Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (31 page)

“Elliott, as in Gordon’s cousin slash your
teacher’s assistant?” Millie said. “Yeah, I suppose he would
know.”

Brooke realized then just how little Millie
knew about the whole Elliott situation. In fact, it almost sounded
as though Millie was pointing that very thing out. Well, not for
long because Elliott was why she’d begged Millie to come over in
the first place.

“I think Elliott’s in love with me.”

Millie blinked, but otherwise, her expression
remained unmoved.

“I’ve been dating him a little and I saw him
today and,” she said, hating how weird it felt to tell Millie this
way. Why had she kept it secret in the first place? “And I’m pretty
sure he’s in love with me now.”

Millie nodded slightly. “I see. You are
dating college boy. Alright. He’s in love with you. As he should
be. Okay.” She took a breath. “You aren’t in love with him?”

“Of course not.” Brooke almost sloshed her
wine in her emphasis. “I mean, how can I be? I’ve only known him a
few weeks, really and he’s way too young for me and I don’t want to
hurt him, but how could I ever trust a guy like that?”

More silence. A little relief also, though.
She had imagined Millie offended or shocked or pissed. But she
wasn’t. She sat calm and cool, twisting a strand of her hair. No,
“what are you thinking” or “why didn’t you tell me”.

Brooke sagged. Amazing what saying a thing
out loud could do for a person. No wonder people went to
confession. No wonder Nancy couldn’t wait for Jason to tell her.
She could only imagine what tomorrow would be like for him. Ew.
Tomorrow. Her face flashed hot envisioning Nancy’s holiday party.
Gordon and Jason holding hands, kisses, hugs, claps.

Maybe she wouldn’t go.

Elliott had to have known this whole time. He
must have. Yet he hadn’t said a word. Not even a hint about Gordon.
Millie too. She’d kept it to herself. Why didn’t they tell her? How
little they both must think of her to, what, protect her like
this?

Irritation dug around inside of her. Small at
first, a low scratch, then bigger, wider. Millie put her refilled
wine glass back in Brooke’s hand. She nudged her hand to her mouth.
Brooke took a sip, simmering higher. Her fingertips tingled with
it.

“So, is Elliott the reason you called me to
come over?” Millie asked. “Elliott being in love with you?”

Her edgy, almost sarcastic tone grated
Brooke’s nerves, making her grind her teeth. She nodded. “Yeah. I
was panicked. If you’d seen the way he was looking at me
today…well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hurt him.” Her voice
sounded far away in her own ears. “I thought you could help me
figure out how to let him down easy.”

Not anymore. She found herself wishing Millie
would leave instead. Quickly. Being alone sounded so much better.
Less irritating. Some space to think, to breathe. To let all this
new information sink in.

“Do you think you could be in love with him?”
Millie asked, her gaze intent.

Brooke gasped. “Me? In love with
Elliott?”

Millie’s eyebrows rose. She nodded.

“He’s half my age. I mean, what would people
think? Besides, I hardly know him. He’s great, don’t get me wrong.
He’s amazing. Sweet. Smart. It’s just…it’s just….” She didn’t know.
She detested the sound of the words once she said them. She hated
how awful they made her feel.

Why did Millie look stricken all of a sudden?
What did she have to be stressed out about? Brooke was the one
dealing with one bad revelation after another. She was the one who
felt sick. “Millie, I have a headache,” she blurted, uncaring if
she sounded mean. Besides, her head did feel a little fuzzy. “Can
we talk about all this some other time?”

Millie set down her plate, but her food
appeared untouched. After a moment of eyeballing Brooke like a
caged animal, she nodded. “Absolutely. Whenever you want.”

If she saw how mad Brooke was becoming, she
didn’t appear phased. If anything, Millie seemed distracted. Maybe
that was what was making Brooke’s annoyance worsen by the second.
Maybe Brooke wanted her best friend to be a little more surprised
or hurt or concerned about all of this.

Brooke’s scalp itched and her skin tingled.
It didn’t matter if Millie was being obtuse. She just wanted Millie
gone. She’d figure out Millie’s reaction or lack of one later.

After a promise to call, a quick goodbye,
Brooke shut the door and went straight to her phone. She dialed
Elliott.

Letting him down easy could wait. First she
had to find out exactly how much he knew about Jason. She needed to
hear him say it. He knew, didn’t he? He’d known all along. Yes,
Gordon was seeing Jason, wasn’t he? Yes, that’s how he’d known, not
because he’d somehow guessed.

Millie had guessed?

She needed to hear him say she wasn’t dumb or
blind or naïve. She needed him to say, if not for Gordon, Jason
being gay wasn’t right there for any fool to observe. Because if it
was and she hadn’t seen the signs….

His line rang. She got his voicemail. She
hung up and called back. Again, voicemail. She glanced around her
empty apartment. She wiped her brow, fanned her face.

“Screw it.” She grabbed her keys. Why leave a
message and wait when she could see him face to face within
minutes?

Chapter Twenty-four

Three steps outside her front door, something
on the ground caught Brooke’s foot. With a screech, she fell
forward. Her knees and palms connected to the concrete. Pain
streaked through her. Her foot rolled, twisting her ankle. She
collapsed, the breath knocked out of her.

“Ohhhh! Hell, that hurts!” she cried out to
the empty night air. “Oh, oh, ohhhhh!”

Maneuvering onto her rump, she rubbed at her
leg, struggling not to howl in pain. Tears stung her eyes, snot
burned in her nose. Of all things! The last thing she needed right
now was a twisted ankle. It took every ounce of will to stop from
sobbing. She took deep breaths, holding each, swallowing her
hiccups of sorrow.

Sitting around crying in the lamp-lit dark,
giving in to a pity party, at this late hour wouldn’t help matters.
Not that she had much choice. Until the throb radiating up her leg,
the pain pulsing through the rest of her ceased. Brooke was
stuck.

So what if she was stuck. Alone. In shock
over the day’s events. Wishing for someone she shouldn’t be wishing
for. Brooke groaned. If only Elliott were here now.

He would be if she weren’t such a frigging
chicken.

Her purse’s contents lay scattered over the
icy cold sidewalk. Her ass felt frozen. She looked skyward and, no
matter how much she told herself crying would only make things
worse, the tears fell in a torrent.

“Perfect,” she hiccupped. “Just perfect.
You’re thirty-seven, divorced. Your ex prefers men and you run from
the first real love of your life.” Brooke’s hands trembled hearing
herself speak the word out loud. “Love? Brilliant. Nice work,
Brooke.”

Did she actually love Elliott? Absolutely.
Somewhere between the fanny pack and that stack of books, she’d
completely fallen for Elliott Jovovich. And then ran. Why hadn’t
she seen it before? Fear, plain and simple. All she wanted now was
his arms around her, cradling her, telling her everything would be
alright. Telling her he loved her.

Telling her it didn’t matter what people
thought. A sob tore out of her as she swiped at her wet cheeks. She
had to call him, to see him. The need gripped her, tightening her
chest and throat.

She’d glanced around the sidewalk and spotted
her fallen phone. If she could reach the stupid thing four feet to
the left, she’d call him. And say what? Tell him everything over a
phone call? But he wasn’t answering, was he? She’d probably run him
off with her lame excuses and run for cover earlier today.

Moving toward it sent a new streak of pain up
her leg. She had to get to her phone and call someone. Who else was
there to call? Millie? Yeah, right. She wouldn’t kid herself.
Millie wasn’t the nursing type. She was pissed at Millie, anyways.
What kind of a friend hid what she’d guessed about Jason? And she
hadn’t been the least bit supportive tonight, either. All she’d
done tonight was get too much wine into Brooke. Probably why Brooke
had gone and tripped to begin with.

Elliott was her only hope. She grasped her
phone and paused before dialing.

Oh no! Elliott wasn’t much of a nurse either,
was he? He’d probably pass out on her. On a moan, a new sob racked
her body. Her only friend failed her and she was in love with a
fainter. A sight-of-blood fainter. A college boy that every one of
her old friends, all of her family, would get
fat
gossiping
about.

And she’d do anything to have him with her
now, fainting, queasy or not. Elliott would get her into her house,
do his best to make her better, then help her laugh off the whole
stupid thing.

Elliott would be there for her. No matter
what Jason was, he wouldn’t judge her or blame her. He would simply
love her. Love her for her. Clumsy, uptight, prissy her. Every
inch.

Why hadn’t she admitted it to herself
before?

He hadn’t even said the words, yet she knew.
She’d seen it in his eyes. Even sitting there on the cold concrete,
her body began reacting to the thought of him. Imagining his face,
she suddenly, physically ached to see him. Not just to see his
smile, either. She ached for his mouth on hers, his body against
hers.

Her vision blurred as she tried to dial. Heat
raced up her neck. Dear God. Was she actually getting aroused? No.
Couldn’t be. She was just disoriented by the combination of wine
and a bad tumble. Not to mention how keenly she was thinking of
him, of how much she needed to see him. Plus, she was beginning to
feel more than a bit drunk.

She palmed it, concentrated and called
Elliott again. “Please pick up.” Brooke stared at the ground in
front of her, listening to the line ringing, feeling her thighs
warming.

No answer. At least she’d stopped crying. She
dried her face on her sleeve, and something caught her eye. Half
hidden a few feet away in the spotty grass and shrubbery, a small,
purple box glinted. Brooke peered closer, blinking away the blur in
her vision. It looked like a gift.

Elliott’s voicemail beeped in her ear.

“Uh, hi. It’s Brooke. I’m sorry I’ve called
so much. If you can, call me when you get this.” She paused. The
tingly sensation in her head and hands spread through her body. “I
need to see you…as soon as possible.” Not knowing what more to say,
she hung up.

The box held her attention. Was it from
Elliott? Was it the silver box? Some sort of goodbye? Her stomach
panged. Brooke wasn’t sure she could get herself to her door, let
alone the several feet to that box. She should leave it. Getting
inside, the closer option, was the practical thing to do. Once she
got help, she could get the box. It might not even be intended for
her.

Something told her to try anyway. The box was
probably what she’d tripped over in the first place. She had to
know, was it for her? Had Nancy or Millie left or dropped it? Could
it be from Elliott? Maybe not a goodbye at all. Maybe another
romantic gesture. Her heart leapt. Yes, it had to be from him. He
loved her and just couldn’t wait. He had to give her…the silver box
from the yard sale? Except, if he’d come to her apartment and left
this for her, without so much as a knock, if it was the silver box
inside….

Before finishing the dread-filled thought,
she began scooting, ankle raised, biting against the pain. If she
could get to it, she could certainly get back to her front door.
The pain dulled behind the zinging heat of the alcohol. Or was her
curiosity simply drowning it out? Didn’t matter. One more scoot and
she’d be able to reach out and pick it up.

Holding her breath, carefully stretching
outward, Brooke touched the box’s corner and rocked it closer. It
tumbled toward her. She let out her breath and snatched it up. It
was heavy. Her anticipation notched upward as she set aside the
soft satin ribbon, then tore into the paper. She opened the
cardboard lid, ignoring the flash of headlights and hum of a
passing car.

Tissue paper pulled out, she felt the metal
before she saw it. She was right! The silver box lay nestled
inside. She’d suspected he’d bought it for her. Suspected? Why had
it felt like panic? The span of hours since seemed like days now.
Technically, Elliott hadn’t actually bought it. He’d been given it.
The gesture flooded her heart with longing. She was deeply touched.
Her craving to see him, to feel him, consumed her.
Elliott.
She had to see him as soon as physically possible. Her being
literally ached for him.

This gift was more than a gesture. It was
more than a man wooing a woman. It was a sign.

Woozy but determined, she replaced the box
into the tissue, balanced the package atop her purse and maneuvered
herself to the door. Scooting backwards, her purse slung around her
neck, helped. The chill ground numbed her butt. Her fingertips
pinched in protest. The grit of dirt made parts of her cringe but
she wouldn’t feel sorry for herself a minute longer. She would get
inside and find a way to get to him. Tonight.

She fumbled her key to the lock. In her
reach, her purse angled at the ground, the remaining contents
spilling out. She thought only of the box, and rescued it from
clattering to the concrete. A small envelope fell out.

Brooke’s eyes locked to the ivory paper,
bright amid the shadows and lamplight. Her stomach slipped. He had
put a letter inside? That couldn’t be good. No knock, a package,
now a letter? Lock forgotten, she picked up the envelope, rubbing
her fingers over the textured surface. She’d misunderstood his last
note. She didn’t want to do the same now.