by Noir, Roxie
“Eli got invited to a party?” I ask. “I never got invited to a field party.”
“I went,” a voice says behind me. “I even drank half a beer that Josh Stipe gave me.”
I whirl around and he’s standing right there, one hand in a pocket, hair a little unruly and green eyes blazing, his Big Al’s Western Emporium t-shirt tight across his shoulders and biceps. Suddenly, it’s too hot in here.
“You were supposed to tell me when evil was lurking,” I say to Adeline.
“Sorry,” she says.
“I wasn’t lurking,” Eli says. “I just came over to say hi and see if you needed any help.”
I grab my beer and take a long, suspicious sip. I’m not surprised that he’s at his brother’s brewery on a Saturday, but I don’t like it either.
“Hi, and no, I don’t,” I say. I don’t even know what he’s offering help with.
“Hi, Eli,” Adeline says. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks,” he says. “Yourself?”
“I’m well,” she says. “I’m gonna go grab another drink, you two want anything?”
We both decline, and Adeline walks toward the bar, leaving me alone with him.
“I think you need some help,” Eli tells me the moment she’s out of earshot.
“Did you know she thinks you’re nice?” I ask, ignoring him. “I can’t imagine.”
“I used to help her with her homework,” he says, shrugging. “She was cute. And all the cheerleaders wore those skirts —”
“Okay, okay,” I say. There’s an unpleasant, boiling sensation rising through my stomach. “God, I get it.”
“This one time, she put her hand on my arm —"
“I don’t want to hear your high school Letters to Penthouse,” I snap.
Eli just laughs.
“I won’t even tell you what went on at that field party,” he says. “Did you know that some of our classmates were having sexual relations?”
My face heats up slightly at the phrase, and I cross my arms in front of myself like I can ward it off.
“We graduated ten years ago and you’re still bragging about how you got invited to a single party?” I shoot back.
“It’s one more than you got invited to,” he points out.
I go get my darts out of the dart board. For a moment, I consider throwing one at Eli, but with my luck I’d either murder him by accident or maim someone standing behind him.
I don’t want to murder him, just show him I mean business.
“You don’t know how many parties I got invited to,” I say.
“Zero,” he says, holding out his hand.
“You don’t know that. What do you want?”
“Give me a dart, and yes I do,” he says.
“Why?”
“So I can throw it and show you how it’s done.”
He’s right about the number of parties. I always heard about them Monday morning: who hooked up, who got drunk, who invited their hot twenty-two-year-old cousin, who got into a fight.
I still can’t believe he got to go to one, and I’m way, way more annoyed about it now — over a decade later — than I should be.
“I know how it’s done,” I tell him. “You stick the pointy end in the board. It’s not rocket science.”
“Okay, impress me,” he says, hands on hips.
“No.”
“Because you can’t.”
I’ve got the three darts clenched in my hand, the plastic digging into my palm. He’s standing closer to me than he should be, and it’s setting off proximity alarms in every single part of my body — only instead of sending an alert, every single one is reminding me how long it’s been since an attractive man touched me.
The answer is a while. Like, maybe a year a while. There’s been a dry spell, filled only with dates that go nowhere. Hell, right now might be the closest I’ve gotten to a man in a few months.
“Because I have no interest in whether you think I’m good at darts or not,” I say. “And I don’t want your dart lessons.”
“My dart lessons are only for people who I think can be taught,” Eli says.
Now I’m clenching my other fist, too.
“Then are you just here to tell me I’m shitty at darts?” I ask. “Yes. I know. I’m shitty at darts. Happy?”
He doesn’t answer, just steps around me and grabs Adeline’s darts off the table. I don’t know why he didn’t just borrow those in the first place.
Well, yes, I do. Because Eli delights in being difficult. That’s why.
“Follow through,” he says, standing on the line, dart in hand, making a throwing motion slowly. “Just look where you want the dart to go and don’t forget to follow through.”
He throws the dart. It lands in the ring right outside the bullseye.
“You missed,” I say.
He throws another one, and it lands in nearly the same place. I’m impressed for a moment, and then I remind myself not to be.
“I wouldn’t take lessons from you,” I say.
He releases the third dart. This one hits the bullseye, and Eli looks over at me, grinning.
“Feel free to show me up any time,” he says. “I’ve got all night. I can wait.”
“Congratulations,” I say sarcastically. “You’re good at darts.”
“I know.”
“Do you want a prize?”
“I think I’m getting it right now.”
A pain shoots through my hand, and I look down, unclenching my fist from the darts. Oops.
“You okay?” Eli asks, and takes my hand.
It feels like every cell in my body is a compass, and he’s magnetic north. There’s a pull so strong that I almost step forward to be closer to him.
I jerk my hand away. I swallow hard. I stare at him, wide-eyed, my breath caught somewhere between my mouth and lungs.
For one split second, his green eyes flick to my lips. The compasses jerk, tug, and this time I take half a step forward.
Then I catch myself. I breathe. I clench my fist.
“I’m fine,” I say.
I walk away. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I need to get away from Eli Loveless before I punch him or kiss him or, possibly, do both at the same time which seems like it would be impossible, but I wouldn’t put it past myself right now.
There’s a hallway. I hurry in there, still trying to regulate my breathing, duck around a corner. The women’s room is here, but so is a door with a green glowing EXIT sign over it so I pick that, and suddenly I’m outside and in the near-dark.
I step to one side. The door closes. It’s warmer and stickier out here than it is inside, and I breathe the humid air in deep. I’m standing on grass, facing the forest that’s the constant backdrop of southwestern Virginia. I can barely see the edge of the floodlights over the parking lot, around the side, but they don’t reach back here.
Don’t let him get to you, I tell myself, but it’s a feeble attempt because he’s already gotten to me. Eli’s been getting to me since we were five years old, and platitudes aren’t going to help the situation now.
Just don’t do anything stupid, I tell myself, and that one seems much more reasonable. That one seems like something I can handle.
The door opens. I brace myself. If I had a shield right now I’d put it up.
“Violet?” Eli asks.
Goddamn it.
“Yes.”
“You okay?” he asks, for the second time in two minutes.
“I’m fine,” I say, all the pent-up anger and irritation leaning on that second word.
“I’m just checking,” he says, letting the door shut behind him. “You practically ran out of the brewery like you were going to vomit or have a heart attack or —”
“— or before I finally lose my shit with you in public for acting like I need dart-throwing lessons?”
“Well, you do,” he says.
“I don’t!” I say. “I don’t care about darts! I don’t care tha
t I’m bad at it!”
Eli just laughs. Somehow, we’ve moved closer to each other, close enough that I can feel his laughter rippling through the night air.
“Liar,” he says. “You’re pissed that I’m better than you at something and you’re terrible at hiding it.”
“No,” I say, swallowing hard. “I’m pissed that you followed me out here to keep gloating.”
“I followed you out here to see if I should call an ambulance,” he says.
“Liar,” I say.
I could swear that neither of us is moving, but we keep getting closer by centimeters, degrees. My heart feels like it’s punching my ribcage, my pulse racing. I’m praying that he can’t hear it and that he can’t tell that I feel electrified, like if he touches me I’ll spark.
I’m furious, and I want him, and I’m furious that I want him.
“You think I wasn’t worried when you sprinted out of there?” he says, his low voice getting louder, irritation edging in.
“I didn’t sprint.”
“Do you really think I’m incapable of concern?” Eli asks, his jaw tensing, his eyes glinting, the dark making them gleam gray.
“Not incapable,” I say.
I look him dead in the eye. My heart seizes.
“So I’m not a total monster,” he says, eyes blazing, voice dangerous and low.
His anger’s so real that it’s almost palpable. I feel like I could reach out and grab it, wrestle it with my own.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s what you think.”
His eyes flick to my lips again, like they did inside, only now they stay linger there like he can’t tear his gaze away.
Please, whispers my body.
Hell no, whispers my brain.
“Since when do you care what I think of you?”
“I don’t,” he says, and his mouth finds mine.
It’s hard and fast and above all it’s hungry, his lips bruising and demanding even as I push back against him, feeling my teeth scrape his bottom lip. I want to hurt him and I want to make him regret doing this but above all, dear God I don’t want him to stop.
His arm’s already around my waist. My hands are already in his hair and then his tongue is in my mouth, our bodies a tangle, our skin sticking together in the humidity.
I bite his lip. He grunts, roughly pulls me closer into his warm heat. Our bodies smack together hard enough to force the air from my lungs, but I want more. I want to knock him over and tear his shirt off and leave claw marks, and more than anything I want him to wake up tomorrow and reconsider what I’m capable of.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, his words blurred because his mouth is on mine.
“No,” I whisper.
“Tell me,” he growls, but he’s already kissing me again. He’s already grabbing me, walking me backwards without breaking the kiss and then I’m against the brewery wall, the wood scratchy through my shirt.
Eli keeps pushing me, my hips pinned against the wall. He swipes one thumb along my bare skin, just above the waistband of my jeans, and I gasp into his mouth, every inch of me ablaze.
Suddenly white light slices in. My eyes fly open and I freeze, both hands in Eli’s hair as he’s over me and we both stare toward the open door.
“Sorry,” Daniel’s voice says, trailing off.
Eli steps back, out of my grasp, and all of a sudden, everything is normal again and I wonder what the hell I just did.
You made out with Eli and you liked it.
You made out with Eli and you liked it and he’s absolutely going to use this against you in the future. Every single day he’s going to smirk at you and remind you of the time you kissed with tongue and —
I bolt. Daniel steps out of the way just barely in time as I shove through the door, and flee back down the hallway. I grab my purse from the table where I shouldn’t have left it, pulse racing. I feel like I’m swirling down a drain as I glance around for Adeline.
I find her. She’s talking to a few other people, laughing, having a good time like I didn’t just fuck up so bad they must know about it in China by now.
“Something came up, I gotta go,” I tell her, breathless, without even saying hi to her conversation partners.
She frowns.
“Are you o—”
“Fine! Talk to you later!” I say, and practically run out the door and to my car, where I crank the radio, drive too fast, and try to tell myself that none of that just happened.
Chapter Eleven
Eli
“Question,” Daniel says, finally breaking the silence. We’re in his car, nearly home, and I’m in the passenger seat staring out the window as the trees fly past.
“Yeah?”
“Are we going to pretend I didn’t catch you making out with Violet back there?”
“Yes,” I say.
After he opened the door, Violet ran. She didn’t walk. She didn’t hurry. She straight up ran to get away from me. By the time I’d made it back inside, she was gone and Adeline was giving me weird looks.
And then I had to replay it over and over until Daniel finally decided it was time to leave. The softness of her lips paired with the brutal way she kissed me back. Her hands in my hair, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, the way she grabbed like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to rip me apart or hold me.
I really fucking wish I hadn’t done that, because I don’t think I’ll ever get it out of my head.
“Good,” Daniel says. “I think denial’s really healthy.”
“Could you not right now?”
“I’m just saying that you’re going about this the right way,” he says.
“People drunkenly make out by accident all the time and it’s no big deal,” I say. “You run a bar, how do you not know this?”
“You drunk?”
“Yeah. Blitzed outta my mind.”
“Wow, your tolerance has really gone down,” he says.
“Shut up,” I mutter, and turn back to the window.
* * *
“What are these called again?” the maid of honor asks.
“Arancini,” I tell her. “They’re a Sicilian delicacy.”
She plucks a third from the platter and popped it into her mouth, her eyes rolling slightly as she chewed.
“They’re amazing,” she says, adjusting her huge sunglasses, propped on her head. “Emma. These are amazing,” she says again, holding one out to her sister, the bride.
“I’ve already got one,” the bride says, holding up half a fried ball in her hand. “They’re really good.”
“So good,” gushes the maid of honor, her cheeks flushing slightly pink.
It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m standing behind the bar in the Fox Hunt Lounge. It’s a swanky spot in Bramblebush Lodge filled with overstuffed rich leather armchairs, an antique wooden bar running along one wall, dozens of bottles of expensive whiskey behind it, a humidor full of cigars in one corner.
Violet’s avoided me all week, and I’ve avoided her right back. If she’s got a question for me, she sends Kevin, her intern. If I’ve got a question for her, I send Zane, one of my underlings, and that way the two of us never even need to be in the same room.
And I haven’t thought about the kiss at all. Not once. Certainly not a hundred times a day when I should be doing something else.
Right now, I’m watching the bridal party make arancini disappear. At this rate they won’t last another two minutes, which is fine with me.
I won’t be making mac and cheese balls, and Violet can’t do a thing about it.
Point: Eli.
“Glad you like them,” I say, smiling at the bride as she delicately eats the other half of hers. “And again, I’m sorry about the situation with the mac and cheese balls,” I lie.
The situation being that I refuse to make the damn things. I don’t mention that part.
“Honestly, these are better than what we sampled when we came down a couple of months ago any
way,” the bride says, carefully wiping crumbs from her fingers. “Thanks for taking the time to make some for us.”
“Yeah, that was so nice of you,” the maid of honor adds. “I think I could eat about twenty!”
I eye the empty glass next to her at the bar. I’d watched her drink at least two gin and tonics from it in the space of ten minutes, and based on how unsteady she seems on her barstool, I suspect she’s had more than that.
Based on the look her sister keeps giving her, I suspect the afternoon might get interesting.
“So, Elliott, are you coming to the wedding? Will I see you tomorrow?” the maid of honor asks, her long fake eyelashes dipping and bobbing.
“It’s Eli, and I’m afraid not,” I say, still leaning against the bar. “They pretty much keep me locked in the kitchen.”
The maid of honor sighs dramatically, her long, shiny black hair spilling over one exposed shoulder.
“That’s too bad,” she says. “I bet you’re great on a dance floor.”
The eyelashes bob again. Emma, the bride, is sitting ramrod-straight on her barstool, the other bridesmaids off to the sides, going over something on a sheet of paper.
Emma takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment.
“Susan,” she starts. “Why don’t you —”
The door to the lounge swings open behind them, and they turn as Violet and her intern step through.
I swear that there’s a hitch in her step when she sees me. I swear her eyes blaze with fire for just a second before she puts up her professional veneer, smiling at the room.
I smile back, and now we’re putting on an excellent show for the bridal party who paid an obscene sum of money to be here.
I’m fully aware that, in the scheme of things, switching the appetizers from one kind of fried carbs with cheese to another doesn’t matter. Chances are that no one but me, Violet, and maybe the bride and groom will even know. Tomorrow, during the cocktail hour, exactly zero guests are going to think to themselves, I was expecting mac and cheese balls.
Birds will still sing. Rivers will still flow. The world will keep on turning.
But I’ve won a battle, and I never win battles against Violet. I think I could count the times I’ve bested her on one hand, and God knows that for most of my life I tried at least once a week.