She drops her gaze. “Eli?”
“Yes, Whitney?”
She looks down as I lift and warm her other hand between my palms.
“Nothing. Goodnight.”
Pulling her hand from mine, she starts to gather the mini plastic wine bottles from the mattress. Unwilling to let a second of earned intimacy or her undivided attention pass, I decide to drop another truth bomb.
“You know, I was never a Casanova. You just refused to believe me.”
She snorts derisively. “Sure, you weren’t.”
“I lost my virginity my senior year of college to an insane, mouthy, know it all with killer legs who swore she had my number.”
I gape at Eli as he sits propped against the wall, looking utterly devastating in a form-fitting thermal shirt, pinstriped pajama pants, his crystal blue eyes surreal, his words even more so.
“What did you just say?”
“You were my first and only in college, Whitney.”
“You can’t be serious. Eli, t-t-that’s not true,” I stutter out, sobering considerably.
Floored, I resume my seat next to him, white-knuckling the wine bottles in my hand.
“I was crazy about you, so I took my time with you. I got to know you inside and out. I explored and studied you, memorized you, so I knew exactly how you wanted to be touched.”
“But that can’t be—”
He shakes his head in annoyance as my mind tries to refute it.
“It was you. Only you, and for a long time after, too.”
Searching our memories, the rest of my denial dies on my tongue as images of our beginning start to play out differently. His refusal to kiss me. His utter disdain for the nickname. The long wait to get intimate, nearly two months of dating before we had sex. And it wasn’t just sex. We made love—the most intense, beautiful lovemaking of my life.
“Ah,” he says, his eyes lighting with satisfaction. “So, she finally believes me.”
“Oh, my God, Eli—”
“You were worth every bit of the wait, Whitney. You were.”
“H-how is that even possible? I mean…why would they call you—”
“All hearsay bullshit, I have no idea where it stemmed from. Sure, I fucked around a little, I wasn’t completely innocent when we met, but I was a far fucking cry from anywhere near resembling that rumor.”
“Why would you let me think…W-why didn’t you tell me?”
“There’s so much I didn’t tell you because I was a selfish bastard when it came to how you perceived me back then for reasons I refused to tell you. In truth, I abused your selfless heart, and I did it because it gave me what I needed. There’s a lot to confess, but I think the most important thing right now is that you know that you were my first and only in college.”
He pushes a loose strand of hair falling from my messy bun behind my ear.
“Please tell me this confession bought me a talk at some point, if nothing else, before we both go home.”
I slowly nod.
“Good.” He lifts the book from the mattress and flips to his earmarked page. “Go, hang with your sisters,” he urges, “they’re staring again.”
I stand with the bottles clutched to me, knowing Serena still needs me and that Erin needs to air her own grievances about Brenden, but I can’t force myself to walk away. His words from this afternoon come back to me, and Whitney’s wants and needs become crystal clear for the first time since I got here. Right now, Whitney wants and needs to talk to Eli, to kiss Eli, to stare openly at Eli without shaming herself for it.
Lingering above him, he looks up from his book and stares back at me, reading those wants and needs.
“Goddamn it, Whitney,” he rasps out, “what I wouldn’t give to be able to give you exactly what you want right now, because I want it too, but we aren’t going to get the privacy we need tonight. I’ll be here tomorrow and the next day, unless you change your mind, okay?”
Biting my lip, I nod and slowly turn back toward the door. Just as I reach it, he speaks up.
“I’ve missed you, Whitney.”
It takes every bit of my willpower to walk through it.
“Oh my God,” Serena groans, her face ghastly white as she enters the kitchen and sidles up to me where I stand at the coffee pot, eyes half-mast. “I’m dying.”
I take down a mug and pour her a cup, my head pounding as my heartbeat pulses at my temples, whispering in my ear – ‘stupid ass, stupid ass, stupid ass’ as my stomach churns out a ‘you are not twenty-fucking-five’ and my legs bark, ‘your attempt was lame at best.’