Elijah lights up like I handed him a winning lottery ticket. “What a fabulous idea!” he says, far too enthusiastically.
I mentally curse myself.Nice one, Alex. Why not light a match and throw it into gasoline?
Noah slips off his barstool, gently setting his wine glass down. “I’d love to, but I actually have plans tonight,” he says, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. “Thank you for the wine.”
“Of course, anytime,” Elijah replies, smooth as gin. Or bourbon. Or wine. Ugh…whatever.
He pats at his pockets, then glances up at me. “Alex, love, would you put Noah’s number in your phone? Seems you forgot last time. I must’ve left mine in the bedroom.”
My jaw tightens. So that’s how we’re going to play this.
“Sure,” I grumble, swiping at my phone screen a little too hard. Noah rattles off his number, and I punch it in without looking at him. When I’m done, I snort under my breath. “I’m going to take a shower.”
It’s rude. Dismissive. And I know I’m being an ass. Ask me if I care.
“Alex, wait—” Elijah calls after me, but I’m already halfway down the hall, determined to reach the bedroom before I completely lose my goddamn mind.
“What are you doing?”I step out of the shower and grab a towel just as Elijah slips into the bedroom and gently shuts the door behind him.
I have a love/hate relationship with this shower. Hate, because it offers zero privacy. It curves along the length of the wall like a lazy river, lined entirely with floor-to-ceiling windows. Sure, I can dial up the frost on the panes, so that’s not the issue. The real problem? No doors. No curtain. Not even a half wall. It’s justthere, leaving one completely exposed. Clearly intentional on the designer’s part.
And yet—damn it—I have to admit, it’s beautiful. Stunning. Risqué in the most calculated way. Exactly what Gabriel was going for when he designed it. His ability to create rooms that feel like foreplay is what draws people to him. Everything hedesigns is bold, unapologetic, and screaming for attention. I can appreciate its uniqueness.
The designer though? That’s another story.
With a smug grin, Elijah begins stripping out of his clothes, kicking his shoes off to the side. Normally, his nakedness would arouse me, but that’s not the case tonight. Not after the day I’ve just had. Anddefinitelynot after seeing Noah in the kitchen, sipping wine with him like they’re old friends.
He’s not Elijah’s type, so I’m not at all jealous; more irritated that Noah blatantly ignored the one thing I asked of him—don’t entertain Elijah’s offers again. And yet, there he was… glass in hand, smile on his face, like it was nothing.
“I came to talk to you, Alex,” he says, pulling me out of my head.
“You don’t need to remove your clothes to have a conversation,” I quip. “That’s such a Gabriel move.”
I’m seething, and he knows it. But instead of backing off, he walks straight to me and steals a kiss from my furious mouth.
“My intention was to join you in the shower,” he murmurs against my lips. “But it looks like I’ve missed my opportunity.”
“Looks that way. So, tell me… why was Noah here?” I pull away and head for the armoire.
Behind me, he reaches for the panel and shuts off the water, which I’d entirely forgotten to do.
“He was here because I asked him over.”
“He’s not our friend, Elijah.” I towel off my legs, tugging open a drawer and grabbing a pair of underwear.
“But he could be,” he says casually, sounding more like Gabriel than himself, which makes my blood start to simmer.
I throw my hands down by my side, breath pushing hard through my nose. “I don’t want him as a friend,” I snap. My chest tightens, heat rising fast.
Elijah crosses the room slowly, the tension between us thick enough to choke on. He leans his shoulder against the edge of the armoire, arms crossed over his bare chest, watching me with that maddening calm. “Would you like him as a lover?” he asks, voice low and measured.
“For fuck’s sake!” I bark. “Really, Elijah?”I let out a humorless laugh, yanking on a pair of boxers and stepping into some distressed jeans. I toss the towel into the wicker basket with more force than necessary.
“Really, Alex,” he replies, completely unfazed by my rotten mood.
I fling a T-shirt over my shoulder and stomp toward him, anger crawling up my neck.
“What is your obsession with Noah?” I demand. I should probably be asking myself the same damn thing, but that can wait. Right now, I’m more interested in figuring out what’s behind this new fancy of his.
