Elliot’s mother doesn’t approve of him picking his child over a baseball season.
That’s a button no one should push around me.
I fiddle with my keys, listening to the sound of the elevator doors closing behind me. I should go inside. After his silence last night and the fact that I once again listened in on a negative conversation with his mother, I’m positive he’s not in the mood for my company.
“You can turn around now. She’s gone.”
Too late.
I drop my leather bag with a sigh, turning to face him. He leans against his doorframe, green eyes bright with suppressed emotion.
“So,” he starts, and I hold my breath, waiting for the lecture on good neighboring I deserve. “What’s your mom like?”
That’s not what I was expecting.
“Matilda? Picture the feminist movement of the sixties wrapped in a smart suit and dripping with comedic timing.” When his lips twitch, my shoulders droop in stunned relief. He’s not pissed? Why isn’t he pissed? “Speaking of timing, I’m sorry mine is so shitty. Are you okay?”
His smile is tinged with regret. Even the dimple in his chin looks sad. “It’s hard for her to handle change. I’m usually predictable, so she’s not sure what to do with me now.”
There it is again. That tug and twist in my gut. The awareness. But overriding all of it is the need to get that look off his face.
“Come on.” I toss my bag inside my foyer and relock my door, sending out a quick text. Derek should be right around the corner.
“What? Where?”
“Finn’s. We’re going now.”
“We haven’t eaten. The sun is still out,” he argues, straightening his shirt self-consciously and making me smirk.
“You look fine and they must have food at the bar. Tell them you’re going and then meet me downstairs. Buckle up, Flash. This is not a one-drink kind of night. We’re taking my car and getting shit-faced.”
I ride the elevator down, all my nervous energy about this evening gone. After a standoff like that, what Elliot needs is a friend. Since George isn’t here, that’s my job. We’ll commiserate over beers and talk things out. I accepted last night that I won’t be going on any more dates as long as he’s around. Not because I expect anything to happen between us, but because my feelings for him make it a pointless endeavor. I’m hoping those will pass when he’s no longer there every time I turn around.
His life is in flux right now. So is mine. Neither one of us should be making life-altering decisions with our smaller brains. But I can do this for him. I can take him to this great pub I know and let him unwind for a few hours.
Maybe there’ll be a band.
Mr. Gordon opens the door without a word, God love him, and Derek is waiting to drive us away, immediately engaging Elliot in a conversation about their favorite subject. Some final game, I think. It sounds exciting.
I really should get my brother Craig to give me a crash course in all things baseball. If only to see the look on his face.
If sitting this close to Elliot in the confines of the new SUV Derek picked out—it looks exactly like his old one, and he rejected my station wagon idea out of hand—is the first test of this beer-buddy friendship, it’s not going well.
My physical reaction to him has gotten worse the longer I’ve known him. I know it’s because my emotions are involved now. I like and I lust, but the lust is still not something I’m used to. I’m not just talking about the inappropriate erections. What I feel for him is visceral and irrational and…like mushrooms.
Yes, I said like mushrooms. Let me explain.
Once in college, I agreed to be the sober buddy for a friend who wanted to try mushrooms. I only let him in my apartment because it wasn’t meth and he was doing a paper on the spiritual rituals of shamans or something.
His long hair and Cross Fit body might have been a factor. He was also attached and unattainable. So, you could say I’ve always been on brand.
Anyway, I was there to keep him grounded, get him water and record his observations for posterity. I can still remember the way he described his skin. His awareness of it as almost a conscious part of him. Every pore, every hair, the way it breathed. He could feel it all.
And then he stripped and wandered bare-assed through my apartment, touching all my things. By the time his “trip” was over, I really felt like I got way more out of it than he did.
My attraction to Elliot is a little like that. Like taking hallucinogenic drugs that make you want to get naked and rub your body on things that don’t belong to you.