He gives me a wave with his spatula and asks, “Feel like pancakes, Short Stack?”
“I believe they call that entrapment.”
Turning his attention back to his pan, he shakes his head. “Liam’s the cop. I save lives for a living.”
“And, you’re humble about it, which is the real miracle.”
He wiggles the spatula at me. “Behave. My forty-eight hours aren’t up yet.”
I shrug. He grabs the pan and walks to the edge of the counter. He pops open the trash can with his foot and tilts the pan over it, a blatant threat.
“You want pancakes or not?”
I eye the fluffy syrup sponge. On cue, my stomach grumbles. “I mean, if you’re just gonna throw them out…”
He slips the spatula under the pancake and I bite my lip as it slides precariously close to the edge of the pan. “Wouldn’t want you going out of your way.”
“Yes, fine. I want the damn pancake.”
He chuckles, but doesn’t pull the pancake back from the abyss. “Ask nicely.”
“Pretty pretty please, with a cherry on top.” Snark coats every letter.
He quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take three quick breaths. When I open my eyes, I plaster a sweet smile on my face, drop my chin in my hands, and bat my eyelashes. “Elijah, those pancakes sure do smell divine. Would it be too much to ask to share your delicious breakfast? I would like that ever so much.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
He slips the rescued breakfast morsel onto a plate with the first few pancakes, drops a pad of butter dead center, and pushes it in my direction. It’s a beautiful sight. Straight out of an IHOP commercial.
I lean forward and savor the sweet smell. “Syrup?”
“So demanding,” Elijah quips, handing me the bottle.
I ignore him as I dump half the bottle on my stack, cut off my first bite, and luxuriate in the sugary bliss. I moan, “Is that cinnamon?”
“And a pinch of nutmeg,” he answers with pride.
“Oh my God, this is good. Better than Beverly’s.”
Elijah clutches his heart and gasps. “Blasphemy!”
“You ever tell her I said that and I’ll deny it to my last breath.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.” He grabs a stack of pancakes for himself and joins me at the kitchen counter. “You know what would be really nice?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye as a forkful of pancake disappears into his mouth.
My moan of satisfaction turns to frustration. “I prefer my pancakes without strings attached.”
“Cute.” He continues, undaunted. “Come watch us play ball today. Cheer me on.”
“Us?”
“Me and the guys. Our annual Firefighters vs. Cops charity game.”
I hoover another mouthful of pancakes to stall. I’ve got nothing else going on today. “I guess that’s something I could do.”
He sits up a little straighter and his knee brushes against my thigh under the counter.
“Okay.” He hides a shy, satisfied smile.
“Okay.” And so do I.
Elijah leaves early for the game, giving me time to daydream about him and how amazing last night was. The cuddling. The joking. The hand-holding. I could let myself think it’s possible not to hate him if I tried. He really is wonderful when he’s not being an ass.
The field is only a couple miles away, so I take my time getting ready before making the short drive over. I pull on a pair of cute cut-off jean shorts and a Giants jersey. In the bright summer sun, I can’t help but smile like a lovesick teenager. Elijah asking me to come to his game feels like a date. Or, the closest we’ll ever get to one anyway. He’s in love with someone else, but whoever she is, she’s not around. I’m the one he asked to be his personal cheering section.
I catch a glimpse of Elijah as I crest the small grass hill between the parking lot and the field. I only see his back, but I can spot him a mile away from any angle. He’s huddled up with his horsemen, joking around about something as they all watch the field. I make my way up behind them to wish him luck, but I stop dead in my tracks when I catch their topic of conversation: me.
“How was last night?” Liam teases.
The corner of Elijah’s mouth curls into a half smile. “Nice.”
“Nice?”
“Yep. Nice.”
Liam shakes his head. “Nice isn’t going to get it done for me.”
“You’re the idiot who took the bet.” Elijah shoves Liam’s shoulder.
Bet? What damn bet?
“Excuse me for having confidence in your game. Thought you would’ve closed the deal by now.”
Elijah drags his hands through his hair and pinches the back of his neck. “Believe me, man. I’m trying. Pulling out every trick I can think of.”
Jake chimes in with, “You’re never going to close the deal. She’s too smart for your trap.”
Trap! Oh, hell no.
“Harper is stubborn as hell, but I’m making progress. She’s giving in, little by little.”
“Well, hurry the fuck up. Summer’s already half over. Believe me, if I lose this bet, I’m taking you down with me.” Liam’s words slip the final puzzle piece into place.
The four horsemen have a bet that Elijah can sleep with me by the end of summer.
What. The. Fuck.
That’s the reason for the cuddling last night. The pancakes this morning. The invite to his stupid game. He’s trying to lure me into his bed. Asshole.
I want to choke the life out of Elijah Monroe with my bare hands. Unfortunately, that would make Christmas dinner with his mother a little awkward. Instead, I hatch my own little plan. I’m going to make Elijah’s life as miserable as humanly possible until he cries uncle. He will rue the day he ever bet on me.
“Hey, sweetness,” Marcus greets me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek as I take a seat next to him in the bleachers. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”
“Elijah invited me.”
Marcus’ eyes pinch together in confusion. “And you actually came? Since when do you do anything Elijah asks you to?”
I pull on a ball cap and a devious smile. “Oh, I couldn’t resist.” I rub my palms together, eyeing Elijah as he takes his position at first base. He finds me in the crowd and gives me a wave. I throw him one back with a flirtatious smile. “This is going to be fun.”
I’m a personal cheering section all right. For Liam and his cop buddies. I root against Elijah with every bone in my body. By the end of the first inning, my throat is sore from all the shouting. Every jeer is meant to stab Elijah in the ribs. It’s working. He’s wearing one hell of a sour puss. The sight warms my insides.
Marcus is right there with me—the only one who hasn’t cleared a five-foot radius around the crazy girl in the Giants jersey—cheering on his sweetheart and throwing shade to the best of his ability. By the top of the fourth inning I’ve decided to fight dirty. I’m standing next to first base, watching Elijah. Liam knocks up a pop fly right to him. It’s an easy out, but not if I have anything to say about it.
“Watch out!” I scream at the top of my lungs, panic soaking each word.
Elijah loses his laser concentration on the ball at the last minute. His eyes snap to mine, filled with so much concern I flush with shame. The ball drops to the ground next to him just as Liam rounds first. The flash of jersey rushing by him snaps Elijah back into the game. He spots the ball and whips it to second base a few seconds too late. Liam’s got a stand-up double all thanks to me.
Elijah looks back at me and throws his arms up. “What the hell was that?” he demands.
I imitate the innocent look my first graders use to get away with murder. “I’m so sorry. I would’ve bet anything there was a bee.” I smirk and saunter off in pure satisfaction.
Bottom of the fifth and Elijah’s at bat. I take up residence right behind home plate.
“Bring it in,” I call to the outfield
. “This one’s got no power.” I hear Marcus snicker behind me.
Elijah’s eyes sear into me. I cross my arms and stare right back. He sighs, shakes his head, and steps into the batter’s box.
On the first pitch, right when Elijah starts his swing, I shout, “Whiff!” And he does. His swing stutters just enough to miss the ball. He refuses to look at me. He shakes it off, blows out a deep breath, and keeps his head in the game.
The second pitch, I don’t need to say a word. It’s a ball, low and outside. An unflattering cackle escapes my lips when the umpire calls a strike.
“Oh come on, ump. That was in the dirt!” Elijah exclaims.
“Good eye. Good eye.” I give a few supportive claps, earning me Elijah’s scowl. I feel a tightness in my chest, but ignore it. He brought this on himself. “Let’s go. One more strike. Easy out.” I cheer on Liam and his boys in blue.
“Real nice,” Elijah mutters.
I watch him focusing on the pitcher. I wait for the second his hips twist back, and shout, “Strike out.”
Elijah’s bat slices through the air, whistling with speed. There’s no crack, that telltale sign of a solid hit. He struck out in three pitches without even making contact. He slams his bat down into the dirt. The violence makes me gasp. I’ve seen Elijah unhappy plenty, but I’ve never seen him this furious.
My mission accomplished and convinced the churning in my stomach is ballpark chili dogs and not reluctant guilt, I stroll over to my spot on the bleachers next to Marcus. Before I make it up the first step I feel an arm wrap around my waist, pulling me back.
“Get off,” I squeal, already knowing who the arm belongs to. He sets me down and I spin around, face-to-face with Elijah. His emerald eyes are liquid fire. His nostrils are flaring and his cheeks are flushed. He’s beyond pissed. Worse than the time I ate the last slice of his birthday cake. Worse than the time I washed his baseball pants with my red sweatshirt. Worse than the time I put a Giants sticker on his bumper. This is DEFCON One level pissed. Prepare for the apocalypse.
With zero warning he bends down, picks me up, and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Put me down!” My demands fall on deaf ears. Marcus is no help. He giggles like a schoolgirl and waves as he watches me get fireman carried off the field by my very own fireman.
My pounding on Elijah’s back makes him tighten his grip on my bare thighs. “Stop squirming.”
I stop fighting him only because the blood rushing to my head makes me giddy. It has nothing to do with the sight of Elijah’s cute butt right in front of me or the caveman like display he’s putting on. Nothing whatsoever.
Elijah’s long legs make short work of the field. When we’re secluded behind the groundskeeping shed, he sets me down, leans in, and growls, “What the hell is going on?”
He’s clearly angry, but there’s something else in his eyes too. Hurt. And betrayal. I remember just a few hours ago when I was curled in his arms. My heart pleads with my head to pull him into me. Touch him. Hold him. Claim him.
Never.
I lift my chin and tighten my jaw. “Last I looked at the scoreboard, you’re losing. Badly.”
“That’s not very nice.” His fists clench and unclench at his sides. “What happened between this morning and now?” he barks.
He doesn’t get it. The truce is over. He broke it.
“You’re smart. I bet you can figure it out.”
“Cut the shit. Tell me what the hell it is you think I did this time.”
I cross my arms, pop out a hip, and give him the meanest stare I can manage. “I heard you before the game. You’re disgusting.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he shouts up at the clouds. “That’s what this is about?”
“Do you have to be a horseman to bet on my virtue or can any asshole get in on the action?”
His brow furrows. “It’s not what you think, believe me.”
I charge at him, wagging an accusing finger. “I know what I heard. You bet Liam you could get me into bed before the end of summer.”
He steps into me and my finger presses against his chest. His voice is softer, but his tone is harsh. “And I know what I meant. This has nothing to do with sex. That’s not what’s going on here and deep down you know that. Jesus, why do you have to be so damn difficult?”
In a whisper hiss I scoff, “You know me. Stubborn as hell.”
“Oh I know you, all right. And I know you’re trying to sabotage this.” He wraps an arm around my back and pulls my hips flush with his. My palms fly to his chest to keep what little space I can. I push away from him with everything I have while my heart does somersaults in my chest.
“This? There is not and never will be a this,” I shriek.
The heat of his palm burns through the thin fabric at my back. My body is a live wire.
“Admit it, Short Stack. You’re scared.”
I resist the magnetic pull with every ounce of willpower I can muster.
“I’m pissed.”
“Desperate.”
“Disgust—”
Before I even finish the word his lips claim mine with the hunger of a man who has known true starvation. One hand is on my back, holding us together. With the other he laces his fingers into my hair and caresses my cheek. The duality of the rough tenderness is intoxicating.
My mind goes blank and my heart takes control of my body. My hands slide up his chest and around his neck. I pull him down to me, convinced I will never let go. He feels me relent and the roughness takes over. We stumble back into the side of the shed, my body pinned by his. I wrap my legs around him and draw him into me, moaning his name.
I’m gasping for breath as his lips find my neck. He whispers my name in my ear with a reverence I’ve never experienced. The sensation of his mouth on my skin, his hands claiming me, is better than any fantasy. My body is electrified. The world fades away. There’s only Elijah.
“Ms. Delaney? Fireman Eli?” A small voice rings through my ears.
Nope. There’s a world out there all right and it’s about to come crashing down on top of me like a ton of bad-decision-shaped bricks.
I pull myself away from Elijah to see a curious six-year-old Dylan staring up at us. My mind regaining control, I drop my feet back to the ground and shove Elijah off of me. “Hi, Dylan,” I croak.
“What’re ya doin’?” the innocent little guy asks.
I have no idea, kid. No idea.
Luckily, Elijah decides to answer on my behalf, “Just practicing a little CPR, buddy.”
Lying to a child about lifesaving techniques. We’re such good role models. Elijah Monroe may be the devil, but I’m definitely going to hell.
While Elijah has Dylan distracted, I step behind his large frame and straighten up my crooked shirt and sexified hair. I put myself together just in time for Jake to come darting around the corner.
Great. It’s a party now.
“Famine, they need you on the field, man.” He looks between us. I swear I see the hint of a knowing smirk. Must not be as put together as I thought. I take a few unsteady backward steps up the hill, away from the field. Away from Elijah.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” Elijah looks back at me, catching me mid-escape. Jake doesn’t take the hint as he just watches Elijah watching me. “Fuck off, Jake. I’ll be right there.”
Jake chuckles and walks off. Dylan bounds after him. Now it’s just Elijah and me again. Only this time I’m not going to let him get close. Every step he takes toward me I step away.
“Would you quit running away?” he snaps.
“Would you quit chasing me?” I snap right back.
He hesitates for a minute before laughing. “Not likely. Are you going to let me explain?”
Happy I’ve made it to the top of the little grassy hill and tower over Elijah like a queen ruling over her subjects, I cross my arms and answer, “Fine.”
Elijah sighs with relief. He looks back toward the field. Everyone
is waiting on him. “Tonight?” he pleads.
I roll my eyes and give a small nod. “Tonight.”
He smiles wide and walks backward toward the field. He really is adorable. “Tonight,” he confirms one more time before turning around and jogging back to his teammates.
Until tonight then, Mr. Monroe.
Now…
I’m wearing a hole in the living room carpet from all my pacing. I got home three hours ago. Three hours with nothing but the torturing, vivid memory of Elijah’s lips claiming mine. I left the baseball game after...the kiss. How the hell could I go back to the bleachers and watch a game after being ravaged by Elijah Monroe?
Nope.
I needed to get home, have a glass of whiskey, and try to calm down. Only, I haven’t calmed down. It’s been three hours and I can still taste him on my lips. I close my eyes and see him standing at the bottom of that hill with a sexy smile. Not even cake has been able to calm me down. I ate three slices, just to be sure.
I keep turning it over and over in my head, trying to figure it out. Elijah is in love with someone else. Has been for a while. But he kissed me. Like, really kissed me. Like I was the last woman on earth and he wanted to single-handedly repopulate the place. My heart rate spikes just thinking of his fingers curled in my hair, his hips grinding against mine.
Damn it, Harper Delaney! Focus.
Like I was saying, he loves someone else, but he kissed me. I overheard him betting on getting me into bed, but he swears he’s not. I’ve hated him my entire life, but when there’s a truce he makes me the happiest I’ve ever been. In a nutshell, folks, I’m totally and completely lost. Confused doesn’t even begin to describe it.
I’ve tried calling Alisha about a dozen times, but it keeps going to voicemail. She must’ve let her battery die again. What’s the use of having a best friend if they can’t even be bothered to answer the phone when your entire existence is called into question?
I’m trying to stay mad at him. Hold a grudge and demand an explanation. But, the temptation to give into him is strong. What if we could keep the truce? What if he could really be mine?
Truce?: Hating Elijah Monroe Page 11