Page 7 of Grant’s Blaze

At once, Elijah’s guest spun around.

My inner profanities turned the inside of my brain blue. No way could I get out of her sightline fast enough, nor did she appear to want that. Elijah’s visitor was actually a woman we both knew intimately.

Fuck.

Who the hell bought a backup fridge with an icemaker?

“Hey, Shawna.” I looked around for our host, but he seemed to have pulled the magic trick I was fantasizing about.

None of that was lost on the pretty redhead.

“Looking for Elijah?” she prompted.

“Yeah, sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. Just not feeling so great. Do you know where he went? I thought I just heard him in here.” I couldn’t meet her gaze, so I looked over her shoulder to the courtyard just beyond the windows. Sure enough, there was my target, speaking animatedly to a man servicing the pool.

“Anyhow…it was…umm…nice seeing you again. If you’ll excuse me?”

No way was I waiting around to hear her reply. Instead I focused on beelining for the pool deck before Elijah was off to manage another household problem.

Still only in the bath towel, I stepped out into the late-morning sun. The warm rays felt so good on my skin that I surreptitiously gave the lounge chair deep consideration instead of having a conversation with my best friend.

Really, what was another lost afternoon at this point? No one knew I was back. I could lie there, just relaxing and pulling my shit together before going back to my place. It wouldn’t hurt anything. Or anyone.

Well, maybe someone.

“Hey, there you are. How do you feel? Did you sleep well? I see you found the shower stuff I set out.”

Elijah’s smile was genuine, his questions sincere. They always were. The man never asked if he didn’t really want to know. Each query’s answer was a building block to the carefully constructed vision he had of a person. Banks didn’t take friendships lightly. He gave all of himself to a relationship and expected the same in return. Unfortunately, there were times he ended up getting hurt because of it.

“Yes, Martha Stewart,” I teased him. “The thread count on the sheets could be a little higher, though.” I gestured toward the towel around my hips. “But seriously, do you have something I can throw on for the drive home? I don’t think an Uber driver will appreciate my balls on their upholstery.”

We both chuckled, especially as the pool guy whipped his head in our direction.

“Yeah, I can make that happen,” Elijah said. “But chief, listen, we need to talk.”

I cocked a brow. “About the fact that Shawna’s inside and you’re out here dicking with your pool filters?”

“No. About you going home. Are you sure that’s the best plan?” He strolled around the courtyard to the far side where a set of French doors led back into the house.

I kept pace beside him, assuming we were headed to one of his walk-in closets so I could get into something better than a bath sheet.

“Why are you giving me so much shit about going home?” I asked, not hiding my frustration.

“I’m just worried about you, man.”

“I’m fully aware. You don’t need to keep saying it.”

“Actually, maybe I do,” he groused.

“Banks.” I shifted my gaze to look at him in my periphery. “What the hell is this really about?”

“Shit.” Elijah stopped at the vestibule of his master bedroom and faced me. “Maybe I should just come right out and say it.”

I gripped two fistfuls of my disheveled hair before blurting, “Damn, I wish you would.”

“Fine. I’ve just noticed, in glaring ways, that you have this…look…in your eyes. I don’t know.”

His words were coupled with an awful set of gestures. A small shrug combined with a slow head shake. His actions made me feel equally strange. Like he was my disappointed parent, giving up and resigning himself to my failure.