I try not to smile. “Wrangling not wrestling. And thanks for giving me an out, but I’d like it even if it wasn’t a crowd pleaser. That song single-handedly inspired me to work on my pecs. For solo shower reenactments only.”
“Well sure.” Elliot drawls, his attention dropping to my chest. I have to stop myself from flexing. Why did I say that? “What other reason is there?”
He’s teasing me and I like it.
I bend one knee casually in an attempt to ease the ache of my unrelenting hard-on. “There was always music in my house growing up, so I have a lot of favorites. Right now, I’m going through a Lizzo phase.”
He rubs the back of his neck and frowns apologetically. “Yeah… I don’t know who that is. I’m not all that into the newer stuff. Is he any good?”
“She and yes.” I gesture toward his balcony. “You have a guitar and a decent voice. That’s a third of a garage band in the making. How can you not be into music?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t into it. I prefer the classics, that’s all. And I only started playing guitar in middle school to work on my finger dexterity. I never wanted to be in a band or anything.”
My mind passes the gutter and goes straight to hell with all the filthy images those words are conjuring. Finger dexterity.
Ungh. Gah. Mmmm.
“Everybody wants to be in a band in middle school,” I rasp, my own fingers twitching without something to juggle. “Classics? How old are we talking?”
“Mostly blues. Muddy Waters. Robert Johnson. A few songs by the Bee Gees.” He says that last bit under his breath and I grin at his discomfort.
“You have now openly admitted to liking the infamous balladeers of disco. Out loud. In front of witnesses.”
“One witness,” he grumbles. “No one else needs to know about it.”
“You’re secret’s safe with me, Disco Duck.”
“I had a coach who was a fan, that’s all.” His licks his lips and my attention is immediately drawn to his mouth again. “It sounds like I might need to bite the bullet and catch up to this decade if I want to keep impressing my daughter. She’s always listening to music. Always humming something.”
“You said she’s five?”
The crease between his eyebrows reappears. “She had a birthday this summer. About two weeks after I met her.”
He’s gauging my reaction again so I try not to give away too much. I’m not as surprised as he expects me to be. Like I said, I spend a lot of time around parents, and Elliot’s been acting more like a new father than an old hand.
“You didn’t know about her?”
His expression hardens and I curse myself for prying. “Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”
“You’re the first one who has asked. The question I usually get is whether or not I’m sure she’s mine.” He sets the bottle down and leans his head back. “George is going to kick my ass for dropping all my bullshit on your doorstep. He’s been looking forward to having a neighbor. Preferably a woman who could cook. His words, not mine.”
Apparently, I was right to judge my real neighbor. “He’s shit out of luck on both counts then. And not to insult your friend, but he sounds moderately sexist.” I shrug. “Unfortunate, since that means I’ll have to keep him away from my best friend, who is drop-dead gorgeous and cooks like a dream.”
He laughs and nudges my leg with his foot, inviting me to join in. “You’re a funny guy.”
“I’m a good listener, too, if you need to talk.”
“Joe.”
“Joey is the only name I came with.” True story. Redmond was the town I was left in and people referred to me as the Redmond Rescue for months. It seemed fitting to keep it.
“Joey,” he echoes dutifully. “I’m still raw about not knowing she was out there, sure. But in my head, I know I have no right to be angry. Rue is healthy and happy, and her mother made sure I was in her will, so I’d be able to look after our child in case the worst happened.”
Maybe it’s the darkness around us, or the fact that he doesn’t know me. Maybe I have a trustworthy face or balconies at night almost feel like confessionals. Whatever the reason, it’s clear he needs to get this off his chest.
Even clearer is that the worst happened. Elliot only discovered he had a child because the mother died and left him their daughter in her will. And he took her home with him instead of letting her get lost in the system.
I’m back to wondering if he’s real. “It’s normal to be upset about what you missed. About not getting a choice.”
“I don’t have the right,” he says again, as if it’s a mantra he’s been repeating for a while. “It was a one-night thing.”