Was I treating this game like a test I couldn’t fail? Maybe. But not only would I not fail, I would ace it.
“Can I…?” I turned toward Elijah, hoping he’d get the hint that I needed to stand up but was stuck against the wall in our booth seat.
“Can you what? Add something to the conversation? Yes, you can. Do you have a big family?”
“No comment,” I said.
Tara laughed, understanding my strategy. Maybe our connection from high school wasn’t completely stale.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I said.
Elijah shook his head but slid down the seat to let me out. He even gave me a hand up. And because I really did have to go to the bathroom, I went. After using the restroom, I washed my hands and then checked my phone to make sure my mom hadn’t called or texted. She hadn’t.
I stepped out into the dim back hall of the restaurant, and Elijah was waiting there. At first, I thought he was waiting for the bathroom, which was a single, all-gender one. But he didn’t step through the door I held open.
“I’m here for our homework,” he said.
I released my hold on the door, and it slowly closed behind me. “What?”
“Our homework. Five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact on the days we see each other.” He leaned his shoulder against an open wall and gestured to the space beside him for me to do the same. “It is a day and we are seeing each other.”
My eyes went out to the restaurant. It wasn’t exceptionally crowded, but it wasn’t empty. The hall we stood in was tuckedaway, a path only for those who needed to use the restroom, but still, it felt too exposed. “Here?”
“Unless you’d like to go sit in a car or take me home.” He said that last bit in his husky voice.
“I would not,” I said.
“Then pull up a wall, baby,” he said.
“Don’t call me baby,” I said, mimicking his lean.
We faced each other, our eyes colliding as instructed by Dr. Franklin. My heart galloped at the intensity of his stare.
“Timer,” I said, averting my gaze and fumbling for my phone.
“We wouldn’t want to go a second too long.”
“Exactly,” I said.
I started the countdown and then recommitted to my lean and met his stare again.
“You like ‘button’ better than ‘baby’?”
“I like neither.”
“Sutton,” he said slowly. “What does that mean?”
“My dad was British,” I said, forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to keep my life to myself.
“Was?”
“Is. My dadisBritish.”
“Do I sense dad issues?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “No, you don’t.”
He didn’t say anything, just stared, like he knew I was lying. He had some stubble on his face today, which took away some of his polished, shiny edges. It should’ve made him less approachable, more gruff or something, but it did the opposite. It actually softened him.
