Page 43 of Last First Love
I'm not any less nervous by the time I get to his place, but at least his harpy girlfriend/fiancée/succubus isn't around. I don't think I could bring myself to take a beating in front of a woman like that. She's set it to music and post it on TikTok.
Elliott invites me in with the standard bro-hug move, where we hug it out with a safe distance between our respective nether regions lest one or both of us make things awkward. I'm already feeling a little extra protective of that part of my body anyway, so I'm probably a little more gun-shy than usual with my crotch in general these days.
Unless I'm spending the night sucking, kissing, and going down on Lily like it's the last thing I'll do in my life. In hindsight, I'm surprised the ongoing chronic erection didn't kill me outright. It definitely reached the point where I was in physical pain, but I would do it all again in an instant.
In fact, if this plan of mine succeeds, I'll be doing it all again later tonight. I might even get my star player off the bench for this occasion, as the initial burn seems to have faded enough that I didn't re-wrap today.
Possibly a mistake, but at least I'm at the home of an actual paramedic, someone who's trained to deal with all sorts of bizarre medical issues. Elliott once told me a story about fishing a lightbulb out of a person's butt that still makes me wince every single time it crosses my mind.
"What's with your face?" Elliott pauses. "Are you seriously reliving that lightbulb thing again? I'm sorry I ever told you, you big baby."
I clear my throat. "No, no that's not it." I mean, it totally is but how was I supposed to know that I make one particular weirdly upset looking face whenever that particular horror show comes to mind?
"You're making the face again. Do you have to poop or something? Because I don't really appreciate you coming over just to take the Browns to the Super Bowl."
I'm sure my face shows my deep disdain for the way this conversation is already going. "I didn't come over to pinch off a loaf. That's animal behavior. And I, good sir, am a gentleman."
Elliott snorts. "Suit yourself, mister fancy, but if I catch you busting a grumpy after you looked me in the eye and told me that wasn't why you're here, I'm going to seriously lose respect for you."
I cross my arms. "Impossible. You have almost nothing to lose at this point."
At that, Elliott grins and gestures for me to sit with him. I'm definitely sitting like I've recently singed my undercarriage, and that only makes him get ready for round two of the poop jokes.
I hold out my hand in front of him, shushing him. "This is not about poop. This is the part where we're going to have a serious conversation."
Elliott gives me a sharp look, but eventually settles down. "What's really wrong, Daniels? If it's stuff about the wedding, tell Abernathy you can't do it. Everybody knows your views on matrimony."
I suck in a deep breath. This is what happens if you've been friends with someone for too long. Eventually, your best friend has heard every insane idea that has ever skittered across your frontal lobe. In this particular instance, Elliott is referring to one or more evenings I spent denouncing marriage as an archaic institution used to keep women in subjection to men.
And okay, that's sort of true on the whole in our society, but what if it doesn't have to be that way with the right person? What if the right person and I were to fit together perfectly, our lives lining up in this series of coincidences like everything about our entire relationship had been preordained? What if I could have what Abernathy has with Darcy? What if I had a chance to have it be that good with someone?
No, not any someone.
Lily.
My Lily.
"This isn't about Abernathy's wedding. I'm happy for him, you schmoe. I have something I need to tell you."
Elliott sees something in my face because he pauses and all traces of humor slide from his face. He swallows hard. "You know you're my best friend, no matter what, okay?"
I nod. "Okay."
"You can tell me anything."
I nod again. So far, so good. In fact, this is going unbelievably well and all I've said in this conversation is 'okay.' Maybe he'll figure out the story for me and we'll be able to wrap this up in no time.
"Are we going to need a drink in order to have this conversation?" He steeples his hands and peers at me carefully.
I shake my head. "It's not like that. I want you to hear this clear-headed, and I want to say it to you while you’re clear-headed too." I shove my hands through my hair, then meet his eyes again.
"I'm in love."
A long pause as the words fill up the small, suddenly claustrophobic air of his apartment.
"Okay," he says slowly, drawing the word out into a question. "But what does that have to do with me or your cock and balls?"
I squirm a little. "Because I'm in love with your sister, Lily."
