Play Fling

by Amber Scott

  He wanted to see her again. He had to be careful not to screw it up. She’d already laid down specific rules for the game. Sex, sex, sex. Some cuddles. No sharing. No leaving his toothbrush behind. No strings. Keep it simple.

  She’d relaxed the no cuddle rule pretty quickly, though.

  Elliott was all for simple. No strings meant no tangles. No more Brooke knots. Simple would be a nice change of pace. In his experience, women were anything but.

  As they say, though, all good things must end. By Wednesday, he couldn’t deny it any longer. He needed to go home. He’d called in sick Tuesday, but he couldn’t do it again today. Shope would go mental. Besides, Brooke was beginning to get fidgety.

  Her eyes fluttered open. She caught him watching her. Elliott bent and kissed her shoulder, not about to feel bad for staring when she was so delectable. With a weak smile, Brooke got up and donned her clothes. She probably had things to do. Overstaying wouldn’t do. He just wished he could shake the feeling she’d say goodbye and mean it.

  Elliott pulled on his jeans, not sure how to ask when he’d see her again. No, that wasn’t true. Asking was easy. Facing the answer, however….

  “What are you up to today?” he asked.

  Brooke sat at her desk and grabbed a highlighter. “Work stuff mostly. You?”

  The highlighter squeaked over the sheet of morning paper. Classifieds.

  “Work stuff. Shope has got a load for me to do. And with finals coming, it’s crunch time.”

  She set down her paper. Her nose wrinkled up. “Finals.”

  He wanted to close the three feet between them and kiss the tip of it. He rubbed his neck instead. “Yeah,” he continued. “Time to shine. Shope’s review could make the difference in the teaching fellowship I applied for.”

  “A teaching fellowship? Impressive.”

  “Hopefully. Once I complete my dissertation, with some experience maybe I can land a professorship, then eventually, tenure.” Her cat, Sampson, hopped into his lap. Elliott scratched the purring feline behind the ears. If he could just find a way to lead into the question. “You know, I don’t really grade Shope’s papers.”

  The highlighter tip thudded. Brooke quickly capped the pen. “You don’t?”

  First, tell her what he did at work, then she could tell him what she did for work. He could steer the conversation into days off and ask, ‘when can I see you again?’ “Well, I do and I don’t.”

  She straightened and crossed her leg. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Shope has me offer a detailed analysis of each paper’s strengths and weaknesses, suggest the grade I would give them if I were the instructor, and justify why.” He pulled his shirt on. “I used to think he went with what I suggested, but nowadays, I kind of think he doesn’t.”

  Brooke looked away. She adjusted the paper. “So, you’re saying Shope gives the final grade. Not you?”

  “Yes.” Where was his brilliant transition to talking about her job again? “I’m a little behind because of yesterday. But, I think I’ll be done by Saturday.”

  She leaned flirtatiously back in her seat. “So, you’re saying I should have spoken to Shope about my grade.”

  No, no, no. Not Shope. Saturday. Get her back on work and the weekend. “Technically, yes.”

  “So much for sleeping my way to the top,” Brooke teased.

  “Do I get any points if I say I’ve put in a good word for you?” He gave her his best James Dean. “More than once?”

  Brooke grinned mischievously, but narrowed her eyes. “A good word, huh? Was that before or after you hit on me?”

  Sampson meowed in protest as Elliott stood up and stretched. “Hmmm. Let me think.” Hair all mussed, make-up gone, he wanted to pick her up and toss her back into the bed. And stay there for another week. He knew he couldn’t. “After. Definitely after.”

  Brooke rose and playfully socked him in the shoulder. He caught her fist and tugged her close.

  “Tell me, really,” Brooke said, pouting prettily. He liked this minx side of her.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. Her freckles brought out her eyes somehow. “Tell you, really?” The kind of truth she wanted about her writing wasn’t going to secure him a solid date to see her again. “Really, really?”

  She nodded but something in her eyes warned him. Don’t go there. Not yet.

  “To be honest, I’d have to go back and check.” He wanted to bury his nose into her hair and memorize the flowery scent. “Keep in mind, I didn’t know your name from Adam two papers ago.”

  She nodded again, but didn’t look the least bit satisfied.

  “I can tell you this,” he said, pleased at the wide-eyed hope his words created. Now to just get that reaction about Saturday. “I know Shope scored you lower than I recommended on the last one.”

  “He did?” Her teasing tone changed to one of curiosity.

  “Yep. And I think I’ll get through this round of papers by Friday.”

  “Uh-oh.” Her breath hissed out. “Do we need to keep this secret from Shope? And, oh my gosh, I never thought about how you would grade me after all this. You’re not going to suddenly give me overly rave reviews, are you?”

  He couldn’t help chuckling. “Whoa. Slow down. Why would I tell Benson Shope about my personal life? And, I’m a professional. I’ll give him the same honest feedback I always do. I have to. He’d see right through it and I need him to respect my work.”

  She bowed up at him and shrugged. “You could give me a little extra. You know, a little thank you present?”

  His chuckle shot to a full on chortle of laughter. He adored it when she flirted. Granted, he’d always known there was more under the surface, but this, this was priceless. How many people got to see this side of her? He played along, feeling his chances for the weekend improving. “A thank you present? For what?”

  The clock ticked, though. A pang stuck in his gut thinking about leaving her.

  “For mind blowing sex, of course,” she said.

  “Oh, that. Speaking of that, when do I get to have my mind blown again?” Nice, Elliott. Very nice, if he did say so himself. Smoothness itself.

  Brooke kissed his chin and pulled away. The air rapidly chilled to all business and no pleasure. Damn it.

  “I can’t see you this weekend.” Least she had the grace to act disappointed.

  He understood. Or, he’d have to. He wouldn’t push her. She’d already reared her skittish side enough; he knew better than to push. “Alright.” His voice cracked.

  Brooke hugged one arm to herself. “I should have gotten a lot more done this weekend. I got nothing done. If I don’t get some merchandise, I won’t have a business and business has really been picking up. Christmas is just around the corner.”

  She spoke earnestly even if she looked hesitant. He believed her.

  He cleared his throat. “I understand. I kept you in bed, you need to buy stuff. I get it. It’s cool.”

  “I’m not saying I regret playing hooky.” She stepped closer. “There weren’t any worthwhile sales all weekend, anyway.”

  Thank God. Minxy might be back.

  “But, there are five sales this weekend including an estate auction which is a total rarity in Reno, so I have to go and pray I find something.”

  Elliott’s pulse picked up. This was the first time she’d spoken of her business. “Yard sales? Isn’t it a little cold for yard sales?”

  “Moving sales. You’d think so, but when people need to move or need some cash….” She tossed her hair back and sat back down. She picked up the highlighter and classifieds again.

  “So, not yard sales.”

  She half shrugged. “No. They’re really just yard sales named moving sales to try to sound not so cheap and outdoors in the middle of winter. But, every one I’ve been to is in a yard or a garage. Thankfully, it hasn’t snowed down in the valley for a few weeks.”

  Elliott swallowed. Should he ask? No, she’d laugh. She’d think he was making a
play. To hell with it. “I love yard sales. How about if I tag along?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No. Really. I love a good yard sale.” He did!

  “Are you teasing me?” she asked in a high pitch.

  He put his hands up. He’d be honest even if it killed whatever they had going. “Nope. Swear to God. I’m a yard sale, antique store, swap meet junkie. It’s my Mom’s fault. Well, her and Indiana Jones.”

  Brooke stared at him for a moment then doubled over into laughter. Terrific. Should have kept his trap shut and left when he still had a shot at seeing her again. Now, he might as well leave the toothbrush she told him not to. So, she’d think about him when she scrubbed her toilet with it.

  “Yeah, yeah. Hah hah. Go ahead, laugh it up.” Her laugh was infectious, though, and he had a hard time not chuckling as well. “What can I say, I’m a history nut and my mom dragged me to them from age five on.” Her cheeks looked so pretty when they were pink. “They’re like excavations without the dirt.”

  Her pink cheeked happiness sobered. She lowered her voice. “You’re one of those nuts that shows up too early and knocks on the door while they’re still setting up, trying to get first pick, aren’t you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, that was my mom. She was a sucker for a good buy. I’m more the what’s-this –and-where-did-it-come-from type. The guy with a funky hat chatting up the owner who buys the statue your mother-in-law gave you that you hate, but she finally died and you can sell the thing as long as your husband never knows. That’s me.”

  Brooke smacked her knee. “What her husband doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He has a terrible memory anyways, right?”

  “Yes!” Elliott pointed at her. “Exactly. I love it. You should have seen some of the stuff my mom let me drag home. She let me buy this bronze statue once. I swore it would be worth something. I told her the whole way home. She nodded and smiled and roughed up my hair.”

  “Was it?”

  “Not even close. It was an incense burner. You can find the same statue in any head shop in town. She probably knew the whole time. I paid more for it at the silly yard sale than I would of at Grateful Dreds any day.”

  Brooke’s mouth hung half open, ready for another giggle. He wanted to yank her up, twirl her around and kiss her.

  “What will you be looking for?” Elliott asked. Hint, hint. Nothing like a second pair of eyes, right?

  “Memorabilia. Retro, vintage type stuff. My store is called Memory Lane. It’s an eBay store.”

  “Cool concept.” With his best puppy dog eyes, Elliott nodded, hands in pockets. He knew they would have a blast going together. All she had to do was agree. Come on. Just one little word.

  Brooke eyed him thoughtfully. He waited.

  Was he willing to beg her? “Hey, if you thought about it, I’ll bet Shope’s class could even help your business. You know, get a feel for the times and whatnot.”

  Her eyes popped a little. “Yes. It might.” She angled her head. “Okay. The first one is Saturday morning, 6am. Do you want to meet me there or should I pick you up?”

  Yes! He played it as cool as he could, despite feeling like a seven-year-old at Disneyland. Actually, he probably felt better. He tugged his ear and acted as though he had to think about it a minute. “I can probably swing that. Pick me up?”

  Brooke sent him a sly smile. “One condition.”

  Uh-oh, here it comes. Keep it simple. “Name it.”

  “I get to keep all the booty we plunder.”

  “Absolutely.”

  By the time Elliott left, drove home, and walked through the door, Gordon had called four times. Three messages. Elliott checked them as his laptop booted up. He’d have to hustle if he was going to get the papers graded in time for class. Supposedly sick yesterday or not, Shope would expect them completed. At most, he could sneak a few less paragraphs by in his analysis.

  Gordon sounded panicked from the start. “Elliott, call me when you get this. The shit has hit and I don’t know what to do.”

  What shit? Jason? Something with work? He deleted the message. Moved to the next. “Elliott, please, I need to talk the second you get this. I know it’s your class day, but please. Just call anyways.”

  Elliott hung up on his voicemail and dialed Gordon. A rapid knock on his front door made him hang up before the second ring. He knew it was Gordon and let him in, ignoring the trail of cigar stink and prepared to calm his cousin down in record time. Afterward, he’d enlist his help with these papers.

  “It’s hit the fan, Elliott. Jason is freaking out. Someone knows about him,” Gordon said.

  Elliott closed his front door and put up placating hands. “Alright, settle down. You’re not making sense.”

  Gordon sat on the sofa and started over. “Jason is really upset. I told you how he’s been hesitant to come out to his family with the holidays so near? Plus, there’re some family matters his mother is dealing with and a whole list of very good reasons for us to wait.”

  It was Gordon chasing the star quarterback to somehow earn gay approval all over again. “Jason is still making you wait?” Elliott asked.

  “Not making me. We decided together. In fact, it was my idea.” Gordon stood and crossed his arms. “I’ll get to all that and, I promise, you can berate me all you want when I do. What is important foremost is that we decided.”

  Elliott knew better than to argue when Gordon put on his court face. “Okay. You’re right. I’m listening.”

  “Thank you.” Gordon paced. “As I was saying, we decided to wait until after the holidays. He planned to start with his ex-wife and mother, then move on down the list from there.”

  “His ex-wife?”

  Gordon nodded. “Brooke. You met her. Twice, in fact. You see, he respects her a lot and I think he wants to mend the harm he feels he caused their marriage. She thinks their divorce was all her fault.” He waved his hand. “Enough said. The plan was Thanksgiving and then it became after the holidays. New Years Day-ish. New leaf, resolutions, Mom I’m gay.”

  “Okay. I get it. So, what hit the fan?”

  Gordon stopped. “Somebody knows.”

  “Who?”

  “Jason doesn’t know.” Gordon folded his arms over his chest and pulled at his goatee. He paced some more. “Someone must have seen us out. We’ve been so careful, but so happy, too, that I think we must have gotten sloppy.”

  “If Jason doesn’t know who knows he’s gay, then how can he be sure anyone knows at all?” Elliott didn’t know if he could keep up with all this.

  “The rumor mill. Some Debbie someone. A friend of a friend got wind of seeing something somewhere and if it spreads too far, Jason is terrified his ex or his mom will find out on their own. Well, not so much Nancy because she isn’t in that social circle. But Brooke. She could run into someone. They could drop a bomb on her.”

  “It would definitely be a big bomb.”

  “Gee,” Gordon said. “You think?”

  “Hey, cut the sarcasm. You came busting down my door, remember? Besides, I don’t see how I can do anything to help.” He could be a shoulder to cry on again. “I mean, how bad could it be to fix it? Jason tells Brooke now instead of later.”

  “That’s what I said. But, Jason is almost ready to go on a date with some bimbo just to buy us some time.” Gordon sat down again. “I need your help.”

  “What? Find Jason a date?” Elliott half-laughed. “Or, you want me to pop my head into Shope’s class and tell her?”

  “So, she’s in your class? I knew it!”

  “It’s not my class.”

  “Seriously, Elliott. You can help.”

  Sure. He could help Gordon pick up the pieces when Jason turned out to be a liar, too scared to be honest with his family. “How?”

  “You work on campus, she takes history classes. You two talked at Thanksgiving. Even I could see sparks fly.”

  If Gordon only knew. He wouldn’t tell him, though. Not until Brooke got comfortabl
e with complicated. “So?”

  “So, you don’t have to go to her class. You could bump into her, though.” Gordon steepled his hands. “Make conversation. Feel her out. Find out if she knows already.”

  If she knew? Try, has no clue. Brooke’s wishes to keep it simple aside, telling Gordon about their involvement didn’t sit well. Plus, Brooke had been clear about her rule. She hadn’t spelled out that he was her little secret, but Elliott was no idiot. Until she let him in, mum was the word. Especially when it came to the ex-husband’s new lover, cousin-friend or not. “Oh, sure. I say ‘Hi, how are you? Seen any gay bombs go off around here?’”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “If I find out she doesn’t know anything,” Elliott began. He should just stay out of it. He couldn’t. “Assuming I can bump into her. Assuming I can then figure out a way to bring something like that up.” He could just tell Gordon the truth in a couple days and act like he’d happened to find out. “Not only that, but be able to verify it somehow, too.”

  Gordon’s whole demeanor changed. Relief and hope.

  Elliott saw it as a long way to fall. “Is Jason going to tell Brooke now, rather than later? Is he going to keep postponing? Or will he honor you and tell his family the truth?”

  “I promise you. If you do this for me, he’ll have no excuse left.”

  Jason shouldn’t need excuses, but Elliott wouldn’t say so when Gordon’s heart was so easily broken.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Toying with a young girl’s heart isn’t how the angels intend us to make a match,” AJ insisted. He stood near the door, arms crossed.

  Miserable all week, Millie had filled up on fast food and plotting. She couldn’t keep waiting. Every nail chewed off, she’d obsessed over Brooke’s inevitable fallout long enough. “I won’t be toying with Michelle Shope’s heart. She is already completely crazy about Elliott. I’ll just be helping her.”

  “And what about Brooke? How will her heart withstand losing Elliott to the girl?”