He looks at the pan, and his eyes go wide like he’s surprised he’d been aggressively stirring the contents for the past several minutes. He switches off the flame.
“Dinner’s done,” he announces like he’s on an old-timey cooking show.
Well, as long as what follows dinner doesn’t fade to black like other old-timey shows, I don’t mind.
Chapter Sixteen
Full Plates, Flustered Feelings, and First Experiments
Nick
The pasta is surprisingly good. Even all the mushing somehow didn’t destroy it. I could have technically blamed Elliot for it, for being hot and kinda suspicious with his insults about werewolves requiring a lot of food. But that was clearly me reaching for something that wasn’t there.
We sit on the couch because dining tables are a waste of space, so I obviously don’t have one. I use the space to keep my murder boards, one of which now has pictures of the LAPD case, and to have meetings with Bureau Agents. Is that a fancy way of saying I need the space to play with my friends?Maybe.
“You like it?” I ask Elliot, who is silently chewing the food while looking surprised but pleased. It isn’t hard to tell with him because he has one of his rare frownless expressions on his face right now.
He nods. “It’s alright.”
High praises, practically a marriage proposal coming from him. A smile tugs my lips.
He ignores me and goes back to his food. He hasn’t touched his beer in a while. Maybe he’s into the fancy craft shit. Or maybe he prefers wine? No, he barely had any atMatt’s. I’m oddly disappointed I don’t know his drink of choice yet. It’s the detective in me, of course. I’m obviously doing a bad job if I don’t even know what he likes to drink yet. Other than the black tar coffee.
“You don’t like beer?” I ask because it would be weird to keep different drinks in front of Elliot and observe which one he picks.
“I avoid alcoholic beverages,” he explains.
“Is it another way of saying you’re super lightweight?” I tease.
“Yes, Nicholas. I don’t want to get drunk ononebeer and attack your modesty.”
I huff out a laugh. “You can attack it all you want,” I offer. “My modesty is completely into all the attacking.”
He snorts. “Careful, Captain America, desperation is kind of a turn off.”
Ha, he wishes it was. The guy looks like he can barely stand up, but he drove all the way here to have dinner with me and get laid. I don’t mind the casual part either. I was worried for a second he wanted something more when he agreed to this so readily. That conversation was important, and now that everything is on the table, I won’t feel like the worst person on the planet for asking for more.
I mean, stalking is one thing, but sleeping with him for information, that’s a line I’m never going to cross.Probably. I’ve been discovering hidden depths lately.
Now that I know he’s not expecting anything from me other than a good time, it feels like all the creepiness has been covered with a thick white cloth. At least he’s getting something out of this, too?
I just hope I can give him that good time, considering this will be the first time I’ve done anything more than make out with a guy. A milestone I’ve also only reached with Elliot.
Maybe I should tell him now? But what if he wants to leave? I really,reallywant to kiss him and see him naked, even blow him. I’ve been watching gay porn, a lot of it, even though it's horrible for educational purposes. I read blogstoo. I’ve done a lot of work. I don’t want that to go to waste.
I get up to collect the plates, and my foot catches the end of the table. I yelp and sit back down.
Elliot just gives me a side eye, but one side of his lips quirks up.
“Are you nervous or something?” he asks.
I knew he was observant. I’m notthatbad of a detective. And the entire basis of my suspicion is that a man as observant as he is claiming he missed a six-foot-five werewolf shift right in front of his eyes. Or the periphery of his eye, same difference.
But I’m still caught off guard that he noticed my nervousness. “Nah,” I wave him off.
He tilts his head, waiting.
I sigh. “I’ve never been with a man before,” I mumble.
