Page 120 of Indiscretion

The next day, I have to spend several hours in the office. I again pick Jordan up for breakfast. A cold front’s moved in and it’s a bitterly cold, damp day. I notice after we make the walk from his hotel to the breakfast restaurant that, despite his coat, Jordan’s shivering.

I make a mental note to loan him one of my scarves, hats, and a pair of gloves.

When we reach the office, Elliot’s already there. Jordan has to take his first trip to the warehouse today to look at the furniture he’s selected so far to see if it’ll actually work for the spaces.

At least I don’t have to worry about Jordan freezing. Secret Service is driving him because it’s a secure location due to the value of some of the pieces being stored there.

It also means I can steal a little bit of time to talk to Elliot.

Alone.

This is not a conversation I ever seriously thought I’d have with him. Unfortunately, I cannot live my life perpetually unsure of where I stand with the guy I fricking love.

I don’t know if it’s made better or worse by the fact that Elliottoldme I should date other people, despite how I’m sure it will kill him at least a little inside if I do.

All he has to do is ask me not to. That’sall.

I’m willing to wait and be patient if I have an idea of what’s going on inside that head of his, but Elliot can’t even give me that much.

No guarantees that after he’s out of office he’ll be able to make himself come out, either.

I’m not living in a fucking closet. Not for the rest of my life. Won’t do it. Refuse to do it.

If that’s what Elliot needs long-term, then I suppose I’m not the guy for him after all.

Except I love him, and I reallywantto be his forever man.

I guess Elliot will either de-ass his head when I sit him down for this conversation, or he’ll pretend he’s okay with it, or he’ll dump me.

But I can’t keep beating my head against the same damn spot on the wall and praying for something different to happen.

I’m no masochist. Not at all.

Physically, emotionally, or otherwise.

My time with Elliot notwithstanding, of course.

Once Elliot’s alone, and I know we’ve got a little time, I lock myself in his office with him and stop him before he can slide out of his chair.

“What’s wrong, Sir?” he asks.

“We need to talk, El.” I grab a chair and drag it over. I’m hoping the very real possibility of a rival will shake him up enough to tell me no, don’t see Jordan.

I hold my hands out and wiggle my fingers at him, wanting him to take them.

Even a gesture as simple as this is a rare treat for me. My body’s craving physical contact with him. The psychologist knows it’s skin hunger, and that Elliot’s likely suffering from it, too.

Except Elliot’s deprived himself for most of his life and he’s used to it far more than I am.

He takes my hands and I gently squeeze them. “I’ve asked Jordan to come over to my place tonight. I’m going to cook him dinner.”

His sharp intake of breath… It fuckingkillsme, but I don’t stop. We’re already in the middle of it. “I’ve told him it’sonlyto talk and have dinner.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why not…more?”