Every Wrong Reason(44)

Oh, my god, somebody tackle me.

Stop talking.

Eli’s expression told me clearly he had no idea what to think of me anymore, but he gifted me with a gentle smile and nodded once. “Good.”

I put the last of my papers in my tote bag and fumbled around for my classroom keys in my purse. “Do you have a favorite spot?”

“Yes.” His smile came more naturally as I shut off the lights and we moved to the quiet hallway so I could lock the door behind me. “It’s not Starbucks though. Does that bother you?”

“What?” I shook my head at him. “There are other places that make coffee besides Starbucks? You’re lying.”

He laughed at my sarcasm. “I would not lie about something like this. I take my coffee very seriously.”

“Well, I’ve never been much of a commercial coffee drinker.” I waved my to-go cup in the air. “I bring it from home.”

“I’m glad we share the same philosophy,” Eli said seriously.

“I can’t lie, mine’s more about me being late every morning. I never have time to stop.”

He threw his head back and laughed while I admired the strong column of his throat. God, I needed this. I needed to breathe a little and forget about the insanity of my divorce.

His gaze found mine again and with a sweetness I didn’t think still existed in the male race, said, “Can I drive you? I’ll swing you back by the school to pick up your car.”

I paused for a second so I wouldn’t trip over my tongue. “Yes.”

We chatted about our days and the school year so far as we dropped off my bags at my car then walked to his. My heart started to beat triple time and I was feeling a little sweaty.

Eli and I had been friends for so long that I shouldn’t feel this nervous. I only half paid attention to the small talk during our short car ride because inside I couldn’t stop freaking out long enough to focus on any one thing.

The entire drive to the coffee shop, my stomach churned anxiously, my mouth dried out and my palms started to itch. I fidgeted in the high bench seat of his truck but tried desperately not to be obvious.

He had to think I was crazy already. I didn’t need to fuel his opinion of me.

Yet, he’d asked me out.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

I had a tendency to overthink everything. And so, during the few moments I wasn’t obsessing over my own miserable life and divorce, I had thought about Eli and whether anything would progress with us. I hadn’t really thought he’d ask me out so soon, but I knew there was chemistry between us. Kara had left enough hints that I had started to prepare myself mentally for the day that he would ask me out.

But I hadn’t expected it today.

I thought he’d wait until my divorce was finalized and I’d had a little more separation from my husband than six measly months. I thought we’d continue to build a relationship slowly, enjoying friendship first and then, in the future, in the far, distant future, we’d naturally fall into something romantic.

Maybe.

If I ever got over the trauma of seven years of bad luck, er, my marriage.

And yet, he’d asked me today. Today, when I realized, that in all likelihood, I would have to spend the next several months in mediation with my not-yet-ex-husband. Today when all I wanted to do was go home, put my feet up and pour a bottle of wine into a fishbowl and drink it with a straw.

Maybe I didn’t even need the fishbowl.

Maybe I would guzzle it straight from the bottle.

That sounded so much easier.

I was nothing if not practical.

“Are you listening?” Eli’s dark gaze cut to mine.

I ruined any semblance of interest I had when I stupidly asked, “Huh?”

He looked down at his oversized cup of coffee and smiled into the black depths. Eli had brought me to a rustic, mountain-cabin-esque coffee house that was cute in the I-just-shot-a-twelve-point-buck kind of way. He drank his coffee bitter, dark as midnight and endlessly. I liked milk and sugar. I liked fru-fru and beverages that didn’t give me heartburn. I wanted whipped cream. Lots of whipped cream. When I ordered my latte, the cashier looked at me like I’d just asked for liquid skunk. “You sure?” he said. As if I would reconsider my order and pick battery acid instead.

But in the end I did. I was too self-conscious to go through with it. “Just a regular coffee, then,” I mumbled. “And some milk.”

I shouldn’t be that hard on the place, though. Despite my rough introduction, Eli had led me to oversized leather chairs that I could squish back in and tuck my feet beneath me. Now that we were leaned in close in our respective chairs, chatting over warm coffee while a light rain pelted the gloomy October afternoon, I felt more relaxed about the place-even if my bitter beverage was melting my insides.

Except I ruined the potentially romantic moment by letting my mind drift.

“I’m sorry,” I told him honestly. “I just… I don’t have an excuse.”

I was too embarrassed to look at him, but I heard the forgiveness in his voice when he said, “Yes you do. You’ve got a lot going on.”

I lifted my gaze shyly. “I hate that I always make our conversations about me and my problems.”

“Don’t be sorry. I like talking about you.”

His words brought a fierce blush to my face, which I took as a good sign. See? I was interested in Eli. I liked his compliments. I liked his attention.