Page 171 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

Hangingout with Elle isn’t exactly a hardship, even if she drives me out of my goddamn mind by not wearing pants at home. I wonder if I should tell her I’m a lesbian? If it’ll make her cover up more around me or if she’ll be one of those girls who thinks it’s fun to flirt and mess with my head.

Knowing how relaxed Elle is though, I really don’t think she’ll treat me any differently. Which is what I want from the general population, but if I have to glimpse her lacy fucking panties one more time, I think my brain might explode.

I’m going out of my way not to check her out, but she bends over at the worst. Possible. Moments. Every goddamn day.

I left her apartment last night looking like a wild mess, and we’re still nowhere even close to being done. The clashing colors definitely add a brightness to the place, and I’m not so sure it’s a good thing.

When I knock on her door and she opens it only wearing the T-shirt I borrowed, I hands down cannot do another day of this.

“Nope. We’re going out. Literally anywhere. I don’t care. We are not painting today.”

She wrinkles her cute nose, septum piercing catching the light. “Got any ideas?”

“None. We can wing it.”

“We’re just going to hang out?”

“Why not?”

Her smile starts slow but grows so big something twinges in my gut.

I give her a bemused look. “Just get dressed already.”

For my sanity.

Elle glances down like she’s somehow only just realized she’s half-naked, and I send up a silent thanks that it’s fall and not summer and I won’t need to see her in a swimsuit.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

She disappears to change while I open my phone and search for what the hell we can spend the day doing. Anything that costs money is out, and anything even remotely close to downtown where Perry lives isn’t an option either. I need somewhere interesting, where we’re not likely to be seen by anyone.

The Kubota Garden catches my eye. Even though it’s cold, it’s open today. The location is borderline date-ish, but I see no reason why two “friends” shouldn’t be able to go and walk around there for the day. It’s not like I’m bringing a fucking picnic or anything.

“Wow me,” Elle says, coming back from her room. “Take me somewhere amazing.”

“I dunno about amazing, but the Kubota Gardens are open. Been there before?”

“Once, but it was nighttime, and I was there for an event and couldn’t wait to get away.”

“Let’s hope this isn’t history repeating itself, then.”

Elle follows me out to my car, and when she climbs in, that curious frown is back between her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing. Not a thing. I’m certainly not stereotyping anything.”

“You’re disappointed there’s no motorcycle, aren’t you?”

“No, no. Nope. Not at all. Out of all the car models though, I didn’t think you’d drive an old lady’s car.”

“It’s a Corolla, fuck you very much.”

“Exactly.” She gives me a cheeky look as she slides on her Prada sunglasses, and it takes all of my willpower to turn on my car without throwing her out of it.

Gorgeous, smug, cocky, pretty thing.

Who I am not at all softening toward.

Especially because I don’t know a whole lot about her.

Elle has mentioned glimpses of her family and her upbringing, but I don’t have anything tangible. No real connection to who she is as a person, and while that’s probably a good thing considering our whole fucked-up situation, I also want more.

I shouldn’t.

But I do anyway.

My fear is that the closer I get to her, the bigger the guilt grows over lying.

I’m not someone vetted by a super-secret fancy agency. I’m a total fraud. And if she has an issue with that, there’s nothing to stop her from getting both me and Perry in shit.

I really didn’t think this whole plan through, clearly, but I also didn’t think I’d last much longer than a day. Something about Elle just keeps me coming back.

Sure, she’s hot, but she says some pretty superficial, stupid shit sometimes, which should be a complete turn-off. But Elle’s vulnerable—she doesn’t like to be, I know that much, but it’s there anyway.

It’s just enough of a hint that I want to know more.

“Do you have any siblings?” she asks like she’s plucked the thought from my head.

“Yeah, a brother.”

“Me too. He’s off traveling the country with his husband, which I love for him, but he only just came home.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s as allergic to my parents as I am, and he hid out in Europe for a couple of years before flying back for our grandfather’s funeral.”

“Then he left again?”

“A few months later.” She sighs and says softly, “I really am happy for him.”

“Are you close?”

“Reasonably. We’ve always had each other, but it’s hard to stay close when he’s so bloody far away.”

“Sometimes I think my brother’s too close,” I say, throwing her a sympathetic look. “Now, if only we could get the two of them to split the difference, they’d be perfect.”

She tilts her head toward me, but I can’t make out her expression. “Why is your brother too close?”

“He’s … hopeless. Needs a lot of guidance.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

Elle’s quiet for a long time. It’s a pretty common reaction, and I wait for her empty “sorry” to follow.

“Do you miss them?”

I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before. Most people just assume. “Yeah. A lot.”

“I’m not so sure I’d miss mine.”

I send her a surprised look before moving my gaze back to the road. “It’s easy to think that when they’re alive.”

Her scoff is amused. “See if you still think that after you meet them.”