I set down the book I was reading and head to the entryway, taking a moment to double-check that I am in fact wearing a shirt this time.
I pull the door open before Elijah can knock again.
At the sight of him, I can barely breathe. And when I can finally manage a full inhale, all I can smell is citrus. As if nowthat I know who he is to me, I cannot smell anything else on his person.
He’s wearing dark wash, low-waisted jeans and a purple t-shirt, his blond hair messy as if the wind got hold of it. Those hazel eyes widen at the sight of me, like he wasn’t aware of whose door he was knocking on until now.
I catch the confusion, the fear, the anticipation as it flashes through his eyes simultaneously. He’s overwhelmed by the sight of me, the way I am him.
“Hey,” he breathes, wringing his hands at his navel. “How are you?”
“Good. You?” I keep my voice even, doing my best not to portray my excitement or my own fear.
What am I to do now that I know who he is? Now that I know what rests on our interactions? The pressure is crushing.
“Good, good.” Elijah clears his throat. “I realized that I never asked my interview questions.”
At this, I can’t help the smile that curves one side of my lips. It’s true. I took him home, and instead of interviewing me, I got him straight into my bed.
Bad Rowan.
Elijah catches my grin and does me one better, giving me a bright smile of his own.Dimples curve into his cheeks as he glows in front of me.
“Oh, yeah. I noticed too.” I didn’t. Not really.
“I could ask you the questions now.” Elijah peers behind me. “Can I come in?”
All the color drains from my face as I realize my corkboard now holds the developed photo of him and a very detailed sex dream with the name of another man.Ah, fuck.
“Uh, no. Sorry.”
Elijah’s brow furrows as he looks up at me.“Why not?”
“I don’t really like people in my space,” I lie, and he tilts his head in question.
“But I was just in there,” he deadpans.
“Um…” I try to think of a reasonable excuse, but all I can come up with is, “I was a little drunk, so I didn’t really think about it at the time.”
Elijah’s eyes are naturally warm and inviting. They’re big and doll-like, very fitting to his boyish features. But now—as he takes in the lies I’m telling him—they harden.
Freezing me out, he peers behind me once more, before narrowing slightly onto my own worried gaze.
“Sure. Then how about we have dinner atmyapartment?” he offers, and I’m shocked that he still wants to see me after rudely barring him from my home.
“Yeah—yes. That would be cool,” I rush out. “Here, take my number so you can send me your address.”
Elijah seems to be slightly confused. As if he can’t wrap his mind around the rejection and the acceptance all at once. I don’t blame him.
“Sure,” he repeats, handing me his phone so I can punch in the numbers. Once I do, he takes it back and turns to walk away. Elijah makes it halfway to his car before he turns back around, looking at me from a distance. “Tomorrow at 6 o’clock,” is all he says, and then he’s getting in his car and driving away.
I watch him disappear, closing the door only when the dirt has settled.
Well… that was close. But now I can keep my corkboard up, and going forward, we can just meet at Elijah’s place.
What if I have more dreams to write down? What if I have more pictures of him to develop?
I… I really want to take more pictures of him.
