She sighs and stares down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “It was stupid. I never should have gone.”
I shrug. “Sometimes that’s true. Sometimes that’s what you learn from things like this—that there are situations you can’t put yourself in. Or not, at least, until you have the tools to handle them.”
“I can’t avoid parties forever.”
I raise a brow. “Actually, from personal experience, you canabsolutelybecome a hermit and avoid all forms of social interaction indefinitely.”
She makes a face at me, but she’s grinning all the same. “Oh, please. Like you weren’t a little social butterfly at that gore-fest gallery show. All wit and suave seltzer-serving.”
“Withyou,” I say. “You in particular.”
I can’t take the words back once I’ve said them, so I have to sit here and watch her arch one brow, her lipsticked mouth curving into a smile.
Change the subject change the subject change the subject—
“I have a book I’d like to show you,” I find myself saying. “What are you doing next week? I can bring it to you.”
Ely whips her head around to look at me so damn fast it’d be comical if I didn’t feel like I was already on tenterhooks, leaning in toward her,hoping.
“Yes,” she says almost immediately. “Definitely. I mean…yes. I’ll be around. We could get coffee after lunch on Monday?”
“Sure. It’s a date.”Oops. Shit. Fuck. “I mean—”
Ely’s already grinning so broadly I can’t take it back now. She’s got to know what I really mean, anyway.
What the hell do you think you’re on right now, Cole?
Ely seems to be thinking the same thing, because she nudges her shoulder against mine. A second point of contact, her body heat warming my side. She could shift only slightly, and her thigh would rub against mine. She could reach down and lace our fingers together, perhaps guide my hand to her knee.
I’ve gotta pull back on this. I need to have some kind of control over myself.
But looking at her, my breath catches in my chest. From this distance I can see the tiny imperfections—the start of fine lines at the corners of her eyes, the pores, the couple of eyebrow hairs she forgot to pluck. It feels intimate. I feel lucky, in a way, to be allowed to see her so plainly. From farther away, I would have said she looked perfect.
This close, she is even more so.
I drag my gaze away, refocusing on the painting across from us in a fierce determination to pull myself the fuck together.
My goal in bringing her here was to get her to think differently about her art, and I accomplished that much.
But if I hoped today would be different—that I’d be able to look at Ely Cohen and see a student, a protégé, and nothing more—well. Judging from the low electric thrum that shimmers beneath my skin when she smiles, when she touches my arm in gratitude…
I’ve failed miserably.
¦
On Sunday, I go to a meeting.
It’s the same crew, same faces, I’ve been seeing every year for the past decade. I’ve got every one of their stories written on my heart. Even with the people I don’t like, it feels like love. Sure, maybe the whole twelve-step thing doesn’t really feel like it’s for me, but the friendships do.
“Hey, man,” Marcus says after the close of meeting, as we’re all crowding around the refreshments table trying to steal the last dregs of coffee. “Want to go grab some pancakes or something? I missed dinner.”
“Breakfast at ninep.m.? You know me, I’m always down for that.”
Our favorite spot is four blocks away, which is a long walk when you’re starving but too short when you’re walking with afriend. The place is one of those dive diners that has been around forever. The pancakes are kind of shitty, and the coffee is burnt, but for Marcus and me, it’s a bit of a tradition.
The best booth is taken, so we settle in toward the back, Marcus all stretched out with his long legs angled toward one side so they don’t bump against mine under the table.
“So, tell me,” he says. “How have things been? Like…for real. Because I know you always hold back in meetings.”
