Wrapping Up: A Rainier Family Novel Page 7

  “And forget how adorable you look when your face turns that shade of pink? Not a chance,” I joke, dropping bacon into a hot skillet.

  “You need any more coffee?” I ask him. He shakes his head, still looking half-scandalized, half-flattered.

  Good.

  I don’t want there to be any ambiguity about what I want from Eli. I get if he needs time to come around, to be comfortable with it, but I’m ready to see what this could be with us.

  At least he gets a break while the bacon and eggs are cooking—the sizzle from the pan’s too loud to really hold a conversation over, and my mouth is watering too much at the smell of bacon to form real words anyway.

  When I bring the plates to the table, I bring the coffee pot too and top him off.

  “Thanks,” he mutters, looking down at the plate with a weird look.

  “What?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing.”

  “Bull.”

  Eli sighs, then looks up at me, his eyes shimmering. “It’s been a really long time since anyone cooked for me outside a restaurant. You’ve done it twice now,” he says, his lips slowly curving into a smile. “It’s just nice, is all.”

  “I’ll cook for you anytime,” I say. “Can’t promise I’ll be making something edible, but I do my best.”

  “You make pretty good steak and potatoes,” he says, peppering his fried egg.

  “Anytime,” I reiterate.

  I love the little smile he’s got as he eats, keeping quiet, both of us happy to enjoy each other’s company without having to fill every space of silence. I like being with him. I like being near him, watching his mannerisms, wondering what he’s thinking about.

  “You have plans for the day?” I ask him, seeing his plate nearly cleared. I don’t want our time together to be over so soon.

  “Not really, I’m off today. You?”

  Quick, think of something, I tell myself. I don’t have anything good, nothing planned for us to do, so I’m grasping at straws.

  “Only thing I’ve gotta do is figure out how to make a website,” I grumble, side-eying the door that leads to my laptop.

  Eli cocks his head to the side. “Figure out…?”

  “Clary says I need one for the campaign. Says I should probably have one for my business too, but—”

  “Wait, wait, wait. You don’t have a website?” he asks skeptically.

  “Why is that so surprising to everyone?”

  “Because you’re the one that wants to bring in tourists! How do you think they’re gonna find you? Carrier pigeon?”

  I snort, then try to shove back the laughter because it’s not funny.

  “No… I just…”

  Eli huffs, tosses down his napkin, and grabs me by the wrist. “Come on, show me your computer.”

  “What? Now?”

  “Yeah, now,” he teases, tugging a little firmer.

  Gotta admit, I like this feisty side of him. I like him taking charge and thinking he knows what’s good for me. Is that crazy?

  “This is it,” I say, opening the old laptop at the front desk. It’s slow and unorganized, and I can tell it’s liable to give him a conniption the moment he looks at it.

  “Oh… Oh, Garrett…” he mutters, looking at me, chewing his bottom lip.

  “This is it, huh? You’re done with me now,” I tease, hoping it’s as hyperbolic as I think.

  Eli’s grim expression doesn’t make me feel better, though.

  “This is…” He sighs.

  “You don’t hafta… I know where everything is,” I tell him, grabbing the laptop away, feeling suddenly like he’s airing out my dirty laundry. I wasn’t insecure about my file organization before, but after the way he looked at my computer screen, I sure as hell am now.

  “No, I wanna help,” he says, reaching for it. “Please? I’m sorry. It just caught me by surprise.”

  “I’ve never been a computer guy,” I grumble, relinquishing the laptop. “Didn’t used to be able to take them everywhere, and I liked being outside, on mountains, in rivers, in caves, in trees, way too much to care about it or miss it. But I guess now I need to figure it out,” I say. Even admitting it is making me wanna shrink back and hiss at the laptop like I’m a vampire and it’s the sun.

  “Well, consider me your new teacher. It’s time you join us in the twenty-first century, Mr. Rainier,” he jokes, smiling wide. “Pull up a chair.”

  For the next few hours, our heads are huddled together, Eli teaching me a million new things about computers and websites. I’m sure I’m not going to remember half of it with the amount of information he threw at me this morning, but I could listen to him talk all day long. He’s so smart and patient. Even when I had trouble getting what he was talking about, he didn’t lose his temper or act like I was too stupid to get it. He tried to find another way to explain it until I got it.

  “And now, hit F5,” he says.

  “That’s… refresh, right?”

  He nods, grinning at me.

  “Hey, old dogs can learn new tricks,” I joke, tapping the key.

  The page reloads, and then, suddenly, my brand-new campaign website appears in its full glory.

  “That looks professional as fuck,” I say, giving the page a low whistle as I move the cursor over links, the color changing as I do. “Fancy. Thank you. Clary’s gonna be thrilled that it’s actually done. Maybe I won’t mention that you did it for me.”

  Eli makes a face and bumps my shoulder with his. “I didn’t do it for you. I helped, but you did the work.”

  He’s so close to me right now, smiling at me, his eyes drawing me in, encouraging me to make a move. I lick my lips, eyes flicking to his, the clean fresh scent of him pulling me, overwhelming my senses.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” I say, voice dropping in register.

  His smile grows. “That I’ll give you,” he says.

  “What about this?” I ask, moving closer, slipping my fingers into his hair, around the back of his head. My lips close in on his, till they’re hovering just above kissing him, and the tiniest, softest whimper comes from Eli’s throat.

  It’s the last straw for me. I pull him in that last fraction, searing my lips to his, my heart speeding off like a rocket. I hold him tight, the friction of our lips lighting a bonfire in me. My tongue slides against his, pushing into his mouth, and he groans, giving as good as he gets. Suddenly his tongue is in my mouth, and he’s pressing into me, taking my breath away.

  He pulls back slowly, licking his lips, catching his breath—I’m doing the same, still reeling from the buzz in my veins—and he sighs.

  “I should probably get going…”

  My stomach plummets. I can’t let him go without having plans to see him again. If I can’t convince him to stay now, then that’s the next best thing.

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow? Here?” I ask, the words pouring out before I even think them through.

  I’ll deal with that later.

  “How about I cook for you for a change?” he asks, surprising me.

  “How could I say no to that?” I ask, wishing I had a way to convince him to stay longer. But it’s fine. I’m going to see him again tomorrow. I can wait that long.

  “It’s a date,” Eli says with a little smile, getting up, grabbing his coat. “Come by around seven.” My heart’s in my throat, stopping me from calling out to him and asking him to stay. That’s what I want to do. I don’t want him to leave.

  But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe that’s what we need right now. As much as I want Eli, it is the first time I’ve ever considered being with a guy. I don’t know if I’m ready to just jump into bed with him, no matter how much I enjoy the thought of his mouth wrapped about me, or his moans in my ears.

  These things take time, and Eli’s right to give us that.

  Doesn’t mean I have to like it at all.

  The door opens a couple minutes after Eli leaves, and I jump up in my seat, thinking he’s changed his mind. H
e’s turned around and coming back for more.

  But no. It’s Clary, back from Aunt Sheryl’s.

  “Oh good, glad I’m not interrupting,” he says, his tone a little snottier than I appreciate. Clary and I have always been close, been good friends, got along just fine. But this thing with Eli is really rubbing him the wrong way it seems, and I don’t like it. I never asked him for his opinion on my love life, and despite his claims, I don’t think it has any bearing on the upcoming election.

  “Nope,” I answer, not hiding my annoyance with him.

  Clary frowns, moving around the desk after hanging up his coat. “Everything all right?”

  “He helped me make this,” I say, passing over the mouse, letting Clary lean in to see the screen. He clicks through, scrolls around, looks at every page.

  “Impressive,” he says with a nod. “This is live already?”

  “Yeah,” I say, pretty sure that’s what Eli said.

  “Perfect, I’ll go put in the order for new signs,” he says, already walking away.

  I frown at his retreating back on Eli’s behalf. He did damn good work on this website, and Clary can’t even seem to acknowledge that.

  Maybe calling him in wasn’t the best choice.

  Wait… I didn’t call him in. He called himself in.

  Sometimes being a Rainier fucking sucks.

  Eli

  I’m back at work at the clinic after my day off yesterday, and Dr. Peterson greets me with his signature slimy smile. I try to avoid him as much as I can, keeping conversation to a minimum. There’s really not much need for us to talk if we don’t want to. I’m not sure I believe his allusion to not remembering where he knows me from. I think he knows, and the fact that he’s still holding onto it, not saying anything, is grating on my nerves.

  But I’m not going to bring it up. Like hell. If he’s not going to acknowledge the elephant in the room, I’m fine with continuing to ignore it as well. Even if it does make me a little crazy and on-edge.

  “I took my family to that steakhouse you recommended,” Dr. Peterson says, cornering me in the breakroom. I swallow, throat tight, before I turn to look at him, brow raised.

  “Oh? Did you like it?” I ask, pleasant enough. I’m really being way more polite to him than he deserves. Maybe that does it for him. Knowing that I want to scream at him and call him a pervert for the way he’s looking at me, and knowing I can’t do anything about it if I wanna keep my job.

  Sick fuck like him probably enjoys this little game he’s playing with my head. I’m not going to let it bother me, though. I really don’t care anymore about that part of my past. I’m over it. I was a scared, homeless kid, doing what I had to to eat and survive. He was an adult, a professional, taking advantage of my situation.

  Who should really be feeling shameful here?

  It’s not me. Not anymore.

  “It was terrible. I can’t believe you’d recommend me such a slop house,” he sneers.

  I manage to stop myself from rolling my eyes, gritting my teeth as I bite back a growl. “I did say Sheryl’s is the preferred place in town,” I say, gently as I can.

  Dr. Peterson’s eyes flash, a scary look sparking in them, an angry look.

  “You disappointed me, Eli,” he says, upper lip curling.

  I don’t have to take this. He doesn’t have the power over me he thinks he does, and I’m not going to listen to him talk nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with that restaurant. It’s missing Michelin stars, but it’s a good meal at a decent price. This guy just wants to complain. He wants to complain, and make me uncomfortable from the look of things.

  “James?” There’s a woman calling from the front of the office. “James? Honey? I brought you lunch!”

  I watch Dr. Peterson freeze, his face paling for just a moment as his eyes dart toward the sound of what I’m assuming is his wife’s voice. He shoots me another withering look before stalking out of the breakroom after her, his face a mask of pleasantness.

  I shiver, shoving aside the lingering creepy feeling he’s left in his wake. The way he can just turn that fake smile of his on and off for his wife—I feel bad for her. I hear them talking in the front of the office, but I can’t make out the words through the walls and doors. Then the voices are getting closer and it’s easier to make them out.

  “—don’t be silly, of course he will!” the woman says, bustling through the door into the hallway where I’m standing sentinel.

  “You must be Eli!” she coos, marching right up to me. She’s a handsome woman, trim and fit, her hair neatly styled, makeup perfectly applied. She’s wearing a modest matching skirt-suit—the pinnacle of a well-to-do southern woman. “I’m Helen, James’s wife?” she offers, after forcing a hug on me, air-kissing both cheeks. It takes everything I’ve got not to fling her away from me like she’s got the plague. It’s not her fault her husband’s a piece of shit. I’m willing to bet she has no idea the stuff he gets up to.

  “I’ve brought lunch enough for all of us. Won’t you join us?” she asks, a polite little pout accentuating the request. Dr. Peterson’s coming up the hallway behind her, and he looks half-panicked at the thought. As much as I’d like to rub his face in it and make him sit through the whole awkward encounter, I don’t want to do it anymore than he does.

  “Oh, that’s so generous, but I’ve actually got to—”

  “Whatever it is, it can wait!” she cries, grabbing me by the wrist. “We’re going to be here for a while, and I like to get to know James’s coworkers,” she says, so friendly I don’t know how I’m supposed to say no. Besides, I’m his only coworker, so this problem isn’t going anywhere.

  Before Dr. Peterson or I have a chance to rebuff his enthusiastic wife again, she’s dragging us to the breakroom and setting out the sandwiches she’s brought from the coffee shop in town.

  “Welcome to Umberland,” I say, not sure how to make small talk with the wife of the guy that used to pay me for sex. “I hope you’re not too bored out here. Dr. Peterson told me you weren’t too happy with the steakhouse?”

  He shifts in his chair, shooting me a look. Helen’s eyes go wide, then she smiles, waving her hand dismissively.

  “Oh, it was fine; James is just particular. We had to wait a little longer than expected, and they messed up a few of our dishes, but it was all right in the end, wasn’t it, dear?” she says, patting Dr. Peterson on the back of his hand affectionately. I want to puke.

  “I guess,” he grumbles, hiding whatever other objections he has by taking a big bite out of his sandwich. He makes a face, looks like he’s going to spit it out, then scowls at his wife. “Is there mustard on this?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, honey. The menu didn’t say it has mustard. Does it taste like it has mustard?”

  He rips the sandwich open to expose the smear of dijon on the bread.

  “Disgusting. You know I can’t stand mustard. How am I supposed to—”

  “Here, have my sandwich,” she says, quickly switching them, her mouth tight with annoyance. By the time she looks back to me, though, the look’s gone and she’s grinning.

  “After seventeen years of marriage, you learn to pick your battles,” she says with a light chuckle.

  Dr. Peterson’s eyes shoot across the table at me, and I know he knows I can do math.

  They were married when we…

  I mean, I kind of figured they were, but I didn’t know for sure. Now I know I helped him cheat on his wife. I didn’t even know he had a wife back then—we tried pretty hard to not learn too much about our johns, and they preferred it that way too—but now there’s no denying the timeline.

  I know I shouldn’t feel so guilty for something that happened so long ago, something I didn’t really have much say in, but I do. I feel guilty enough that I can’t even look at this sandwich Helen got for me.

  “Oh no, is something wrong with yours, too?” she asks, concern in her weary eyes. I didn’t notice how tired they look before, but up clo
se, without her smiling, it’s hard to miss. This woman’s had a life filled with stress.

  With a husband like hers, is it any surprise?

  “No, it’s wonderful. I don’t have much of an appetite, is all,” I say, wrapping it up, depositing what’s left of the sandwich in the fridge. “It was lovely to meet you, Helen, I’ve got to get back to work,” I add, excusing myself, not letting her pout sway me. Dr. Peterson looks relieved to see me on my way out, and after his wife leaves, he doesn’t make any attempts to talk to me again for the rest of the day. He leaves me completely alone to do my job, which is the way I like it. Maybe it’s a new leaf. Before, he held all the power, but now I could seriously fuck up his life if I had the inclination.

  I don’t want to. I would gain absolutely nothing from doing such a thing, but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know I’m not going to expose him and destroy the life he’s worked so hard for.

  Maybe I can use that to my advantage and keep him out of my hair.

  I get out of the clinic right after closing, rushing to my car, on a mission to get to the grocery store. I told Garrett that I’d make him dinner tonight, but I don’t actually have any groceries in my house. Kinda hard to make a romantic dinner without the ingredients.

  I think I’m going to make him lasagna. It’s simple, fairly impressive, delicious, and makes great leftovers for lunch the next day. Now it’s just down to gathering all the supplies.

  Of course, you can’t walk ten feet in this town without running into a Rainier, and it’s Scout who’s stocking sausage when I reach into the cooler. Scout’s a friendly girl, the kind of person that makes conversation with you whether you’re looking for it or not. That’s the only reason I really even know her—because any time I buy groceries, we end up having a full-on conversation about life.

  I’d guess she’s lonely. The number of people in their teens and twenties in this town not related to her is surprisingly low.

  “Hey Scout,” I say, finding her before she spots me. She jumps and turns with a big smile.

  “Eli! What’re you doing here? Is it the end of the month already?” she teases, joking about how infrequently I seem to stock up. Despite that, I’m in the shop way more often because I never make good lists and always forget things. Or there’s a sudden need for cookies one night. You know, unexpected emergencies.