Page 49 of Cold Front
Like how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. How he talked with his hands, always moving, like he had too much energy to keep contained. How he took tiny bites but still managed to eat like he was starving.
I’d been so focused on keeping my distance before. Now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Eli caught me looking. His gaze held mine, and something passed between us, something I couldn’t name but could feel. A charge in the air, a hum beneath my skin. His lips parted slightly like he was about to say something, but then he just smiled and shook his head a little before he reached for his coffee.
I took a sip of mine, ignoring the way my chest tightened. Whatever that moment had been, I wasn’t ready to think about it.
Instead, I cleared my throat and set my mug down. “I, uh… I gotta admit. You had a lot of patience teaching me how to do all this.”
Eli smirked. “That’s your way of saying I’m a great teacher, huh?”
“Don’t push it.”
He laughed, nudging my foot under the table. And just like that, the tension eased.
But something stuck with me. Something I wanted to do.
It would take a couple of days to set up, and maybe it was stupid, but the idea lodged itself in my brain before I could shake it loose. The thought of showing Eli—of seeing his reaction—made something leap in my chest, sharp and fast.
I froze, gripping my fork.
What the hell was that?
I barely recognized myself lately.
Before I could spiral, Eli checked his phone and groaned. “Shit. We’re running late.”
The easy, lingering pace of breakfast shattered. Chairs scraped, dishes clattered. We moved in sync, grabbing plates, stacking them in the sink.
“Damn,” Eli muttered, glancing down at himself. “I’m a mess.”
He wasn’t wrong. Flour streaked his arms, and the batter had somehow made its way onto his collarbone. I wasn’t in much better shape.
Without hesitation, Eli reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head.
My brain short-circuited… even while he casually draped his shirt over the back of a chair. Like it was nothing. Like it was just another part of cleaning up.
Then he turned toward me.
And the view…
His chest—lean but defined—held my attention for all of two seconds before my gaze caught on something else.
His nipples.
Pierced.
Two small silver barbells caught the light, mocking me.
I swallowed hard.
I was staring.
Shit.
Eli, completely unaware, turned back to the sink, rinsing dishes like he hadn’t just turned my brain inside out.
I yanked off my own shirt before I could think twice, as if that would help, as if being equally shirtless would even the playing field. It didn’t.
