Page 25 of Terror Tuesday
Leaning in, Elliot’s eyes catch mine with playfulness. “Lucky for me, I major in being both.”
My heart skips. I quickly return to the screen in front of me and pretend I didn’t hear the smile in his voice—or feel the pulse between my legs throb at the sound of it.
Nick stretches dramatically, like this is a beach hangout instead of a group session. “I’ve got a call in ten. Probably shouldn’t keep Levi Joseph from Joseph-Townsend Financials waiting. Dude’s got all the connections.”
Elliot nods, totally deadpan. “Connections to places far, far away from here? We could only be so fortunate.”
“Ha. Real funny.” Nick stands, glancing down at me. “You want anything? Coffee? Protein drink?” His eyebrows raise suggestively at the wordprotein.
“I’m good, thanks.” I smile with polite finality.
Nick shoots Elliot a narrow-eyed look before heading out, as if he’s wondering if he can leave us alone together.
As soon as the door clicks shut, silence blooms in the room like fresh ink across a confession. I would relax, but the figure next to me has me on edge in an entirely different way than Nick.
Elliot taps his pen once. Twice. Then tilts his head toward me. “So…should I get your number now, or wait until we’ve fake-bonded over a whiteboard first?”
I blink. It’s been so long since someoneaskedme for my number. And I just watched Hunter get his throat slit. But something within me is desperate to give it to thisscholarshipstudent and escape from the forest into the sunlight with him.
“For the project,” he adds, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Obviously,” I say, but my voice is a little breathier than intended. I recite the digits, too aware of how close his shoulder is to mine as he types it in. My phone buzzes a second later with a text.
Elliot
Group text starter. Very professional. Totally serious.
I bite my lip to hold back a laugh.
“You always flirt this hard with your project partners?” I ask.
His gaze lingers on mine for a second too long. “Only when I suspect they could ruin me.”
My chest tightens, and the smile falters from my lips. He means it as a joke. But there’s a flicker in his eyes that suggests otherwise.
And for some reason, I like it.
Elliot doesn’t look away.
His fingers drum once more against the table before reaching over—casual, so casual—and plucking a stray eyelash from my cheek.
“You get one wish,” he murmurs, voice low and unhurried. “Careful what you spend it on.”
The pad of his thumb brushes the curve of my cheekbone. I forget how to breathe.
He doesn’t wait for my answer.
Then, softly—without breaking eye contact—he blows the lash from his fingertip.
“I made one for you.”
My heart stutters, then promptly speeds up. “Wha-what was it?” I ask, already regretting how breathless I sound.
A glint sparks in his eyes. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you.” One beat passes, and he holds my gaze. Another. Then, he tilts his head. “Or, you know… world peace. For Navarro.”
He leans back, stealing my air, and glances at the whiteboard, and says, “Now, should we start with global collapse, or save that for after coffee?”
My heart is still racing when I open my mouth.
