I know that knock, but why didn’t he call? Or text me? I set the gloves on the back of the couch and take a moment to neutralize my expression before I open the front door.
There Elijah stands in his normal work attire—slacks and a button-up—and when his eyes meet mine, he smiles brightly.
“Heading out?” he asks, eyeing my coat.
“Ah, no. I was about to chop some wood.”
Elijah’s gaze flickers to my hands, and he clears his throat.“How… manly.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes heat, or how he fidgets slightly where he stands.Strong men turn him on.
“What can I do for you?” I prompt, doing my best to puff my chest out just a bit more.
Elijah blushes, almost as if he’s embarrassed by showing up here.
“Well—I—John needed one more question answered. For the article, I mean.” His fingers tap away at his thigh, and that hot ache in my chest grows at his nervousness. So shy and cute.
As if I wasn’t pounding into him not so long ago.
“What’s the question?” I ask him.
“Huh? Oh!” Elijah flushes even further, eyes darting everywhere but back to my own. “It’s nothing really. He just wanted to know if you plan on participating in any more competitions soon?”
It’s such a cop out. A lame question, very clearly an excuse to come see me. And it’s so adorable that he thinks it’ll work.
“No, I’m focusing on work and myself right now.”
Elijah nods quickly, pretending like this is vital information.“Got it! That’s good.”
When he says nothing else, I lean against the doorframe and raise a brow.
“You could have texted, you know.”
“Oh,” he says, eyes falling to the wood planks below his feet. “Right. Sorry.” Elijah sounds as if I’ve rejected him, and that wasnotmy intention.
“I’m glad you came here, though," I add, and those big eyes snap back up to meet mine.
“Oh,” he says again, much softer this time. Another blush colors his cheeks, and I take a moment to drink it in.
I’ll never get tired of his blushes, the same way I’ll never get tired of hearingget on your knees.
Before I can think—before I can process the words leaving my mouth or the potential rejection intertwined with them—I say, “Go on a date with me.”
Elijah’s eyes widen significantly, his breath stuttering out of him as he tries to answer. On the third attempt, words finally escape him.
“A date?” he questions, and I nod stiffly.
“Yeah. This Saturday, let me take you on a date.”
Up until now, we’ve just been hooking up. And it was only twice. Aside from the blushing and the bursts of romantic dialogue during sex, nothing else has happened between us.
But I’m tired of waiting, and I plan to make Elijah mine again at any cost.
“O-okay,” he murmurs, finally putting me out of my misery. He says it like he can’t believe he’s agreeing.
“Great. I look forward to it, Eli.”
Those hazel eyes seem to settle, as if they’ve given up the battle they were so desperately fighting. Surrender looks so beautiful on him.
