by Anna Zabo
Bingo.
Eli tried the menu again and this time, he could read it, but his lungs and chest hurt. Noah’s smile. The EMTs draping a sheet over his face. Noah’s mother’s tears when she visited Eli in the hospital. He hadn’t been able to visit shiva or go to the funeral. Eli shut the menu. Why am I not free of this? When will I be free of this?
“Eli?”
Justin so rarely said his name. Eli turned toward that voice and blinked until his vision cleared. “Yes?”
“I was thinking of ordering some tapas. Want to share? I always order too many.” Bright eyes. And yes, eyeliner. But Justin was no whore, not anything close to it.
Nor was he Noah. Very much not Noah. I want this man far too much. “That—would be fine, yes.” A kindness.
“Anything you don’t like?”
“No.” Not anymore. “And yes, I like things hot.”
Justin blushed high on his cheeks. The waitress came to take their order before Eli could say anything else to make Justin’s color rise more.
Justin ordered six plates—which was more than enough food. Some vegetarian, some not—including shrimp and pork toast. Eli ate bits of everything, including stealing a bite of Sam’s curry.
“I’ll tell Michael.”
Eli shrugged and let the smile come. “Go right ahead.”
Sam chuckled and shared some with Justin, too. They would never finish all the food on the table, so Michael would end up with a nice selection of leftovers. Enough to counteract Eli’s snitching his food.
The days of Michael correcting Eli were long since over, though he was pretty sure Michael still kept count of infractions.
The vestiges of bad memories sank away. He was who he was, regardless of his parents’ wishes or actions. The accident that had unveiled it all had been an accident. His therapists had warned him that the event would always be there, but he did not have to—would not let it rule him.
Justin cleaned his fingers on a napkin. “So you turned Sanhex down?”
Sam laughed. “Oh, no. They agreed to our terms once Eli had a chance to grab them by their neckties and put them in their places. Figuratively speaking.” He winked at Justin, who blushed again.
“Would have been more interesting to do that in person,” Eli said, watching carefully.
That had the desired effect on Justin—dilating pupils, hitched breath. What he wouldn’t give to sit down and have that conversation with Justin, the one he was never going to have with a coworker other than Sam.
Especially not one he liked.
Sam lifted an eyebrow.
“Anyway,” Eli said, “I explained exactly why we would not be contracting our time the way they wished and exactly why they would sign on with us. Their own report had enough fodder that I stuffed their own words back down their lovely little throats until they choked on them.”
Justin croaked.
“Figuratively speaking.”
“E can be very commanding.”
Oh, now was Sam getting into the teasing? Eli returned his attention to Justin.
A strange expression—part desire, part need—passed over Justin. It wasn’t sexual, though. “You make the executive end of business sound a lot more exciting than the textbooks.”
The waitress came with the check for Sam to sign and a box with Michael’s leftovers. Sam looked over the slip, added a tip, and signed. “It’s certainly more fun when it’s exciting,” he said. “But the books don’t completely lie.” He rose.
Eli followed suit, as did Justin. “So what do you do when things are as dull as drying paint?” Justin said.
The restaurant was blessedly devoid of Eli’s parents. “Make our own fun,” he said.
They made their way to the door. Justin pushed his fringe of hair from his eyes. “Ah yes. Macramé. You’ll have to show me your knots sometime.”
Sam nearly dropped Michael’s leftovers. Both eyebrows were in his hairline when he glanced at Eli.
“They’re rather lovely knots, Mr. White.”
Sam opened the door. “Out, both of you. We have work to do.”
They both obeyed—but not before Eli caught sight of just how tight Justin’s jeans had become. Excellent.
* * *
“I’m heading out, J.” Sam stopped in the doorway to their office, holding the leftovers from lunch. “Have a nice weekend.”
“Thanks. You too.” Justin was still full from lunch—and a bit breathless. Too many bits of information about Eli rattled around in his head.
Sam nodded before he vanished down the hall.
Justin shook his head to clear it. The weekend needed to be about Financial Engineering. Plus, he’d planned to meet with his capstone group. The management game was heating up and they had to up their strategy if they wanted to win. Or at least have their company survive.
Justin exhaled, saved the spreadsheet he’d been staring at, and closed the laptop. Time to head to campus. He grabbed his bicycle helmet and bag.
The whole building rumbled. Shit, no. Really? He peered though the door into Eli’s office and out the window. Black sky. Sheets of rain. Eli studied the window, hands poised over his keyboard.
“Fuck!”
Eli started and whipped around. No anger—just shock.
Damned if it didn’t look good on him, the tinged cheeks and wide eyes. “Sorry. It’s just . . .” He held up his helmet.
Eli folded his hands into his lap. “Not the best timing.”
“I’m supposed to meet with Don at six.” And soaking wet was not really a look he liked, outside of a pool or hot tub.
Eli studied the clock on his laptop before closing the machine. “Would you like a ride down to campus?”
Yes. No. That close to Eli? Fuck. “Sure, that would be great.”
Eli looked like a cat when a bird hopped by. That thought zapped through Justin, raising goose bumps. Like everything else he refused to think about, he pushed it out of his head.
Work. Classes. Bills. Mercy.
Eli pushed it right back in when he stood and pulled on his tight leather gloves—slowly—before grabbing his jacket. “You’re in luck. I normally walk, but I have errands to run this evening.”
“You live that close?”
“On Wightman. A few blocks.” He grabbed his cane—steampunk today. “It helps, the exercise.”
One of the few times he’d acknowledged the injury. “That’s good. I mean, the exercise.” God, what a dumb thing to say.
Eli pulled something from behind the door. “My car’s on Hobart. Did you bring . . . ?” He held up an umbrella.
No. He hadn’t. “It’s only a couple of blocks.”
He wasn’t sure which was worse, the rain sheeting against the window behind Eli, or that raised eyebrow that seemed to say, Are you really that much of an idiot?
“Come on,” Eli said.
Justin tossed the helmet back onto his desk and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and across his chest. Eli shut off all the lights before they descended the stairs. Big fat drops plopped mockingly against the sidewalk.
“The umbrella will fit two,” Eli said. “If you don’t mind getting close.”
Just what he needed, to be pressed against Eli. It was either that or get soaked in two seconds flat. “I don’t mind.”
“Good.” Eli stepped out and raised the golf umbrella with the touch of a button. “Come here.”
A command. Like every other time, Justin obeyed without thinking, heart hammering against his ribs.
“Hold this.” Eli handed him the umbrella and wrapped his free arm around Justin’s torso. “Do not get me wet.”
Every nerve fired from the grip of Eli’s hand at his waist. It was a wonder Justin could walk. But he did, at the pace Eli set, down the street a few blocks to Hobart.
Thankfully, Eli’s car, a blue Audi, was one of the first ones parked along the street. Justin wanted lean into Eli, kiss the tantalizing skin above his shirt collar. Eli unlocked the car and ste
ered Justin to the passenger door. He loosened his grip. “Take the cane, give me the umbrella, and get in.”
They made the exchange. Justin opened the door and sank into the seat. Eli closed the door. A moment later Eli settled into the driver’s seat, tucking the umbrella against the door. “Nicely done.”
The praise sent a shiver down through Justin. “Thanks for the lift.”
Eli chuckled, but didn’t say anything more. They rode in silence up Murray, and past where they’d eaten lunch, where Eli had lost his shit. Sam had pulled Justin aside after lunch and explained that those two had been Eli’s parents. They’d been dressed conservatively and Eli’s father had worn a kippah.
Different thoughts rattled through Justin’s head. Eli’s shell-shocked expression, the tremble in his hands. The inward focus on something horrible. He’d seen those in his sister, too—though Eli had pulled himself back together far quicker than Mercy could after an episode. PTSD from the accident that had fucked up Eli’s leg. But there was more there, much more.
Justin glanced out the window as they crawled past Wightman—biking would have been faster, had the weather not been shit. Traffic was horrid this time of night. He stole another glance at Eli. “You’re Jewish.”
Eli gave him a quick look. “Yes.” A pause. “Figured my name would have been a clue.”
His first name, sure, but . . . “Ovadia sounds—I don’t know—Spanish, or something.”
A chuckle. “I’m Sephardi. Family’s from Portugal. Ovadia is Hebrew, though.”
“Well, I guess that’s my one new thing learned for today.”
“God help you, if it is. Don’t you have a class tonight?”
“Yeah. Financial Engineering.”
Eli’s face twisted and Justin laughed. “Good to know I’m not alone there.”
“Last thing I should do is discourage you from your studies.” Eli’s smile was small but warm.
Traffic freed up and they moved faster now, rolling down Forbes toward CMU. “Where do you want to be dropped off?”
“University Center is fine.” He glanced at the dashboard clock. “I want to get a soda before Don and class, or I’ll never make it through.”
Eli nodded. Soon—too soon—they pulled into the UC turnaround. Eli put the car into park. “There’s a smaller umbrella in the door pocket.”
Justin glanced down. So there was, one of those ones that folded up into a tiny thing.
“Take it.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Now Justin remembered why he’d thought Eli the ice king. “If you’d rather Don see you as a drowned punk rat, I could have let you bike in the rain.”
Justin grabbed the door handle. “If I’d known you’d be an ass about it—” Before he could yank open the door, Eli put a hand on his shoulder and—for fuck’s sake—it stilled him.
“I was teasing, Justin.” Gone was the mask, and what lay behind was far more complicated. “Please take the umbrella. I have the other, and it’s not like you don’t know where to find me to return it.”
The anger evaporated. “I—sorry. I get . . .” He took a breath then blurted out what he’d wanted to say for weeks. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I know. Believe me, I have never thought you to be one.”
Justin had no idea how to respond to that. So he watched Eli, who blushed ever so slightly. “Take the umbrella.”
Pride. Justin’s pride said no. He pulled the umbrella out of the door and into his lap. “Thanks.”
Eli squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you. For this afternoon.” Gray eyes held him in the seat. “I know what you did and I very much appreciate it.”
Ordering for him. Pushing the conversation in other directions. Keeping Eli present. “My sister,” he said, his heart suddenly in his mouth.
Eli nodded. “You mentioned her before.”
“I couldn’t just . . .” He shrugged. I couldn’t leave you like that. Caught in the past. “Did they disown you because you’re gay?”
Eli scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “Yes. Though it was mutual. I left when I turned eighteen.”
Justin’s legs itched. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Eli waved the words away. “It’s a tiny company, Just. We all get to know each other too well eventually.”
Just. The itching turned into a tingle and went straight to his head. Before he could reply, a flash of red and blue and the distinctive bloop of a police car made them both jump. Eli rolled his eyes and looked much younger. “Damn campus cops. You better go.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Justin opened the door and popped the umbrella before climbing out. “See you on Monday.”
Eli’s wave and smile when Justin closed the door made his ribs ache. The Audi pulled away. Eli Ovadia wasn’t just hot—he was nice, too.
Shit. Shit. Shit. So many thoughts rolled through Justin’s brain as he wandered into Entropy, the little convenience store in the UC, and grabbed a Diet Coke. Nice. Eli was nice—and complicated. Human.
Hot. Commanding.
“Fuck.”
Someone next to him whipped his head around. “The hell, dude?”
Justin shook his head. “Sorry. Talking to myself.”
The guy let him be. He paid and headed to Don’s.
While it wasn’t pouring so hard—the rain hadn’t let up. He would have been soaked through, even though he took the more convoluted path through the maze of buildings to get him close to Hamburg Hall. Right before he left the Gates Center, his phone vibrated.
That was odd. So few people texted him. He pulled it out and didn’t recognize the number, but the content—Justin’s hand shook.
Figured you should have my cell. If the weather’s bad after class, call. Or if you need a lift to get your bike over the weekend.—E
It made sense that Eli had his number—he’d put it down as a contact. Likely Sam had it as well. But now he had Eli’s. When he could make his fingers stop shaking, he typed a reply.
Thanks. Will let you know.
No reply to that. The clock on his phone told him he had exactly eight minutes before he needed to be at Don’s office. Time to move.
Besides, Justin doubted Eli would approve of his being late.
* * *
Though the text from Eli had burned itself into Justin’s skull and rain still came down, albeit gently, he didn’t call. Trudging though the back streets of Oakland in the dark seemed the better idea. He sure as hell wasn’t going to show Eli where he lived. Welcome to my shithole basement apartment. Don’t mind the mold and the Goodwill furniture. Make yourself at home.
Yeah. No. Given Eli’s car, his expensive suits, and that he lived on Wightman, Justin could only imagine the wrinkle of his nose.
But his place was cheap and gave him somewhere to put his head at night. Justin opened the basement door and pulled mail out of a box that barely hung from the shingles. Never mind that the apartment broke a billion codes. You got what you paid for.
He closed the door, dropped the umbrella onto the tile, took two steps, and tossed his bag onto the kitchen table.
Class had gone well and his meeting with Don even better. You’re much more focused this term, Justin. Working with Anderson looks good on you. They’d talked about the capstone project, Don picking at his ideas until Justin’s fingers cramped from typing notes so fast. So many things to consider. He’d need to get with his group and discuss strategies, but it was all good and doable, and Don Miller thought he was on the right track.
Justin exhaled and sorted through the mail.
Boom. Liquid nitrogen poured over his enthusiasm. Bills. Electric. Gas. And the latter in an envelope with red lettering. I thought I paid that! I could have sworn . . .
He pulled out his laptop and sat down. A few minutes later, he swore at the ledger on the bank website.
No. He hadn’t. Worse, rent, his credit card bill, and the money he’d sent to Mercy pretty much had emptied his account until he got paid again. Where he was going
to come up with one hundred thirty-five dollars and twenty-seven cents? He had a little more than that in checking, but then there was the whole eating thing.
He looked at the numbers again.
Guess it was ramen and crackers for a while. Plus whatever was in his student account at CMU.
He’d gotten ahead, too. Then Mercy had called.
I need help again, Justin. And I can’t ask Mom and Dad . . .
His folks didn’t have anything. Only he did, or so he said. He’d sent the cash because he would not let his big sister get tossed out on her own. The woman was a goddamned hero.
Shit. Justin stood up, toppling over his chair.
He couldn’t ask Sam for a raise. They were already paying him more than the position required. He twisted his hands in his hair. Still paying for his time with Francis. Still not free of that man.
He’d extended himself after he’d left LA. Too much shit on his credit card. He knew his debt load, knew how much he needed to get out from under it, and had pared down everything he could.
Except Mercy needed him, and there was no cutting her off.
Justin picked up his chair, took three steps, and sat on the edge of his bed. Yup, Justin White. Stellar employee. Star MBA student with an eye for business and finance. Forty thousand dollars in debt because he’d been stupid and reckless and fallen for the wrong guy while his sister had been off getting blown up in Iraq.
He dropped his head into his hands. If only Don could see him now. Or Sam.
Or Eli.
* * *
When Monday came, it was as if Eli had never driven Justin to campus, as if they’d never spoken in his car. The brusque, snarky Justin marched into the office in the morning. He returned the umbrella but didn’t look at Eli, just muttered his thanks before slinking across the hall.
The gut-punch of emotion made Eli’s body ache. He hadn’t expected Justin to call him over the weekend. But he didn’t understand the reversal of any hint of a friendship between them. Couldn’t shake it off.
Eli closed the door to his office. Seeing Justin at his desk, hearing his laugh when he spoke to Sam, but seeing that scowl and curled lip directed at him? No. The stabbing in his chest increased until breathing hurt.
