Page 24 of Until Tomorrow
“They should. You’re fucking gorgeous. They’d be stupid to think otherwise,” he replied. “They just can’t look at you.”
“Oh?” I cocked a brow as I followed him into his office. “And why’s that, Captain?”
“Because at this point, you’re my little sister.”
“I’m older than you!”
“Mmm, I meant your height, short stuff.” He patted me on the head. “So compact. Any smaller and I’d put you in my pocket.”
“There’s no room in your pockets with that ego of yours,” I retorted.
“Touché, but accurate as hell.” Elliot pulled out a chair for me before rounding the desk and dropping into his. “So, what’s all this about your needs?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” I began, getting comfortable, “among other things. But you’re right. Maybe this is a good time to figure out who I am.”
“Good for you. How did coffee go?”
“It was good—well, the coffee was terrible, but the trip was good. I met someone,” I said. His brows pinched together in confusion, and I realized he thought I meant it in a dating capacity. “Not like that! I met a woman.”
“She said to the gay man, as if meeting a woman couldn’t be romantic,” he retorted with a smirk, and I glared at him. “Hey, until you’ve tried it and with absolute certainty can say you don’t like it, you never know.”
“She does nothing for my lady parts. Better?”
“Immensely. Continue.”
“Anyway, all of it made me realize that… I don’t know what I need or want out of my life anymore,” I told him. “And you know me better than almost anyone. So, what do I need? What do I need from life? I don’t know what I want. Help me, Elliot Remington, you’re my only hope.”
“Ah, she comes in with the big guns,” he replied with a chuckle. “Star Wars quotes will only get you so far.”
“Sad facts.”
“So true. Okay. Well, let’s workshop this.” Clicking his tongue, he searched his desk for a pen and a pad of paper. The man was so unorganized. I watched as he wrote something at the top of the yellow pad. “Stop staring. It’s weird.”
“I’m not staring.” I laughed because I absolutely was. Elliot was left-handed, and it fascinated me to no end. I couldn’t explain why, but it did.
“Number one,” he exclaimed, “get therapy for creepy obsession with Elliot’s left hand.”
“Don’t you dare put that on there!” I went to grab the notepad, but he pulled it away. “I’m not obsessed with your left hand.”
“You don’t want to know what I do with this hand, Evangeline Marie Cartwright-Ashwood.”
“Oh, my God, no!”
“It’s dirty and not at all appropriate for your pretty little ears.”
“I hate you.” I didn’t, and he knew that. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
“Continuing onward with this wild adventure.” He went to work scribbling notes down on the paper, and I leaned forward to watch. “I’m assuming you don’t have a starting point, do you?”
“Not a clue.”
“Making this easy on me, I see. Let’s break this down into categories… basic needs, social needs, personal needs, and sexual needs.”
“Only those?” I let out a nervous laugh. That seemed like so much. I was struggling to come up with one thing.
“We’re calling thisEva Needs A Life,” he told me. “Now, basic needs… you’re kind of set in the general concept. You have a house, clothes, a job—”
“I got fired,” I interjected. He paused to stare at me, and I offered a sheepish smile. “I may have spent too much time moping and eating cereal.”
