It’s like Eli’s pushed me off a cliff and my brain got stuck behind. My body floods with adrenaline, and then seconds later it actually sinks in.
Every moment since he’s stepped off the plane plays like a movie in hyper speed: his phone allergy, his determination to be present for Adam, how he insisted on coming to Blue Yonder and his assurance that work wouldn’t get in the way. Everything about him broke open because his job was the thing that kept him tightly bound.
“You quit your job,” I repeat.
“I did.” He exhales sharply, like it’s hitting him anew. “Seven weeks ago, actually.”
My jaw drops. “Seven we— what? Why?”
He sits up, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “That’s a loaded question.”
There’s a question in his voice, and I get the message loud and clear: do you want to hear the answer?
The truth is yes, I’m desperate to, and also no, because what difference does it make? Whatever reason he did it is for him, not me.
The flash of grief I feel is real, though. The part of me that I sealed off when I left New York feels the pain acutely, wishes that we were having this conversation sitting in the bed we bought, in the apartment we rented. What would we be doing right now instead of this if we hadn’t barricaded ourselves from each other?
It’s a useless thought, though.
“Well. Wow. Are you starting a new job when you get back to New York, then? One with a hopefully less Luce-like managing director?”
At my obvious conversational swerve, disappointment settles into the crease between his brows. “No.”
“No what?”
“No to all of those things.”
“The new job or New York or Lucifer?”
“Correct,” he says, his mouth twitching.
I narrow my eyes, turning his non-answer over, until I realize he’s answered everything: no to a new job. No to a boss, Lucifer-adjacent or not.
And no to New York.
My heart flips over. “You’re not going back to New York.” “I’m not going back to New York,” he confirms.
“You’re coming ho—” I stop myself from saying home. San Francisco doesn’t belong to us; it won’t belong to me soon enough. “Here?”
He nods, eyes fixed on me. “Do you have any thoughts about that?”
There are just two: thank god we’re in a better place now and STAY in that place however you can. Even if I go to Seattle, Eli will be closer, more present by default. Having him nearly three thousand miles away as a ghost was safe; this is not.
“Should I?”
His response is quiet, a small confession. “I’d like you to.”
I side-stepped the heavy turn before, but with those four words, Eli brings us right back. I’m not prepared to talk at length about what this is doing to me. I have no interest in unpacking messy baggage with Eli right now; it’d probably make things worse and that’s the last thing we need. We’re supposed to be cleaning up messes, keeping things easy.
I have to give him something, though—he’ll keep prodding otherwise.
I pick at a thread on the comforter, twist it around my fingers. Pull until it snaps. “I think, as disastrous as things have been, you and I have reached…an understanding.” When I meet his eyes, he raises an acknowledging eyebrow. “And anyway, I would never begrudge you wanting to be closer to your family and friends.”
“Our friends,” he corrects.
“Right.” It’s a word of belonging. It hurts and sings through my blood. It fits and feels too small, all at the same time. “So, you’ll be back in the city as of Sunday?”
He leans back on his hands. “When I say I’m coming back here, I mean to California. I’m flying down to LA on Sunday. I’ve been working with a recruiter for the past few weeks, and she got me hooked up with a really
strong lead for a strategy director role at a media company down there. I’ve had two phone interviews with that place, and have two other interviews set up in the coming weeks just in case.”
“A strategy director role?” I echo, confused. “You’re leaving banking?” “Yes,” he says, and there’s so much finality in that word that my spine
straightens.
Years ago, when we were still together, he talked about eventually transitioning over to the client side. It’s one of the reasons he was eager to work in the TMT sector—he’d have more flexibility to get us back to the West Coast, where you can fling a dart with your eyes closed and hit a tech or media position.
But that was his plan after he’d made VP. Long after.
“…sent me over a few options in tech up in the Bay Area,” he’s saying, “but with all the layoffs, I’m not eager to go in that direction. The LA position seems more stable, and I really need to find something soon.”
I look over just as a spark of panic returns to Eli’s expression. In a strange way, it makes me feel safe to see it, to know he’s so diligently looking for a replacement. To know that even if he’s closer, he’ll still be wrapped up in his career to some extent.
“I’d been thinking about quitting,” he continues. “A lot, actually. I just didn’t expect to do it when I did. It was sort of…impulsive.”
“That’s not a word I’d ever use to describe you with your career,” I say without thinking, and in my voice I hear the weight of our history, the pain of it.
His gaze lands on me; he hears it, too. It feels like he looks for hours, days. Forever.
We have to get out of this. “I just mean—”
“It was a long time coming regardless,” he interrupts, his words careful, his attention intent. “Missing Adam’s bachelor party wasn’t the only thing that brought me to my decision, not by a mile, but it was the catalyst. In the car on Friday, you said it wasn’t my fault that I missed it, but storm or not, it was. I should’ve told them no, but my anxiety wouldn’t let me and my priorities were…” His eyes glitter in the low light. He looks furious and
devastated, but also determined, that same emotion he stepped off the plane with. “That job came first at a time when it shouldn’t have, and I paid the price for it.”
A fissure cracks my heart before I can stop it. He’s not talking about us, but in another life, that sentiment would fit perfectly. A puzzle piece we’ve been missing for years.
If we were talking about us.
God, now we really have to get out of this. “Does Adam know?” Something flashes in his eyes—that disappointment again, maybe.
“You’re the only person I’ve told, other than my family. I’ll tell him once they’re back from the honeymoon.”
I nod, then say softly, “Wow. You really blew up your life.”
Our gazes catch and hold. I feel so many things—confusion wondering why now and not five years ago, sadness knowing the answer would likely devastate me, fear and pride and such an intense, unwelcome wanting—and I hope he doesn’t see any of that. I hope he sees a Georgia who’s surprised but unruffled by this news. Who’s unruffled by him in her bed at three in the morning on a Tuesday, in the place where we started to tip into love years ago.
After an unbearable beat, he looks down, his ears turning pink. “Belatedly. But yeah, I did.”
“Hey, stop worrying about the bachelor party.” I nudge his ankle and he points a private, mirthless smile at the bed. “Seriously, Eli, you’re here for the most important part. You’re literally saving their wedding.”
He looks up. “So are you.”
I hum noncommittally, ignoring the narrow-eyed stare he gives me. I can see him ready to circle back to his earlier are you okay? But now that the adrenaline has drained from my body, I’m about to fall over.
“I should go,” Eli says quietly, sensing the shift. “Thank you for…well, Jesus. Everything. Sorry I fell apart on you.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
I nearly blurt out what it meant to see him like that, to have him trust me. Eli Mora doesn’t let himself come undone; for a secretly messy person
like me, it was like seeing my reflection. It’s not something I’d ever run away from. It’s something I crave.
Maybe that’s why I say, “You don’t have to go.”
Eli’s already swung his legs over the side of the bed, but he freezes. “What?”
“That loveseat is for toddlers. Just stay here tonight.”
He gazes at me, and in those seconds, I think five times about snatching my words back. But then he says, voice pitched low and rough, “I can’t.”
“Why?” A stupid question. I can think of a million reasons we shouldn’t, and yet the single reason we should wipes all of that away: this bed isn’t either of ours. Sharing it tonight doesn’t have to count.
“I—” He grimaces, then lets out a helpless, pained sound.
“What if you have another panic attack?” I want to smack myself for pushing. “I don’t wa— you shouldn’t have to be alone.”
I don’t want you to be alone. He hears the words I didn’t even say, and some of his hesitation dissolves.
“It’s fine,” I say, swallowing hard. “This bed is more than big enough for both of us.”
“But is it big enough for the three of us?” “What?”
He glances down between us. “Nick Miller here.”
Dammit. I yank one of the pillows up, whipping it at him. He catches it with a laugh.
“No judgments for my pillow person, please. Are you staying or going?”
Eli looks at the bed, at the pillows, at me. A word floats between us, a text sent through space and memory: lonely.
Maybe we both are, and have been. “Okay,” he says, “I’ll stay.”
Outside, time was liquid, but it solidifies here. It’s now and he’s sliding back into the bed. It carries no memories. Nothing can pull us under.
Still, I hold my breath as I click off the lamp, plunging us into a darkness that immediately pulls us closer, in tension if not in body. The
moon peeks in through the window, slicing across Eli’s face as he turns toward me when I lie down.
“Night,” he murmurs.
“Good night,” I whisper back before turning away from him.
I send a silent threat to Nick Miller to keep us on our sides, and then, exhausted, I fall into a deep, black sleep.
 |
Awareness comes in pieces. At first it’s warmth, increasing to a heat that works its way under my skin so deliciously I arch toward it.
And then it’s a naked back under my skimming palms, a solid thigh pressed between mine, the brief chill of metal and then warm skin as my mouth traverses the column of a throat. I sigh against the rumble that vibrates my skin.
It’s the kind of vivid, early morning memory-dream that used to torture me, but now I sink into it, remember the hands that would—
“Yes,” I sigh as a broad palm cups my ass, cinching me tight to the body I’m wrapped around. Fingers graze the waistband of my sleep shorts, moving under my shirt to trace the column of my spine until they curl around my ribs, digging into the underside of my breast. There’s a neediness to the touch that makes my stomach spiral.
I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the weak sunshine trying to get in, any reality that will break this apart. I want to live in this liminal space where there’s a heart beating hard against mine, someone who reaches for me first. It’s why I’ve always loved early-morning sex. There’s an instinct to it that no other time allows, just bodies and hearts doing what they want more than anything else.
I crave a mouth against my throat the second before it’s there—teeth scraping my skin, almost biting, a burn that dissolves into throbbing pressure. A deep groan echoes mine. Someone desperate for me.
No, not someone. Eli.
His sleep-slurred, “Fuck, Georgia,” is pressed against my cheek as I’m gently pushed onto my back.
My eyes pop open.
It’s not a memory or a dream. It’s now, time as twisted around us as the sheets. Eli’s hovering over me, his chain dangling in the bare space between us. His pupils are wide, mouth parted and swollen from sleep. I want them swollen from me.
It’s a fully coherent thought and a terrible idea, and yet—
My hands move up his sides with a mind of their own. He shivers, his eyes falling shut, and my body gets heavy again, not with sleep but something hazy and warm like it. I search for telltale signs that Eli’s in one of his dream states.
“Where are you?” I whisper.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Huskily, he says, “With you.” “Are you awake?”
His eyes are wild and hot, not because he isn’t here. Because he is. “Do you want me to be?”
It’s an offer, an escape from liability, and I’m not strong enough to deny it. This is real, but close enough to what we’ve done before that we could slot it into another memory once it’s done. It wouldn’t count against my list of reasons not to get wrapped up in him.
And god, I miss it so much. I miss him so much. “Can you be awake in three minutes instead?”
His expression slackens in relief, and he lets some of his weight settle onto me, slotting in right where I need him. “You’re in charge of the timer.”
“Why?” I gasp, arching my hips against his.
“Because I won’t be able to stop,” he murmurs. “And we have to.
Right?”
“Yes,” I start to say, but he dissolves the word when his mouth slants over mine.
There’s no easing into it. Eli knows exactly what I like—a teasing tongue sliding against mine at first, an overwhelmed groan as he takes it deeper and then pulls back to bite at my lower lip. The reality of kissing
him again is a shock I couldn’t have prepared myself for, like finding something I thought I’d lost forever sitting on my top shelf. Within reach the whole time, back in my hands again.
I know I have to put it away, and I will. I will. In three minutes.
His hand slides under my shirt, resting at the base of my ribs, and I arch, wanting him to touch me like he used to.
“You can,” I say against his jaw.
He does. Puts me into the palm of his hand, pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The teasing is done.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes. “I didn’t think—”
He groans, a frustrated sound that matches his fractured thoughts. I dig my fingers into his back, urging him closer.
His breath stutters, fanning over my mouth as he pulls back to take me in, something disbelieving in his eyes just before he kisses me again. It’s deep and slow, an assurance that he won’t be rushed despite our ticking clock. Time is nothing, he tells me. It’s a demand for me to follow, and I do, because we’re here, it’s now. It’s a memory, a dream, something real.
We hold on wherever we can—me gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, him pulling my thigh over his hip to make our connection tighter.
“I could make you come in three minutes,” he murmurs, pulsing against me in tiny, unbearable waves. He’s so hard it’s close to pain, but I like it.
“One,” I gasp out.
His smile curls against my mouth, because he could do that, too, and I lick at his bottom lip, take it between my teeth. It snaps him out of his amusement—or maybe it’s the reminder that we’re running out of time. He tangles a hand in my hair, grips it while he kisses me, holding me right there for him, for his warm, pleading mouth and his soft, wild sounds.
I could make any sound in return, say anything, beg him and be good for him and he’d take it all. He’d ask for more. It’d break him open, and god, I want it. Eli is so contained, can’t bear to relinquish that tight fist of control. He doesn’t know how beautiful he is when he falls apart, when his hair is wild and his neck is flushed, when there are bite marks on his chest and he’s telling me everything he wants, how much he needs me.
I know we’re out of time, but he’s moving against me like it’s fucking, even though it can’t be. He’s brushing his thumb over the high plane of my cheek like it’s tender and timeless, even though it can’t be that either.
“I dreamed about this,” he whispers as he starts kissing down my neck. “Touching you like this. Tasting you.”
I lace my fingers through his hair, staring up at the ever-lightening ceiling before I close my eyes to shut it out. “Last night?”
He only hums into my skin, sucking at my throat. He pulls back to appraise the mark he leaves, then looks at me with possessive, hungry eyes.
“Georgia,” he breathes. “I—”
A burst of laughter echoes outside. Cole and someone else. A few other someones, maybe. They’re not close enough to know what Eli and I are doing, but close enough to burst through that liminal space and let reality slide in.
They’re getting ready for another day of bringing Adam and Grace’s wedding to life. That’s why we’re here, too, not to roll around in bed.
With a frustrated groan, I slither out from underneath the beautiful weight of Eli’s body. My heart is pushing at my ribs, desperate to get back to him, but logic is finally kicking in.
“Time’s up,” I croak out.
Eli’s sprawled out on the bed, hard and flushed, his gaze raking over me from head to toe. I can’t imagine what I look like right now—a total mess. He’s looking at me as if he likes me messy. As if he wants it.
No. I don’t have to say it out loud to make that clear for both of us.
He levers into a seated position and wipes a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, I know.”
Panic rushes through me, wondering if we’ve ruined our tenuous truce, if slipping back into the past for even three minutes is going to send us back to the way we were days ago. Bizarrely, that option is now the worst-case scenario.
God, we shouldn’t have done this.
Eli opens his mouth, and my heart drops to my feet. “What the hell happened to the cottage?” I hear.
He closes his eyes. “I’m…going to go take care of that.” “Okay.”
“Okay.” He stands up and I look away as he adjusts himself, my entire body flushing. “I’ll see you for the bakery appointment, yeah?”
“Yeah. Of course,” I say, but he’s already halfway out the door.
