Page 24 of Rocking the Receiver
He’s so driven for a guy his age. But then again, I was told he’s always been that way, and that’s a major turn-on. Dallas wins, which earns me another salacious kiss.
Later, we busy ourselves plating food—twice as much in Elliot’s case!—that we consume in between easy conversation, laughter, and unabashed glances. I’m trying to control the situation as best I can, subtly pushing him to stuff his face. The idea is that he’ll fall asleep, and I’ll be off the hook… for now.
It’s pretty late into the night once we’ve cleaned up the kitchen and brush our teeth. I pace the living room, browsing my social media, half-thinking he might already be sound asleep. I halt when he stands before me in his black boxer briefs.
He reaches for my neck and absently caresses my pulse point with his thumb. “I told you I’ll behave and I mean it… But I want to sleep next to you,” he unapologetically demands. My heart thumps faster. He doesn’t miss it, a sly grin widening on his gorgeous face. The back of my neck stiffens. “Relax, baby, I can tell you’re afraid of ruining my virtue. Hence,”—he gestures in front of him—“undies, even though I prefer to sleep naked.”
“Baby?”
“Why not?” His hand coasts down my arm until his fingers intertwine with mine. He leans closer and whispers into my ear, “That’s what I’ll call you when you let me have my way with you before the weekend is over,baby.” Goosebumps travel across my fevered skin. He leads me to bed. My bed. Big spooning me, obviously. He falls asleep within minutes with his breath tickling my neck; my plan was somewhat successful, aside from the massive hard-on I’m sporting from having his covered dick nestled between my butt cheeks.
Ignoring it, I focus on his breathing, my own lullaby. I love both a little too much.
Something buzzes loudly and annoyingly inside my head. Dream? Reality? I toss and turn until I reluctantly prey my eyes open. Warmth is laced around my sleepy body. Elliot.
Right, we slept in my bed.
His arm is snaked around my waist, a leg over mine, and his stiffy pressing against my thigh. Was I hard 24/7 when I was his age?
Eventually, the buzzing starts again. Damn phone!
Grumbling, I snatch it from the nightstand, scolding myself for being so distracted by Elliot’s presence in my bed I forgot to put it on airplane mode.
Eyes widening in rising anger, I stare at the screen, inwardly cursing to avoid waking him. Unknown number; I never take these calls anyway. My brain is so sluggish that only now do I notice the two missed calls. Same unknown number in Brooklyn.
WTF?
Elliot grunts, but doesn’t move.
I decide to pick it up, at least to make the buzzing stop. “Hello?” My usual morning voice, full of gravel, suddenly sounds odd to me.
“Rupert Smith?” a woman’s voice inquires. Once I’ve confirmed my identity, she then recites my full address as well as her name and position. I’m too out of it to pay closer attention until I hear her say, “I’m calling from Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for a Miss Sally Mitchell.”
My throat constricts. Awkwardly, I manage to untangle myself from Elliot’s strong hold. A cold knot settles in the pit of my stomach. Standing next to the bed now, I’m frozen in place. “Yes, that is correct. Is she okay?”
“She was admitted a few hours ago. She was in a car accident, and we need someone to come down and discuss her condition.” Her words don’t quite register.
My words come out on autopilot. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I ask again, “Is she okay?” The woman on the line simply repeats her instructions. I assume she’s a nurse, but I’m not familiar with the US healthcare system, so I can’t be sure. “I’m on my way,” I confirm and hang up, doing my best to control my skyrocketing pulse.
I must have been less than discreet because Elliot’s alarmed gaze zooms in on me, concern etched on his young features. My brain is now on full alert, going a mile a second.
Sally. Brooklyn. Car…
Where the heck is Nathan?
When Sally and I talked this morning, she mentioned a Thanksgiving party with one of his friends.
Catching my breath, I pace the room, debating whether to call Nathan, and yell, “Fuck!” It’s either too early or too late, right?
What the fuck’s going on anyway?
“Everything okay?” Elliot’s collected voice inquires, already jumping out of bed.
“No, it’s Sally. She’s in the hospital.” I huff and puff. “I need to go.”
“I’ll come with you,” Elliot replies immediately, not asking for details. “Get your things. I’ll call an Uber. Let’s go.”
I’m speechless at his assertiveness. The nurse’s words repeat inside my head, so I follow his lead. We get dressed in record time, grab our coats before slamming the door behind us, and head out into the crisp morning air to hop into the Uber.
