Page 19 of Roleplay at Randy's
“I don’t mind letting you cry on me.” His face darkens a shade, but his eyes are still patient and kind. “Cal didn’t mean to hurt you. Not for the purpose of hurting you, anyway. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.”
“I’m sorry I handled it so poorly.”
This time he does reach for me, grabs both of my hands in his and stares earnestly into my eyes.
“You did nothing wrong.”
Why does he have to look at me like that? Talk to me like that?I want to kiss his stinking face for making my heart pitter patter like a kid in the schoolyard.
I’m going to do something very wrong if he keeps touching me like this.
Just when I think I can’t take his soul searching stare anymore, he breaks away. His hands go back to his sides, and his head tips toward the ceiling.
“Cal has therapy at noon for a couple of hours. Why don’t we patch you up until then, and I’ll take you home?”
That … sounds like a good idea. In all honesty, I should grab my stuff and walk back now, give this attraction a chance to simmer down, but I don’twantto give it up just yet.
Things will cool off once I’m alone in my apartment and my usual routine falls back into place. I want just a little bit more time to bask in the glow of this flirting/not quite precipice.
My tongue feels numb as I nod, and the rest of my body turns to pins and needles wherever Elias’ touch lands. His hand pulls mine. Pressing on my shoulders until I sit on the lidded toilet. Fingers on my knees, trailing down my calf and swiping with alcohol swabs, covering scrapes with band-aids.
Who gave this man the right to so effortlessly chip away at the walls I built to protect myself?
Because with every brush of his skin on mine, another brick falls out of place.
We takea ride share over to my apartment after dropping Calum off, and it becomes glaringly obvious that Elias’ love language is physical touch. It’s his default form of communication.
A hand on my knee when it starts to bounce. Fingers trailing my neck and back as if they have a mind of their own while he talks about something completely unrelated. An arm around my shoulder when he laughs, rubbing his nose into my hair.
I’ve never met another human this casually affectionate, and it sends my body and heart all kinds of mixed signals.
When was the last time someone held me for the hell of it?
If this were a romcom, we’d get to my door, fumble through a goodbye, he’d turn to leave, and then one of us would reach for the other, and we’d kiss right there in the hall.
We don’t. I put my key in the lock, turn to thank him for coming along with me, and I have to stop my heart from trying to pound out of my chest, because the way he’s watching me is complete unconcealed adoration.
“What?” I ask, more of a nervous breath instead of an honest question.
For the first time all day, I hope he doesn’t touch me. Not because I don’t want him to—I’m too touch-starved for that—but because if he does I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll drag him into my apartment and beg him to take me to bed.
If the casual touches feel this good, letting him inside my body would be world shattering.
“Can I ask you something?” He drops his eyes to the dingy hall carpet, the barest of smiles on his face.
“Yeah. Shoot.”
“Who’s Riley?”
My breath catches in my throat. “Why do you ask?”
I know I’ve never brought him up in conversation before, and hearing someone else say his name awakens a fresh stab of heartache.
“It’s nothing. You were asleep, and you sort of … called out for them.”
“Oh.” I turn so my back is to the door, and I’m facing Elias properly. He’s got his fingers twisted in front of him, shouldersslightly hunched, and if I didn’t have better control of myself, I’d wrap him up in a hug.
“He’s my ex,” I say, and watch as he processes: tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and nods his head in a slow acknowledgement.
