Vol. 1: Thirty-Eight

+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +

VOL. 1: CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

It's Friday night, finally. Earlier today, the day had flown by, with me being ultimately nervous for my date with Spencer—which would be happening in the next forty-minutes to an hour. We exchanged phone numbers after my team and I's game against a neighboring high school—which we won.

He'd been waiting for me outside of the boys locker room, hands tucked into his coat's pocket, as he waited patiently. When he saw me, he sent me a bright-eyed smile, and politely asked if our date was still occurring as scheduled. Of course, I said yes, and gave him my cellphone number.

To which he returned the gesture.

Rick gave me a ride home, before racing off to a date he'd been anticipating since earlier that week. It was refreshing that the both of us were single at the same time—because was there anything better than to be able to date around with your best bud?

Absolutely not.

I stepped out of the steamy tub, grabbing onto one of my plain towels, and wounding it tightly against my waist. It clung onto me snugly, as I brushed my teeth in the sink, flossing shortly after. I flashed myself with a crystal clear smile afterward—feeling grateful for the braces that I'd been forced to wear from ages thirteen to fifteen.

Because they had cleared off. I made my way into my bedroom, my feet padding along the thin carpet that was stuck to the flooring. It was still thirty-minutes until eight o'clock, when Spencer would be here to pick me up.

I sat down on the edge of my bedspread—still in my towel—as my cellphone chimed with a message. Pulling up the notification, I smiled dimly.

Hey, its Spencer, just wondering how you're doing :) The message read, and I was impressed. It was a short, but sweet text, that still had me feeling special because of the fact that he was simply just wondering about me. No guy had ever put in that sort of effort. Even if it was small.

But deep down, things still remained the same. I didn't feel anything romantic for him, no matter how hard I tried. And I hated myself for it.

I'm doing fine, how are you? I sent back confidently, standing up from the edge of my bed to rummage through my drawers in search of a nice pair of jeans to wear.

I'd settled on a dark pair, and a plain belt, when my cellphone chimed, once more. I'm putting on socks lol

Looking down at my cellphone with a frown, I couldn't help the laugh that left my parted lips. He seemed so much comfortable around me—especially considering how nervous he was when he asked me out. I would consider our situation progress.

Sorry that was weird, the next message wrote, and I was quick to type out a response.

That wasn't weird at all, I'm actually putting on socks, too. A curved smile stayed put on my lips, as I set my cellphone down, to pull a pair of plain white socks over both feet. And for some reason—the entire ordeal felt so silly after telling somebody.

After I'd slipped the socks on, my legs returned to their previous position on the ground. Usually, whenever I was waiting around for a guy to respond, I'd have butterflies fluttering around my stomach—but as of right now, I was oddly calm.

As though we were just a couple of friends texting back and forth.

We talked for another few minutes, before I looked over toward my bedside table, and realized that it was now only fifteen minutes until eight o' clock. Time seemed to fly by in a sprint, whenever I was in a hurry—and it was going by even faster now.

Spencer sent a short message that read, I'm on my way for you now. I read his message, replying that I was ready and waiting for him. I even added a couple of smiley smiles faces at the end to show him that I was actually pretty excited about tonight.

But not for the reason that Spencer would think.

That's what tonight was for—to try and see if maybe, just maybe I could look at Spencer, and feel something more than just a friendly flutter in my chest. Because that's what I deserved. I deserved to be with a guy who actually wanted to be with me, a guy who didn't just date me to fool around, then completely disappear for months.

Or somebody who would only ever see me as a friend. Maybe even less.

Pushing the intrusive thoughts down into the back of my mind, I finished dressing myself, finding a neatly fitted white button up, pairing it with a delicate pair of black pants. The waistband of the pants felt a bit flimsy, just as I fasted a plain belt into the corners of it.

Stepping before the full-body mirror that was leaned up against my wall, covered to the brim with photos of me and my parents, and me and Rick—a few plastered on that my grandparents were in, too.

My attention left the wall of photos, and focused on my appearance in the mirror. I slid my sweaty palms over the creases in my button-up, making sure that I hadn't misplaced any of the buttons in the wrong slots.

I reached over for my dresser, finding the brush that sat atop of it. It ran through my messy curls a few times, taming them ever-so-slightly. But I ran a hand through them just to make it seem like I hadn't put too much work into it.

Even though I had.

It was now seven-fifty, only ten minutes before Spencer would knock on my door. If he would knock at all. Maybe he was the "text him that I'm here" type of guy. Not that there anything wrong with that.

Both of my parents were gone, but they hadn't told me where. When they were walking out of the door, I stopped my father and asked if they were having another date night, in hopes that they were saving their marriage.

But my mother had overheard, and stopped me mid-sentence. "No, we are not going out on a date," she spoke firmly, and I didn't bother responding.

Things were still delicate when it came to my mother. We didn't speak much after she snapped at me for wondering if she and my father were staying together—and I wasn't too angry about that fact. I wasn't exactly in the biggest mood to talk to her, either.

And I made a mental note to finally sit the two of them down, and demand some answers. If they even had any to give me. Because my father hadn't said a word about any of it.

I groaned when I found myself overthinking yet another topic that I had no answers on, once again, forcing them away.

Skipping out of my bedroom and into the hallway, I hopped down the staircase happily—a satisfied smile gracing my lips.

I hoped that just for one night, I could focus on the task at hand, and actually have a nice time. Because I was happy with the way that I looked, and happy that once the date was done—I'd have the entire house to myself.

Could I wish for anything better? Maybe I'd invite Rick over later, too. He was never one to pass up a sleepover.

I plucked my jacket from the coat-rack that was settled into the corner of the living room, right beside the front door. And like clock-work, my house's front door was being rang.

Once, then twice when apparently, I was taking too long to answer. I stood before it, taking a deep breath of brief hesitance. Have a good time, Gage. Do not think about Elijah. Do not think about mom and Abba. Do not think about Rick. Do not think about baseball.

Think about Spencer.

I pull the door open toward me, watching as Spencer and I come face-to-face. He looks very cute, and I find myself smiling a subtle smile.

His hair is pushed back and wet, and I now see that it's got a slight curl to it, and I wonder if he's done that on purpose. His trench coat has been replaced by a button-up that sort of matches mine—and while I assess the rest of his body, I realize that we are practically matching.

Spencer's eyes trial down my frame and he lets out a quiet chuckle. "I see we've accidentally color-coordinated."

I nod, stepping out of my house and onto the porch, his arm finding the small of my back, as he plants a hand there. "Oh, yeah. And we couldn't have picked better colors."

His hand stays there, just awkwardly sitting on my back, as he leads me over to his car. It's a humble sort of car, and there's a slight dent in the bumper, that has me raising a teasing brow at him.

As Spencer is pulling the passenger side door open for me, a blush washes over his pale cheeks. "O-Oh, this car is sort of a hand-me-down. My older sister learned how to drive in it and got into a wreck a few years back," he jumps at the opportunity to reassure me. "i-it's completely safe, though!"

I laugh, sliding into the passenger seat. He shuts the door. But I continue talking, as the window is rolled all the way down into the door. "I believe you."

He's made his way over to his side of the car, and pulls the door open softly. He's so gentle with everything he does—it makes me smile.

Just as he's injecting the key into its respective hole, he looks over at me, dimples pulsing through his cheeks. I frown confusedly, leaning my elbow onto his center console, and my chin in the palm of my hand.

"Why are you smiling?" Spencer blushes ever harder at the forward question.

He shrugs, starting the car and reversing out of my houses driveway. "I don't know. I guess I just never really thought that you would ever say yes to going out with me. Yet, here we are."

My lips quirk up slightly, "here we are."

"So, where are you taking me?" I continue, watching the lively streets of Chicago fly past us. It's much darker now, and the time on his radio reads that it's ten minutes past eight o'clock.

"That Italian place that I was telling you about," he begins, turning down into a quiet road. "I made the reservation the day you said yes."

My heart clenches in my chest as my posture straightens in my seat, torso lurching in the seat belt buckling me down. "Reservation? So this place is fancy, huh?"

"Very." He makes the "very" apparent, and I give a soft chuckle, my back relaxing against the passenger side seat.

Spencer's car finds its way onto the highway, and my eyebrows raise a bit on my forehead. I hadn't expected the place that he was taking me, to he so far away from where I lived. I sat in my seat with a worried expression, hoping that I'd be home before my parents were.

Because I did not feel like telling them that I was going out on a date—especially when my father was convinced that I wasn't in the place to he dating around, and that I was solely focused on schoolwork.

Which was not true at all.

Spencer's hand finds the radio, as he begins fiddling with the stations. His lips curl into a grimace when he skips over the hip-hop station, and I try my best not to tease him.

"You don't like hip-hop?" I ask, genuinely intrigued.

He takes a deep breath, throat being cleared with a torn expression. "Well, I don't hate it. I'm just not the biggest fan." He says this in the most respectful way possible—and I know that he's being cautious, just in case I happen to say that I'm the biggest hip-hop fan ever.

And even though I do have a soft spot for it, I keep my lips closed, not wanting to make him blush even harder than he is right now. I wouldn't want the guy to burst into flames, or anything.

The rest of the ride is quiet and still. I sit in my seat idly, and watch Spencer's hands maneuver the stubborn steering wheel. His knuckles are white from his fingers being clenched so hard, and for so long. It wasn't exactly a secret that he was nervous, considering that he wasn't saying much the entire drive.

And I could only hope that dinner wouldn't be this way, too.

He pulls into a crowded parking lot, the building placed before it being more than visually pleasing. It had lights that seemed to shine brighter than any other light I'd ever seen. And I could distinctively see a woman waiting at the front door of the restaurant, taking coats.

Spencer found a parking space just in front of the beautiful building, and seemed pleasantly pleased with himself. And I was too. Because it would have take me forever to find a parking space this close to our destination.

I looked over at him, my bottom lip being caught between my teeth. "This place is fancier than fancy, Spencer."

He nods, a proud smile breaking out across his thin lips. "Yes, it is," a worried look begins to spout his features soon after. "You're okay with a place this fancy, right? I-I mean I had no idea if you wanted something simplistic or—"

"I'm more than okay with this," my eyes wander over to the building once more, as I spot a mans car being taken by valet. "This place is beautiful. Where did you even hear about it?"

Spencer turns to me in his seat, elbow leaning onto the center console. And I've just realized that we've yet to even step out of the car, and I'm already gushing over my surroundings. "My family and I used to come here a lot when my sisters and I were younger—for special occasions."

I nod, smiling gently at the mental image of a tall, awkward, and shy younger version of Spencer, accompanied by two older girls. "This is a special occasion?"

He nods vigorously, leaning in a bit closer. "Definitely."

His shirt ruffles slightly as I can see that he's coming in closer now. "And what special occasion would this be?" My words are quiet. So quiet that they're almost whispered.

He's closer now. So close that when I inhale through my nose, the smell of a fresh spritz of subtle cologne fills both nostrils. His hand is slowly starting to make its way forward—coming forward and in contact with my cheek.

My hand finds his wrist, as I hold it tightly, once his hand has made contact with my cheek. His fingers rest there, as his eyes stare curiously down into mine.

I know that he wants to kiss me—I can feel it. It's a certain type of warmth that fills the pit of your stomach. When someone is leaning in, coming closer and closer—so close that your noses brush against one another.

"Spencer," I whisper out, using my hand that's planted on his wrist to pull his hand away from its firm, delicate place against my cheek. "I can't."

He's immediately leaning away from me, his cheeks reddening under the darkness that is prominent throughout his car. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry—I know that, that's not the kind of thing that happens before the date."

Shaking my head with purpose, I lean away from him, my posture straightening as my back makes contact with the passenger seat. "No, it's not that at all. It's just . . . you know what, how about we head inside and eat?"

My subtle end to our conversation seems to ease Spencer's suspense, as he pushes open his car door, and slides out of his seat. As I can see that he's rounding his way over to my side of the car, I take these few moments to collect myself—a deep breath erupting from inside of my chest.

Just us moving these few feet away from one another has taken a weight off of my shoulders. Because God knows how much of a dick I would be if I were to kiss him, without even knowing where we stand, yet.

Seconds later, Spencer is pulling the passenger door open, greeting me a tentative grin. I slide out of my seat, cheeks heating when his hand reaches out, waiting for mine. I kindly slip my fingers through his, as he shuts the door behind me.

"You're such a fucking gentleman," I joke, being pulled aside him, as we walk hand-in-hand toward the grand double doors that decorate the fancy building. "Not that I was expecting anything else, of course." He laughs at my jokingly behavior, and it all feels so easy—like two guys joking and having fun.

"As I should be."

Just as we're approaching the double doors of the restaurant, I can feel several pairs of eyes on us. It takes me a moment to remember that we're no longer in the heart of Chicago, but nearing the outskirts of Illinois. This is the result of people staring at us as though we're crazy.

I glance down at our hands that are loosely hung onto one another, tightening my grasp lightly. Spencer notices this, his pale thumb rubbing over my hand.

A man opens the doors for us both, and I'm quickly overwhelmed by the smell of rich, rich Italian cuisine. A woman greets us at hostess stand, in the fanciest of work uniforms I've ever seen.

This place has to cost a fortune, I think, while simultaneously hoping that I've brought enough cash for my half of the bill.

"Reservation for Gallo," he speaks lowly, and closely to the woman, who nods. She focuses her attention to a tablet that is standing right before her, and begins to search for something. Spencer seems so calm and collected—like he's done this a million times.

It makes me laugh.

"Ah!" She says, like she's found exactly what she's looking for, "yes, right this way."

Spencer and I follow her to the back of the restaurant, where she sits us in a cozy-looking booth. I slide into my side of the booth, watching as Spencer does the same on the side adjacent to mine.

My legs accidentally bump his beneath the table, and he chuckles lowly, as he maneuvers his to the side a bit. "Sucks that we're both tall, huh?"

The woman is gone now, but not before leaving us with two elegantly-printed menu's. Spencer has already begun flipping through his, as I sit and watch. I don't reply to his remark, simply in the mood for talking rather than flipping through a menu.

Even if it's inevitable, either way.

"Gage, you've got to figure out what you're eating," he points down at the menu sitting in my hands.

I shake my head, biting onto my bottom lip to contain another teasing smile. "No, I wanna talk."

He's shutting his menu now, leaning both elbows onto the table before us, his chin resting in one of his lied out palms. "What do you wanna talk about? I'm all ears."

I'm loving the confidence that seems to radiate off of him, now that we're all alone, where nobody can at all eavesdrop. And I know that I can finally ask him the one question I've been wanting an answer to. "Why did you ask me out?"

He seems to choke on his saliva, letting out of a subtle clearing of his throat. "W-What do you mean?"

Shrugging, I lean my elbows onto the table, too, face now inches away from his. "Well, what made you want to go out with me in the first place?"

He takes a moment to think, but his eyes never leave mine. And it seems as though he doesn't need to think at all. "You want me to be honest?"

"Yes."

"Do you really want me to be honest?" He realizes both eyebrows, and I send him a knowing look. He's avoiding the question, which is completely understandable because I've put him on the spot—but I couldn't help it. I wanted to know what made me good enough, for him to put in such an effort.

Just as he parts his lips to answer, a waitress makes her way over, and asks what we would like to drink to start off the night. I answer that I'll be having an ice water, and Spencer orders a diet soda that I don't pay much attention to.

We both thank her as she's walking away, us being alone once more.

And when she's gone, I turn my attention back to him—pointing an accusing finger. "Are you going to be honest, now?"

He lets out a heavy sigh, elbows disconnecting from the tables edge, as his back makes contact with the back of his side of the booth. My eyes never stray from his, his brown ones smiling along with his lips. "Truth be told, Gage," I lean in even closer now, "I thought that you were beautiful."

My heart falls down inside of my chest, as the lighthearted smile that was just at the base of my lips, falls. And not so gracefully, either. "W-What?"

"I thought that you were beautiful," Spencer says again, this time not so ashamed to admit it. My fingers clench onto my jacket, as I subtly check my cellphone for the time.

My heart begins to warm at the smile he's giving me, and I can't help but return it. "You're beautiful, too, Spencer."

The woman is back now, with both of our drinks, and a notepad right in front of her, ready to take our order. I'm not very used to ordering food from such fancy restaurants—and it feels very awkward as I sit and watch Spencer order a meal that I don't even know how to pronounce.

She looks to me next, and I take the time to read her name-tag as I try and think of something. Laura, it reads.

Spencer seems to take notice of how much trouble I'm having, and he leans over the table, to help flip through the menu once more. "What about a pasta?" He whispers lowly, "this ones called the cappelletti pasta."

"I'll take that one, please," I slide my menu back over to the waitress, as Spencer and I thank her. Then, she's gone again."

Spencer is leaning back over toward his side of the booth again, chuckling lowly at the embarrassment that I'd just endured. "Don't laugh at me!" I say, playfully tossing a packet of salt at him.

"You are going to get us kicked out!" He says, still not being able to stop the chuckles that escape his lips. He finally resorts to using the back of his hand to stop laughing.

Shaking my head, stubbornly, I lean back against my side of the booth, crossing both arms across my chest. "No I will not."

The two of us continue on with our playful banter, as my mind begins to wander. It wanders back to him. And I hate that I can't help it. I hate that even when I'm on an amazing date with an amazing guy, Elijah still finds his way into my head.

It not only hurts, but it's so frustrating. Because how can I sit here, and act as though I could ever have some sort of feelings for Spencer, when I've always been into Elijah? When I'm still into Elijah. It was fair to either of us.

Our food is being brought over now, and my eyebrows raise in surprise at how quick it had been cooked. But I guess that's the kind of service you're tended with, whenever going to a restaurant as fancy as this one. And I had Spencer to thank for that.

She set my pasta before me, and my mouth almost instantly watered. It looked delicious, and I couldn't wait to dig in. I watched as Spencer received his dish that I had never even seen before.

"Thank you," I say, Spencer following shortly after me.

Laura, the waitress nods, clasping both hands together. "Of course. Is there anything else that I can get you tonight?"

Just as I begin to shake my head, no, Spencer holds up a hand to stop her from going, settling down his fork. "A basket of breadsticks would be all, thank you."

Laura takes the order, and scurries off back behind a set of large double doors, that I'm guessing lead back into the kitchen.

After receiving our breadsticks only minutes later, Spencer and I enjoy the rest of our dinner with pure, genuine smiles of happiness on our faces. The food is unlike anything I've ever tasted, and I seem to inhale my meal within minutes.

Spencer does the same, although his tactic his much more graceful than mine. But he never once sends a weird look my way, or even bothers to judge me. And that feeling is oddly comforting. Because I'm sure if it had been anyone else—even Rick, I'd been made fun of.

Spencer slides the basket of breadsticks my way after I've finished my pasta, raising an eyebrow.

"Dig in."

My shoulders shake with instantaneous laughter, my hand being brought up at hold my chest. "Absolutely not, my coach would kill me if I were to eat an entire plate of pasta and a basket of breadsticks."

Spencer pulls the basket back toward him, a smug smile hanging off the corner of his lips. "More for me then."

Just as we finish the last remaining contents of our meals, a check is being brought over to our table. As though it were clock-work, both of our hands reach out for it. When he tries to grab it from beneath my fingers, I hold onto it tighter.

But when he's finally able to retract it from my grasp, I shake my head. "Absolutely not, at least let's go half-and-half."

"No, Gage. I asked you out to dinner, therefore, I am paying," when he sees that I'm still not happy about the outcome of our form of payment, he sucks at his teeth. "Tell you what, next time—you can pay."

Just as he stands from his side of the booth, I chuckle warily, not at all being sure if there should be a next time. Not that I would mind having dinner with him—I'm just not sure where I stand on the entire dating-Spencer spectrum.

Spencer walks up to the front desk of the restaurant, looking like he's ready to pay. But as he notices that there's a long line ahead of him, of people waiting to pay, he turns to me. "Why don't you go wait in the car?"

I shake my head, "I'm fine standing here with you."

He seems to like my answer, hand finding mine inside of my pocket, interlocking our fingers together once more.

After we've stood in the long line for I'm not even sure how long, we bring ourselves out of the building, still hand-in-hand. Spencer struggles to find his car in the midst of all of the vehicles that are parked near his.

But when he does, his face breaks out into a smile, and I wonder if for a minute—he'd completely forgotten where he parked it.

Our hands are connected on his center console, and he turns to me, eyes twinkling ever-so-slightly.

"Let's get you home." And he does.