Page 72 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Freddie
The slam of car doors and the shouts and screeches of kids dredge me up from sleep, but I don’t want to wake up, I want to stay where it’s cosy, where I can nuzzle up against the warm, hard body next to me.
I prise my eyes open and my heart all but jumps into my mouth, as the night before becomes the morning that is.
Next to me, Elliot’s sprawled out, one leg bent at the knee. The duvet’s slipped during the night, leaving him naked. I stare down at him because it’s impossible not to.
He’s beautiful, but I already know that. His light olive skin looks warm to the touch and my fingers ache to drift over him, over the skin stretched tight across his firm muscles. He’s sleeping, his chest moving up and down in a steady rhythm. My gaze drifts to his flat, taut stomach that’s splattered with the dried-up, crusted cum from when we’d made love.
Made love.
I inhale a sharp breath. No. It’s dangerous to think of what we’d done as that. We had sex, just like we had sex in France. It was the outcome of two men who’d wanted each other, allied with opportunity. A plus B equals C, although as I stare at him, with visions of last night flashing though me, it feels like two and two making a whole lot more than five.
Elliot shifts, and coughs, his spluttering shaking him awake. His eyes open wide and blink a couple of times. He looks vague and fuzzy and disorientated as he turns his head to me and blinks again, looking at me as though he has no idea who I am, and I’m taken aback by how much that hurts.
I never was any good at the morning after the night before, and I force myself to smile and cringe inwardly when I hear the false cheer in my voice.
“Morning. The bathroom’s just across the hall, if you want a shower.”
“What? Er, no. Thanks. It’s probably best if I get dressed and go.”
He must see something in my face, like the drop that feels like it’s a thousand feet and counting, because he stills, half way through pushing himself out of bed.
“I’ve got a conference call later this morning. A follow up from my Oslo trip, and I have some papers to read through first.”
He says the words gently, not taking his eyes from mine. TheI’ve got workline. I’d heard it so many times before, a thin excuse to run as fast as they could. It’d been like that with Paul until in the end he hadn’t even bothered to lie.
“Sure.” I nod and look away.
“Freddie!”
My head snaps around, Elliot’s voice is like a sting. His eyes bore into mine and I see the hint of anger glittering in their arctic blue depths.
“You think I’m lying, that I’m feeding you some half-arsed excuse to run off as fast as I can. I can see it in your face, so don’t insult me by saying that’s not what you’re thinking.” His voice is clipped and crisp, because he knows that’s exactly what Iamthinking.
“I—”
“Shush.”
He presses a finger to my lips and it takes everything I’ve got not to suck it deep into my mouth. Underneath the cover, my cock twitches.
“Come with me if you don’t believe me.” He’s still staring at me, and his eyes are issuing a challenge. “The call’s at eleven, and then we can have lunch. If you want to.”
His finger slips from my lips, but he still stares at me. The challenge, the daring me to disbelieve him, is gone, replaced with something else, something I can’t put a name to. He’s become serious and closed off and inward looking.
“Come back with me, Freddie. We need to talk.”
“What about?”
“You know what about.”
The sounds of a door banging and a toilet flushing are signs that the house is coming alive. Cosmo’s up and about, and my stomach plummets at the thought he’ll see Elliot walk out of my room. He’ll have questions because he always does, but how will I answer them when I don’t know the answers myself?
I nod, as I look down. Because he’s right. We do have to talk, and try to put a name to whatever it is we are.
“I’ll, erm, jump in the shower. Are you sure you don’t—?”
