“I am,” Damon said, smiling.
He rolled his eyes. “Sure, okay. I need to run home to grab some stuff.”
“Like what? Your suit is here.” Panic flooded his veins. Elliot couldn’t leave. If he left, he’d think about what happened. He’d avoid Damon. He’d tell him that they needed to end their friendship because he was too weirded out now.
He could not leave.
Elliot shifted. “I don’t know. Underwear and shit? I didn’t think I was going to stay over. Didn’t really pack.”
“You can wear mine.” Damon got out of bed and grabbed some from the dresser and tossed them at him.
“Okay,” he said with a confused uptick at the end of the word. “Guess I’ll go shower then.”
Damon didn’t dare turn around for fear he’d see the extent of Damon’s obsession with him on his face.
Elliot left. The bedroom door clicked closed. He exhaled.
The shower hissed on from down the hall.
The image of Elliot undressing, Elliot wet in the shower, Elliot wearing Damon’s underwear distracted him for the next ten minutes.
He laid down, put his hands under his waistband, and tried to jerk the images out of his mind.
He was pretty sure it made everything worse.
Chapter Thirteen
Elliot’s phone rang while he was in the shower, interrupting the mental spiral he was in the middle of. He wasn’t quick enough to grab it before it went to voicemail. He cut his shower short and toweled off. Most people knew better than to call him, so it must be important.
His damp hands fumbled to play the voicemail on the touchscreen until finally he heard his grandmama’s recorded voice.
“Hi, Elliot,” she said. Her voice was strained. “Can you come over this morning? I’m not feeling well.”
The wet phone almost slipped out of his hands as he scrambled to pull on Damon’s underwear and his shorts. He sprinted into the bedroom, shirtless, hair still dripping. “I have to go.” Bobbing around the room, he searched for his car keys. He was usually more organized than this.
“What’s wrong?” Damon asked. Elliot didn’t have time to revel in the way Damon’s eyes lingered on his half-naked body.
“Grandmama called.” Elliot yanked on one of Damon’s t-shirts as he continued, “She’s not feeling well.”
Damon’s eyes widened. He swiped Elliot’s keys off his desk and handed them to him. “Shesaid she wasn’t feeling well?”
Elliot ran a hand through his wet hair. It’d look like crap if it dried pressed to his headrest in the car, but he didn’t care. Grandmama was never sick. Never.
If she was calling Elliot for help, something was really wrong.
“I’ll come with you,” Damon said. His phone rang as Elliot started to protest.
Damon pressed the phone between his cheek and shoulder, answering as he pulled on socks.
“Hello?” He froze, second sock midway in the air. “Yeah, Chels. I didn’t forget about picking up the flowers.” Damon scrunched up his face. “Of course, I didn’t forget that the flower shop closes at noon. In fact, I was getting ready to go get them now.”
Elliot huffed a laugh as Damon ran a hand down his face. He hung up with Chelsea and turned to Elliot. “I’ll pick up your flowers too. Text me if you need anything? If you need me to come over or—”
Elliot swallowed hard. “It’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine.”
He wasn’t convincing himself or Damon, but Elliot forced a smile, and they both raced out of the house, driving in opposite directions.
Elliot practiced the deep breathing exercises Grandmama taught him to help center his mind, but he kept coming back to the same question. What had happened that Grandmama couldn’t heal herself?
