Page 21

Chapter twenty-one

Elliot

Mike was on a trivia-fueled power trip, and I had no one to blame but myself.

He was still buzzing with smug energy in the passenger seat, his head tilted back against the headrest, arms crossed like a man who had single-handedly conquered the world.

“Trivia Champion of the Universe,” he declared, for the fifth time. “That is how you must refer to me . . . from this day forth . . . so I declare.”

I sighed, eyes on the road. “It was one game.”

“It was a flawless game,” he corrected. “I was unstoppable.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“You love it.”

I glanced at him. He was grinning so wide his dimple was showing. His eyes were bright, if a bit scrambled from the four shots Matty poured into him near the end of the night. Still, nothing appeared to stop him from riding the high of his complete annihilation of everyone in the bar. It was a good thing we were on the same team as Matty, Omar, and Sisi, because that trio of demons would’ve torn him a new one had he beaten them like that.

And yeah. I did love it.

I just wasn’t about to admit that. He’d had more than enough victories for one night.

So instead, I sighed again and muttered, “I regret everything.”

Mike laughed, unabashedly delighted with himself. After a long moment, he released a very loud sigh and said, “Elliot, your friends love me.”

I smirked, tapping my finger on the steering wheel, eager to hear where this was headed. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” He turned his head, squinting at me with slightly unfocused eyes. “I killed tonight. Destroyed. They’re probably renaming the bar after me as we speak.”

I snorted. “Jockstraps is gonna be called Mike’s Big Brain Bar now?”

“Damn straight.” He sat up straight, pointing a wobbly finger at me. “Matty? Obsessed with me. Omar? Respects me. Sisi?” He clutched his chest, mock-swooning. “She loves me like the long-lost gay brother she never had.”

I choked on a laugh. “I think she mostly loves watching you terrorize Omar.”

“And I love that for us.” He grinned, stretching his arms above his head, and his sweater rode up just a little, exposing a flash of pale skin.

I did not look.

I absolutely did not.

A little.

I looked a little.

Mike dropped his arms suddenly, eyes bright. “Omar wasn’t ready for me.”

I chuckled. “Omar doesn’t get rattled easily.”

“Well, guess what?” Mike grinned like a lunatic. “I rattled him.”

I smiled. “What gave it away? The way he stared at you like you were an alien?”

“No, the way he whispered, ‘I am both terrified and aroused,’ like I couldn’t hear him.”

I laughed. “Yeah. That was a moment.”

Mike beamed. “I’m their favorite now.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That fast, huh?”

He nodded, dead serious. “Matty told me I was a witch, and Sisi kept calling me ‘my love,’ and Omar—Omar laughed. At my jokes. All of them.”

“He’s British. He has a terribly dry sense of humor.” I tilted my head. “He laughs at my jokes, too.”

Mike gasped. “Are you jealous?”

I rolled my eyes. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not jealous of Omar.”

He grinned at me, eyes shining with tipsy mischief. “But you are jealous of my trivia skills.”

I sighed. “Jesus Christ.”

He sat up straighter, delighted, and poked my arm. “You’re so mad I won.”

“I’m not mad,” I said, trying not to look at his finger still pressed against my skin.

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

I huffed. “I knew this was gonna be a problem.”

Mike cackled.

He leaned forward suddenly, shifting sideways to look at me like he’d just figured out the meaning of life.

“Elliot,” he whispered.

I raised an eyebrow and whispered back, despite it being just the two of us in my truck. “What?”

He slurred through a grin, “I’m smarter than you.”

I groaned.

Mike giggled.

He actually giggled.

And somehow, it was unfairly cute.

He dragged his hand down my arm, sending a tingle I hadn’t felt in a while across my skin.

“Mike—”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “And you’re into me. Like seriously into me.”

I froze.

Because that was not untrue.

But I wasn’t about to tell him that, not yet. It wasn’t time. Not after two dates.

Okay, two and a half if you count Subway.

Three if you count our initial dog penis assault.

Still . . .

He took my silence as confirmation and let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh, my God.” He clutched his chest. “I knew it.”

I scowled. “Mike—”

“Elliot Hart likes big brains.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“He’s a mental size queen!”

I groaned.

“And guess what, baby?” He sat back, a smug expression on his face. “Mine’s huge. Like porn star using a hall of mirrors huge. Like World’s Fair prime exhibit huge. Like—”

I rolled my eyes and resisted banging my head against the wheel. “I regret every life decision that has led me to this moment.”

Mike giggled again.

I ran a tired hand through my hair, watching him out the side of my eye, watching the way his face was still flushed from the drinks, his eyes bright with humor, his mouth soft and relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before.

He was comfortable. Relaxed. Happy.

And . . . I liked that.

More than I should.

Far more than I was ready for.

We turned onto our street, and Mike pointed lazily toward his house.

“Hi, house,” he singsonged in greeting, wiggling his fingers in the air.

The house didn’t wave back.

“You can just drop me off here,” he said. “It’s like fifty steps.”

I didn’t even hesitate. I drove past it.

Mike frowned. “What are you—”

“I’m taking you to your door, like a goddamned gentleman,” I said.

“Elliot. I live four houses away. Five if you count the corner.”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road, “but if I let you stumble home in the dark and you trip over your own feet and crack your head open, I’d have to fill out paperwork, and Mrs. H would probably make me clean up the sidewalk.”

Mike stared at me. “That was . . . weirdly romantic . . . I think.”

I smirked. “I have a gift.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine, but don’t expect me to be impressed by your chivalry. This is the least you could do for the Champion of the World.”

“Oh, I don’t.”

I pulled into his driveway and shifted into park.

Before he could argue about it again, I turned off the engine, unbuckled my seat belt, and stepped out.

Mike groaned. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Said Mr. Tipsy,” I muttered, closing the door behind me.

He sighed but didn’t fight it. Not really.

I followed him up his front steps, hands in my pockets, watching the way he swayed slightly, still buzzed, still a little too proud of himself.

“Listen,” he said, turning at his door like he was about to give a victory speech. “I just want to say, for the record, that I had a fantastic night. Winning. Meeting your friends. Winning again.”

I rolled my eyes.

“And best of all?” he continued, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I got to see you stare at me like I was the hottest thing you’d ever witnessed.”

I snorted. “You really like hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

He grinned. “Uh . . . yeah . . . duh!”

I tilted my head. “Huh.”

Then, before he could run his mouth again, I stepped in—close enough that he hit the door behind him. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

His breath hitched.

His smile faltered.

For the first time all night, Mike Albert was speechless.

I smirked.

Then, in the laziest, slowest, most deliberate way possible, grabbed his wrists, pinned them over his head against the door, pressed my body into his, and kissed him.

Not just any kiss.

A knock-the-smugness-right-out-of-him, shut-him-the-hell-up kiss.

His hands squirmed, but where his brain was continent-sized, my strength was equally overpowering. I pressed him fully against the door, dropped one wrist so my fingers could tangle in his hair.

I tasted the wine on his lips, the laughter, the victory, the heat.

Mike shivered, exhaling against my mouth, sinking into me like I was the only thing keeping him standing.

And I liked that.

I liked it a lot.

When I pulled back, his eyes were unfocused, lips parted, breathing uneven.

I grinned, leaning in just enough to tease.

“Trivia Champion of the Universe, huh?” I murmured.

“Uh.” Mike blinked. “What?”

I smirked.

“I made you a promise tonight.”

His whole face scrunched up, as only one under the influence can manage.

Then, low and smug, I whispered, “You’re so getting laid for this.”

Mike made a noise.

A very good noise.

Somewhere between a whine and a whimper.

I chuckled, pressing one last slow, teasing kiss to his jaw before stepping back.

His hand lingered on my side, like he wasn’t sure whether to pull me back or shove me away before he spontaneously combusted.

I grinned.

Then a voice I hadn’t hoped to hear that night shattered our moment.

“Fuck him good, Elliot. Right up the ass. Make him walk funny for a week!”

Oh, God, Mrs. H was out walking the neighborhood.

Mike’s eyes bugged, then he doubled over, snorting almost as loud as his laughter.

I grabbed him roughly, pulling him into me and resisting any urge to turn and acknowledge my old neighbor’s presence.

“You have to take his clothes off first!” she shouted.

Mike squirmed. His laughter shook through my body. His snorts were sharp and rang in my ears.

“Go on, boys. You both know you want a little D—or in your case, Elliot, a big D. We all know you’re packin’. Give it to him real good. Tear his hole—”

I couldn’t take any more. With a quick turn of the doorknob, I shoved Mike into his house and slammed the door behind us. Whatever Mrs. H shouted next was drowned out.

Mike was still hysterical, his breaths coming in short bursts as heaving laughs eased.

“Oh . . . my . . . God.” Mike snorted again. “What was that?”

I grabbed the bottom of Mike’s shirt and yanked it over his head.

“Fuck whatever that was. I want you naked. Now.”

Mike froze, then the biggest smile reached all the way up to his eyes.

His shirt flew across the den.

I dropped to my knees and undid his jeans.

“Oh, shit,” Mike said, swaying. I had to brace him to keep his body upright. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Nope. I’m fucking your brains out tonight.”

Snap. Zip. Yank.

“Well, shit,” I said. “You don’t wear underwear.”

Little Mike flopped free, his balls hanging impressively down, dangling really, like hairy doorknockers waiting for the right guest.

“Step,” I ordered.

Mike complied.

Jeans joined shirt.

I stepped back.

Mike was everything I hoped he would be. Pale as a sheet. Stunning, bright red hair covering every inch. Just enough muscle to be defined, but not a body of a workout fiend. More that of a runner. A sexy, beautiful, ginger runner.

My cock throbbed just staring at him.

His head ducked.

With my index finger, I lifted his chin so our eyes met.

“Mike Albert, you’re amazing,” slipped out somehow.

He blinked a few times and tried to duck his head again. I didn’t let him.

“I mean it. God, you’re beautiful, Mike.”

“If you make me blush all night, I will never forgive you.”

“Would you rather I insulted you?”He thought a moment. “That might be easier.”

I reached up and ran a hand through his hair. It was all thick and tangled and sprouting in every direction. I could lose myself in his hair and never find my way home.

Unable to resist a moment longer, I stepped forward, spun him around, pressed his body against the back of the door, and kissed him again. This time, like on our date a few nights earlier, our kiss was slow and deep—and about as passionate as anything I’d ever felt. It was as though my heart had crawled up my throat and onto my lips and was determined to show me what a kiss was really supposed to be.

Mike’s whole body melted. He slumped into my arms, and I held him tight.

“Don’t let me go, Elliot. Please.”

At first, I thought he was worried about hitting the floor, being drunk and all. But the longer we stood there, the longer we kissed with him naked in my arms, I wondered if he’d meant something else.

“I’ve got you, Mike. I won’t let you fall.”

“It’s too late, E,” he whispered, a slurry, drooly thing that smeared across my face. “I’ve already fallen.”