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Now I was starting to babble. Fuck me running.
He did that machine gun blinking thing again, and I swear his eyes were pregnant with moisture. What the hell? Elliot was one of the toughest, most rugged, least emotional men I’d ever met. Sure, under all the armor he wore, he was a big softie; but even in private moments, he held a shield and guarded his innermost thoughts and feelings.
What in all that was holy could make him tear up?
His head lowered a bit as I watched him wrestle with whatever was rattling around in his head.
“Mike, shit, I need . . . fuck . . . I need a minute to just . . . to breathe.”
He rolled down his window. Cool air and the scent of pinewhooshedinto the cabin of his truck. I gave him his moment, his silence, but refused to let go of his leg. I wasn’t trying to claim him or anything possessive. I just needed to feel him, to be close, to stay connected as he mulled over what I meant to him. Ineededto touch him.
We made it all the way back to the cabin without speaking again. It was the longest, most unnerving ten minutes of my life. The sun had set, and the forest that surrounded us was dark. Only a sliver of the moon peeked out from a cloudy, starless sky, casting a warm, yet eerie glow on what I knew to be a beautiful landscape.
My psychotic brain immediately wondered if there were werewolves or vampires living in the woods—which was insane because everyone knew vampires didn’t live in a forest. Werewolves, though . . .
Elliot patted my hand, then climbed out of the truck.
I sat there trying to interpret a hand pat after the weirdness of our drive.
Was that, “Cute hand. Thanks for keeping my leg warm?”
Or could it have meant, “I love you, more than you could ever know. Please hold my leg like that for the rest of my natural life and into eternity, in some strange ghost-leg-thing that keeps us connected in the afterlife?”
Or did it mean, “Get that thing off me, you needy, clingy little bitch?”
God, I was a wreck. In the span of a ten-minute ride, I’d gone from relaxed, amused, and somewhat turned on to terrified this man I was falling for might kick me to the curb over a word I hadn’t even said.
Oh, wait.
I had said it.
Well, shit.
“Coming inside?” Elliot’s voice jerked my head up. He was standing with one hand on the opened cabin door looking back at the truck.
I had yet to unbuckle my seat belt. Idiot.
Fumbling with the buckle, I finally climbed down from the truck and joined him at the door; but rather than turn to enter, Elliot blocked my way. I looked up, a question on my brow.
He gripped my shoulders and fixed me in place.
Here we go. He’s probably going to tell me to pack up so we can head back home.
“Can we go out to the porch? Look at the lake?”
Huh. In the laundry list of things he might say, that wasn’t on it.
“Yeah, sure. Sounds nice.”
He squeezed my shoulders in an almost fatherly gesture. I was a little creeped out, totally unnerved—and oddly turned on.
We walked through the cabin and straight to the wraparound porch. Elliot passed the rocking chairs to stand at the railing. He planted both palms on the rough wood and leaned toward the lake as though he was thinking about taking a dive. I stepped up beside him but stood a couple of feet away, giving us space.
For some reason I couldn’t explain, despite craving his touch, I needed distance in that moment.
He spoke without turning to look at me.
“I’m not great with words sometimes.”