Truce?: Hating Elijah Monroe

by Amelia Kingston

  Liam stretches and yawns. “Well, I should go help Elijah clean up.”

  I see my opening and take it. “Oh, please. Let me. You cooked dinner. You shouldn’t have to clean.” I saunter into the kitchen, giddy and nervous.

  “You wash, I’ll dry,” I call out to Elijah’s back as he stands at the sink.

  “Sure.” Elijah’s response is short, but sweet.

  I saddle up next to him, letting my shoulder brush his. He bumps me with his hip playfully. I bump back with a, “You started it.”

  He chuckles and pushes back gently. Our hips sway in unison, a weird sort of line dance. We move together, him washing, me drying, in silent serenity. I take my time with the last dish, wiping it over and over again, not ready for our truce to end. I spin around and lean against the counter, trying to be casual.

  “Did you know?”

  “You mean about Liam?”

  “Yeah. Back in high school. Did you know?”

  Elijah shakes his head. “I had no idea.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Why?”

  “You guys just always seemed to be…” I can’t think of the right word. Not quite hostile. “I thought maybe...”

  “You thought I was mad at him for being gay?” Elijah’s voice is sharp. “I’m not a homophobe.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “What did you mean, Harper?”

  “Just that you guys always seemed to be fighting.”

  “We were. And why do you think that was, Short Stack?”

  Using my nickname is breaking the truce and he knows it. He’s trying to pick a fight now.

  “How the hell should I know?” I oblige, pushing off the sink and squaring my shoulders to face him. He turns to meet my challenge, leaning down into me.

  “It was you, Harper,” he whispers. “We were fighting over you.”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny.” I try to brush aside his taunt, but my voice is weak and breathy.

  Elijah’s eyes drop to my lips as he inches closer to me. I can feel him luring me into his trap. I can’t resist. For the second time tonight I’m under Elijah’s spell.

  “Aren’t you two cozy,” Marcus calls out from the entryway. “Looks like I’m interrupting something. Again.”

  I step back, tossing the dish rag on the counter.

  “Nothing to interrupt,” I quip. “Just doing my part with the dishes. And, now that they’re done, I should be getting home.” I slide over to Marcus, giving him a hug and a kiss on the check. “Thanks for the invite. It was fun pretending to be an adult.”

  “Anytime, precious. Our door is always open, right, Eli?” Marcus teases.

  “Any friend of yours…” Elijah mumbles without looking at me.

  Marcus follows me to the door and bides me good night. My eyes wander back toward the kitchen. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “Hoping for a good night kiss?” he teases.

  “Not you too.” I roll my eyes at him and sigh. “There is not, nor will there ever be anything between me and Elijah Monroe except mutual disdain.”

  “Is that what you call the sexual tension in that kitchen just now? I bet if I hadn’t walked in, you’d be bent over that granite countertop by now.”

  “Marcus! Oh my God. You’re ridiculous. I’m leaving.” I yank open the door and let the cold night air soothe my burning cheeks.

  Marcus is right about one thing. Elijah Monroe owes me a good night kiss.

  Now…

  My heart is racing and I’m sweating so bad I can feel drops trailing down my back into the waistband of my pencil skirt. Maybe that eighth cup of coffee was a mistake. I had to wake up at four this morning to make the drive into the city, but an interview with Winsor Academy is worth it. A school as posh as the name suggests, it’s the best elementary school in California, if not the country. They have an art department managed by a Juilliard graduate, a robust STEM program including a full computer lab, and advanced placement courses. Graduates go on to Stanford. These students are the children of the one percent. Mark my words, these eight-year-olds will be running the world one day.

  Small class sizes? Check. Practically limitless resources? Check. Engaged parents? Check. Located in the best city in the world, San Francisco? Check. This is the dream job. Ergo why I’m twitchier than a drug addict on the first day of rehab. I’m a professional, I remind myself. A real educator. But I still feel out of place.

  I swallow down the lump in my throat and hear Alisha’s voice in my head pumping me up. You’ve got this. They’d be stupid not to want you. You’re young, passionate, and capable. I slyly take a deep breath, count to three, and let it out. I uncross and recross my legs, the black leather of the chair ruffling under me.

  The headmaster, Theresa McAvoy, pokes her head out of the office. “Ms. Delaney? Sorry to keep you waiting. Please come back to my office.”

  To the layman we’d look almost identical. She’s wearing a conservative gray blouse that matches my blue one. Her slacks are the same dark shade as my pencil skirt. She’s professionally feminine. The only difference is she makes it look effortless. I spent half the money in my savings account for this outfit and an hour getting ready this morning. I have no doubt Theresa rolled out of bed with every strand of hair just so. I follow her back to her office feeling more like a student about to be suspended than a qualified educator applying for a position.

  “Why don’t we start with you telling me a bit about yourself.” Theresa uncovers her fountain pen and hovers it over stationary with the school’s crest embossed in the corner.

  I slap on my teacher face and start my pitch. “I’d love to. I graduated from Berkeley with a dual major in English and American History. I finished my Master’s in Education at USF last year. I wrote my thesis on innovative techniques for pre-adolescent education.”

  Theresa’s pen doesn’t move. I’m not worth the ink of taking notes.

  I try the local girl angle. “I’m from San Francisco originally and adore this city.”

  “I didn’t think you were a local. My receptionist mentioned you were driving in from—”

  “I’m running a summer school program a few hours north. As a favor for my stepmother,” I add quickly. “I’ll be back to the city in the fall. Who could stay away?”

  Theresa lights up. “I couldn’t agree more. There is a vibrancy and youth here that is unmatched. It’s the perfect environment for those thirsty young minds.”

  Vibrancy and youth are strengths. I can work with that. I do a little dance for the next thirty minutes, talking myself up and agreeing with anything Theresa says. Do I have any idea what the Waldorf method is? No. Do I tell Theresa that? No. Do I intend to Google it the second I get out of here? Hell yes.

  Now…

  The blissful quiet of my bedroom is ruined by an obnoxious buzzing. I set down my book and pick up my phone off the bedside table where it’s charging. The unknown number flashing across my screen annoys me even further.

  “Hello?” I ask the stranger who interrupted my solitude.

  “Hey, Harper. It’s Bethany,” the cheery voice says.

  That’s weird. I don’t remember giving her my number.

  “Uhhh, hi. What’s up?”

  “I hope you don’t mind, I asked Marcus for your number. There aren’t that many cool chicks our age in town, you know?”

  I’m a cool chick? She wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire in high school. Her question was rhetorical, but the line goes quiet. She’s expecting me to respond.

  “Yep. Small town problems.”

  “Anyway, I had so much fun at dinner the other night. But, ugh, those boys, right?”

  Again, the line goes quiet.

  I answer with, “Yep. Boys.” Whatever that means.

  “I thought maybe we could get together for drinks. A girls’ night.” She’s giddy, bubbling across the line. “What do you think?”

  “What, like tonight?”

  “Unless you already have plan
s. I know it’s late notice on a Friday…”

  Yes, as a matter of fact I do have plans. They consist of sitting right here in my favorite pajamas and reading my favorite steamy romance. In college and grad school, Alisha was the outgoing one, dragging us to a new hipster spot every weekend to try single origin coffee, basil and grapefruit infused water, or entire meals served in mason jars. I’m much more of a homebody. Although, if Athena is anything to judge from, Bethany has a point with the lack of girlfriend prospects.

  “Nope. No plans.”

  “Great! How about we meet at The Pool House at eight?”

  “Sounds good. See you then.”

  Bethany hangs up. I stare at my phone, trying to figure out its secrets. How did this little device steal my night away from me?

  “Harper!” Bethany screeches at me from across the room like we’re long lost friends instead of barely friendly former classmates.

  She wraps me in a hug before tugging me over to the two seats she snagged for us at the crowded bar. Weaverton doesn’t have many places to grab a drink, but The Pool House is the trendiest. Half the town is packed in here. Cleverly named for the pool table in the back, it’s the spot to be for single Weavertonians on the prowl. If I looked hard enough, I’m sure I’d find the devil himself lurking in a dark corner.

  The place is authentically shabby chic. It’s refreshing to hang out in a place that isn’t trying just a little too hard. Plus, there’s not a man-bun in sight. Hallelujah.

  “I ordered you a Cosmo. Hope you don’t mind.”

  I’m more of a whiskey neat kind of girl, but when in Weaverton. I take a small sip of the revolting drink and try to smile through my bitter just-sucked-on-a-lemon face.

  “Yummy.”

  She leans in, dropping her voice a few octaves. “You know what is really yummy?”

  “What?” I ask out of sheer politeness.

  “Eli Monroe.”

  Cue choking fit. The Cosmo sears the back of my throat. My nostrils are on fire. My lungs burn like hell. I just waterboarded myself with vodka. Death by frilly drink, what a way to go.

  “Oh my gosh, are you all right?” Bethany’s eyes go wide as she gives me a few hardy slaps on the back.

  “Yeah, sorry. Just went down the wrong pipe.”

  Bethany takes her seat again as I wipe tears from the corners of my eyes.

  “I thought you and Jake—”

  “Oh, we are. I totally love that guy.” Her eyes go soft as her voice goes gooey. She’s smitten. “Still, a girl can admire a work of art when she sees it. How did nothing ever happen between you two?”

  “Easy.” I take a long sip of my Cosmo. It burns slightly less this time. “Superman has Lex Luthor. Sherlock has Professor Moriarty. I have Elijah Monroe.”

  “Wasn’t it torture living with him?”

  “I mean, yeah. But, not like that.”

  “You’re stronger than I am. I don’t think I could resist.”

  “You didn’t.” I chug the rest of the pink travesty as a confused Bethany stares at me. How could she not remember?

  “You know. You guys had a thing.”

  “What?” She cocks an eyebrow and laughs off the idea. “I think I would remember having a thing with Famine Monroe.”

  “At the pool party…”

  Bethany tilts her head and taps her mouth with her finger. Her thinking pose.

  “I remember because it’s when Liam first asked me out.” I lead her down memory lane. “It was your senior year…I’d just moved here…Elijah threw a pool party while my dad was out of town…you and Elijah went to his bedroom. Alone. You were gone for a while.”

  “Oh, that.” She giggles and takes a long sip of her drink. “I was crushing on Jake pretty hard, but back then he wouldn’t give me the time of day. So, I flirted with his best friend. I followed Eli out of the pool, but when we got to his room he wasn’t interested. It was so weird. He asked me about baseball of all things. Pop flies or something. I wasn’t really paying attention. It was fine by me. I just wanted to drive Jake crazy anyway.”

  My heart stops.

  “So, you guys never…?”

  “Not so much as a kiss.”

  How is that possible? The only reason I started dating Liam was to get back at Elijah for being a manwhore.

  “You know, now that I think about it. I’ve never seen him serious about anyone.” Bethany polishes off her drink, glancing at something or someone behind me. With a devilish smile, and adds, “Wonder why that is.”

  “Probably because no one can stand him for longer than five minutes.”

  “I’m sure he’s got better stamina than that.” She snickers.

  She flags down the waiter and orders two more Cosmos before I can object.

  “Seriously, you guys never fooled around?”

  I down the second Cosmo in one long chug before shaking my head.

  “Not even an anger bang?”

  “Anger bang?” I ask, regretting it immediately.

  “Yeah. Hate fucking is the hottest. Rough, hard, and dirty. God, sometimes I pick a fight with Jake just so he punishes me for it in the bedroom.”

  My cheeks catch fire. “Overshare much?”

  “Oh, come on. This is what a girls’ night is for, right?” Bethany shrieks as some sultry pop song blasts through the bar’s speakers. “I love this song! Come dance with me.”

  Accepting no objections, she grabs my wrist and drags me to the dance floor. I’m not much of a dancer, but the vodka is sloshing around in my empty stomach, so I throw my arms up and shake what my momma gave me.

  I feel his eyes on me before I see him. I turn seductively, as I keep dancing. He’s sitting in a corner booth with a handful of other guys. I don’t bother looking to see who. My eyes are locked on him and his on me. The loud music quiets against the rush of blood in my ears. Everything fades but Elijah and his eyes on my body. I’m dancing for him. He looks on, unimpressed and unmoved.

  I turn back to Bethany and pretend to be enjoying myself more than I really am. We’re smiling and laughing as we dance together in the crowd. We catch the eye of a couple guys at the bar, who smile and wave. I see free drinks in my future. Bethany’s eyes dart behind me and go wide, giving me half a second’s warning before I feel Elijah’s arm snake around my waist. He pulls me back against him, but it doesn’t stop the sway of my hips.

  His free hand brushes my hair back off my neck and his warm breath tickles my ear when he murmurs, “You’re playing with fire.”

  “Who’s playing?” He’s not the only one who can use his body as a weapon. Emboldened by the alcohol and the darkness surrounding us on the dance floor, I lace my fingers with his on my stomach, not letting him go. I rock my hips back into him in time with the music. “Worried things will get too hot for you, Famine?”

  His tortured groan is the sweetest sound. I bask in the triumph of having the upper hand for the first time in our war. He pulls his hand out of mine and slides it to my hip. His fingers dig into me possessively.

  “I’m not scared of you, Short Stack.” He spins me to face him, our eyes locking. “But maybe I should be. You’ll set my world ablaze and leave me to sort through the ashes.”

  He holds me close as he leans down into me. My breath catches and my eyes flutter closed, waiting to claim the kiss he owes me. Instead, he releases me and disappears into the crowd.

  The acidic taste of anger trickles up the back of my throat at another rejection. Unbidden, Bethany’s words accompany the familiar burning. Hate fuck. Rough. Hard. Dirty. I escape to the bathroom, splashing water on my face in a futile attempt to cool the passion in my heart. And the heat farther south.

  Now…

  “Ahhhhh!!!” Alisha and I scream in unison, running into each other’s arms. I don’t even let her get in the front door. It took a month of guilt trips, but she’s finally here for a long weekend. I made her share her location and tracked her phone the whole drive. I’d be an epic stalker. I’ve been standing o
n the front porch, pacing, for the past fifteen minutes, waiting for her to pull up. She only makes it two steps out of the car before I practically tackle her to the ground.

  “I missed you so much,” I hum into her ear, squeezing her tight.

  “Missed you too, babe.”

  “Come on. I saved you some cake. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

  I grab her hand and drag her into the house. We pull up a couple bar stools and each chow down on Bev’s epic devil’s food cake. I smirk, knowing it’s Elijah’s favorite and I’m eating the last slice.

  “This place is like a time capsule,” Alisha says through a mouthful of cake.

  “Told you. Weaverton is painfully, boringly, consistent,” I concede.

  “I think it’s cute. Quaint. Besides, there are worse things in the world than being consistent,” she quips. “Speaking of which, how’s it going with the El Diablo?”

  “Ugh. He’s pushing a massive PR campaign. He has the whole damn town convinced he’s perfect. He’s like their patron saint. Only I know he’s truly evil. Speaking of which…” I bat my eyes and give her a sweet smile, my standard begging face. “I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Wow. That was fast. I’ve been here all of five minutes.” She looks down at her empty plate. It’s all but licked clean. “That’s what the cake was for. You were buttering me up.”

  “Guilty.”

  “Elijah isn’t the only evil one...”

  I roll my eyes at her. “Oh, please. You love me.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. What’s this favor?”

  “I need an additional chaperone for a field trip tomorrow.”

  “But I’m on vacation.” Alisha whines worse than my six-year-olds.

  “I know, but I really need your help.”

  “Can’t you get one of the parents to help?”

  “I could…” I trail off, grabbing both our plates and heading to the sink.

  “But…” Alisha stares at me expectantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “But, it’s at Elijah’s fire station and I really need you to run interference.”