Page 65 of Devilry

Nodding, he begins to clear the table of our plates. “I’ll be right back.”

Elijah removes his hands from mine and reaches for his back pocket. I reach my hand out to stop him. “Please, let me.”

He shakes his head. “Not going to happen.”

“I thought you said it was a date,” I argue.

“You know very well me calling it that was an embarrassing fuck up, and you and I can’t date.”

“Humor me,” I deadpan.

Just as the waiter returns and hands me the leather check holder, Elijah shifts back in his seat relenting.

Throwing down a few bills, I close the check holder and hand it back. “Thank you.”

I stand up and Elijah follows. Together, we head out of the restaurant, my body close behind his, my hand comfortable on the small of his back.

Outside is a lot busier than when we arrived, the street lights shining on all the couples and families who are now enjoying the bustling streets. Filled with well-lit restaurants, cozy cafés, and an array of specialty stores; it’s the perfect invitation for a quaint night out.

“Can we go back to your place?” he asks, turning around and stopping me in my tracks.

“You don’t want to walk around, find something for dessert?”

He nervously shakes his head, and selfishly I bask in the fact that he too wants to be alone. His hands land on my biceps. “I think we could use some alone time.”

Gripping his hips, I pull him a little closer to me. “You know there’s no bed there.”

He rolls his eyes at me, but the salacious smirk on his face says otherwise. “We don’t need a bed to talk.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You only want to talk?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m kind of impressed that you can resist all this,” I joke, my hand gesturing up and down my body.

He moves his mouth to my ear and whispers. “It’s hard. Always hard.”

I squeeze his waist tighter, and a light chuckle leaves his mouth. “Don’t doubt that I want you, but I need to apologize for earlier first.”

“What?” I rear my head back to get a better look at him. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I already did that; I was the one out of line.”

“Maybe, but I gave you reason to be.”

“I don’t—”

“I just want the chance to explain myself.”

Acknowledging that this is something he feels compelled to do, I don’t argue with his request. “Can we at least stop at the liquor store to get some drinks? The fridge is empty and it sounds like we might need them.”

“You mean you might need it,” he quips. “I think you’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just talking.”

“I’ll have you know,” my voice turns low and husky, “there’s no such thing as ‘just talking.’” I sweep his hair back off his face. “Talking is the most underrated form of foreplay.”

“Is that so?” His eyes darken with the question. “I think you’re going to have to prove it to me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I’m just saying,” he teases. “I’m not going to believe anything until you prove it.”

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