“What are you wearing?” She looked him over top to bottom. His nerves started to tingle at the blatant inspection.
Uh.“This?”
Jeans and a T-shirt. It was Brek and Velma’s pad, not a formal event.
“Jeans to an engagement party?” Marlee asked, her eyebrows dropping together while she stared at his…jeans.
Uh.“Yeah?”
“Okay. I’ll make it work.” She kissed him on his clean-shaven cheek, her lips pressing against the newly smooth skin in a move that was supposed to be totally platonic. But her lips on his cheek made him want to turn his head toward her mouth so he could kiss her like he really wanted. So he could run his tongue along hers. Press his body into hers so she melted against him like pasta sauce on a plate of noodles.
He didn’t. He just stared into the air like a putz who’d just agreed to go on a date with his wife.
* * *
They were late.Eli didn’t do late.
Marlee had taken quite a bit of time to get herself ready for the party. He couldn’t argue with the results. The dress she’d pulled out of one of the many boxes littering his apartment hugged every curve on her body. She was always pretty. Beautiful, really. But that blue dress? That blue dress made Marlee look like she belonged on the arm of a guy with a Ferrari and all access to red-carpet events. Not a caterer with a Jeep Cherokee.
The elevator opened at the hallway to Brek and Velma’s apartment. “You’ll like ’em. They’re good people,” he assured.
“They’re your people, which means I’ll probably love them.” Marlee stopped texting his sister and linked her free arm through his. Her other arm held Lothario in the purse.
While Eli was getting used to a roommate and to her touching him, he was not used to the way his blood heated whenever she did it. The way just that little movement made him want more. It made him want all of her. The touches. The smiles. Everything.
And that was unacceptable.
He was already responsible for the role he played in epically screwing up her life. He was willing to step up. But he couldn’t make himself responsible for her happiness. He did better alone, and it was best he remember that.
With Marlee on one arm and a bottle of wine in the other, he somehow also managed to carry the set of copper mixing bowls he’d bought for Heather and Jase’s kitchen. Heather baked kickass cookies, and she had her own commercial kitchen to do it in. She’d appreciate them. Jase? Eh.
“Brek and Velma are hosting. Heather and Jase are getting married. Claire and Dean will be here, too.” Marlee looked up at him for confirmation. She’d been practicing their names the whole way from the liquor store.
He nodded. “Yep.”
“You were friends with the guys in high school.”
“Yep.”
“Like Becca, Sadie, and me.”
“Yep.”
“Without all the drama we caused.”
“Eh.” He wouldn’t go quite that far. Brek, Dean, and Jase had caused a load of drama. Eli was too busy at home to take part.
“And you’re disappointed because you usually bring food.” She bobbed her head as she spoke to herself. It was cute.
He might’ve mentioned once or twice how bringing food was his thing.
The stop at the liquor store for a bottle of wine had taken a bit longer than usual since Marlee’s tastes ran toward the five-hundred-dollar bottles they kept in the special case and his Visa was more a middle-of-the-road kind of card. They’d finally settled on a respectable Cab Sav that didn’t require a salesperson to pull it from a locked cabinet.
Bringing a bottle of red was okay. But it also made him tug at the collar of the button-down shirt Marlee had insisted—with an abundance of enthusiasm—worked better with her dress. He was a chef. He brought food to these things. However, he hadn’t had a chance since they’d just gotten back, and he had a new roommate—two if he counted Lothario—and he was hustling to fill the gaps in his catering schedule for the months ahead, and he’d just signed divorce papers.
He paused at the door to their apartment, gently disentangling his arm from Marlee’s so he could turn the handle.
“Do we just walk in?” Marlee asked.
