two shots.
As he returns to me, he grabs his coat and pulls it over his sweater.“You good to drive?”
