“Okay, I can respect that,” I say, “but math isn’t boring? You must really love it.”
“It’s not that I love it so much, I’m just good at it. That’s why I like to teach it. After I changed my major, my parents urged me to do something else with math besides teach, but I refused, clearly.”
“Is that why you want to teach at the college level? To feel more respected?”
He shrugs. “Maybe that’s part of it. I feel like I should be lying down on a couch for this, Dr. Kennedy,” he ribs, pushing a playful splash in my direction.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” I say, returning the splash. I lean back and try to relax as a jet stream massages my back.
“What?” he says eyeing me.
I let out a nervous giggle. “Okay, okay. I do have another burning question. . . . What’s the deal with your wardrobe?”
He laughs louder than I expect. “Do you not like it?”
“I love it, actually,” I admit. “But . . .” I hesitate before continuing. “No offense, but you’re a math teacher. Not only are they known for their lack of style, but they can’t afford half of what you wear.”
He’s grinning as if he’s enjoying some kind of inside joke. “I know, it’s kind of outrageous. It’s my sister, Audrey. Well, I guess both my sisters—and my mom sometimes—but it’s mainly Audrey. She’s always shopping for me, and over the years, has completely taken over my wardrobe.”
“Wow,” I reply. “I wish she was my sister.”
His smile drops and my muscles tense.
What did I say?
I try to push past it. “Is your family close?”
“Yeah, we are.” His voice is tight. “Very close.”
“What’s the matter?” I ask, hoping I can handle the answer.
He sighs and shakes his head. “Nothing . . . I wish I could introduce you to them.”
I’m touched he wants me to meet his family, but crushed by the reminder of our situation.
“Maybe after graduation,” I suggest.
He doesn’t respond, and I instantly regret my words. “Never mind,” I say quickly. I don’t want him feeling like I’m pressuring him to rush our relationship.
He rises as droplets of water cling to his torso. His hard body glistens in the twinkle lights, and I drink him in. He glides forward and grips the ledge on either side me, leaning in. I tear my eyes from his gleaming muscles and peer up at him.
“What is it?” I whisper.
His features remain inexpressive. Clearly, it’s something. I want to ask him what he’s thinking, but something in his eyes makes me fear his response. That, and I don’t want to be one of those girls who pester. He leans down, his lips arresting mine, and he kisses me with a roughness that has me dying for him to hold me prisoner. I slide my hands up his strong, sleek arms as his mouth consumes mine. Brusquely, he pulls away, and I gasp for air.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
He never answered my question.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I WAKE UP TO ELIJAH’S hard expression as he glares at his phone, his thumbs gliding vigorously across the screen. He sighs, tossing it carelessly onto the night stand, and it clatters against the wood.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
His hair is damp—from the shower, I presume—and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. I silently curse my morning eyes for providing me with blurry vision.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” He sounds irritated.
I prop myself up onto my elbows. “No, but I think you may have broken your phone.”
“It’s fine,” he says curtly, disappearing into his closet.
I slide off the bed, tension charging the room, and sneak into the bathroom to brush my teeth and relieve myself. When I step out, he’s back over by his nightstand, wearing a pair of jeans, with his back to me as he types on his phone again. My vision is now perfectly clear as I tip-toe across the room, admiring his well-sculpted back. I timidly pull my bag onto the bed and dig through my clothes.
“Hey,” he says softly, slipping his phone in his pocket. He’s now facing me.
I freeze. “Hey.”
“You hungry?”
“Actually, I think I’m gonna take off. I know you don’t want me leaving during the day, but I think it’ll be fine.”
I don’t want to be here if I’m not welcome. He’s been aloof since we got out of the spa last night. He’s either dealing with something personal, or he’s about to break up with me, and I’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
He walks around the foot of the bed, meeting me on the other side. With an impish smirk, he slides his warm, strong hands underneath the back of my T-shirt, pulling me close.
“Why do you want to leave?” He squats down and teases my lips with his. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter with me,” I say.
He cocks his head, his face still inches from mine, and looks at me like he has no idea what I’m referring to.
“The phone, Slate. You seem . . . pissed off.”
“Oh,” he says. “That’s nothing. I forgot to cancel my golf game, so they were wondering where I was. They’re not too thrilled when I miss, and this is twice in a month.” He rolls his eyes.
“That’s it?” I ask. “I’m sorry; you didn’t have to cancel for me.” Especially if it’s going to put you in a bad mood, I add silently.
“You’re much better than golf, Kaley.” He draws me in for a kiss, and I clutch onto his solid back. “Mmm,” he sighs. “I wish I could wake up to you every morning.”
My chest tingles inside of the guarded cage I’ve built around it. I know his behavior last night had nothing to do with golf, and I’m not about to trust this mood swing.
He trails the back of his fingers across my cheek. “Will you stay?”
I nod and his lips twitch into a crooked grin.
“Breakfast?” he asks. “I bought a coffee maker.”
“You did? Oh my gosh, that is so . . . sweet. Thank you.”
“I aim to please, baby.” He leads me out to the kitchen and pulls the coffee maker out of the cupboard for me. “I have no idea how to make it, but I figured you could handle that.”
“No problem,” I say with confidence.
As we putter around the kitchen, me in my braless attire and Elijah sporting the jeans-only look, I have to admit I could get used to this. His phone chirps a few more times as I’m setting up the coffee maker, and I try to decipher his expression as he reads the texts. It’s clear he’s now ignoring whoever it is, but I don’t ask any more questions. Instead, I start the coffee, trying to ignore the urge to flee. I’ve never felt so paranoid in a relationship before. It’s unfamiliar territory, and I don’t want to feed into it. He’s pulling a carton of eggs out of the fridge when the doorbell rings.
Our eyes immediately lock across the kitchen, both of us temporarily immobilized.
“Let me see who it is,” he whispers. He creeps toward the front door and peers through the peephole. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbles, turning away and walking back into the kitchen.
“Who is it?”
“No one.” His sharp reply is like a sliver, piercing into my insecurities.
A knock raps on the door, and I look to him, panicked.
“Just ignore it, they’ll go away.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, unsure of what to do now.
He pulls out a pan and places it on the stove, and I attempt to follow his lead. I pull a mug out of the cupboard and hear the deadbolt unlock. I spin around to face him, my heart leaping into my throat.
“Shit!” He takes hold of my arm and yanks me into the hallway. “Hide in my room!” he yells in an urgent whisper. “Closet!” he adds as I plunge down the hall and into the master bedroom, closing the door tightly shut. My hand is gripping his closet door when I hear a woman’s voice.
I drop back to the bedroom door, cracking it open. Why did he tell me to hide in the closet? Does he expect this woman to come into his bedroom? My stomach twists as old suspicions flood my mind with uncertainty.
Maybe it’s just Audrey. He made it clear last night that he can’t introduce me to his family yet; maybe that’s all this is.
I have to find out.
I strain to hear what they’re saying, but can’t make anything out. I poke my head out and notice the door to the garage is open and creep down the hallway. I know he’ll be furious with me if I get caught, and my heart pounds against my chest as I make my way to the garage entrance. I inch my way over to the door. It’s cracked open, but I can’t see her.
But I can hear her.
“You look hot right now, babe,” she gushes. “You’ve been hitting the gym hard.”
I stop breathing.
Not Audrey.
I hear him reply, but can’t make out the words. Why is his voice so low? Is he making sure I can’t hear him? My mind races with anxiety.
“Is this your new car?” says the mystery woman. “Are you restoring classics now?”
He’s closer to the door now, and I hear his reply this time. “No, this is just a buddy’s of mine. He needed me to store it over here this weekend.”