(3) EverMoore | Elijah “Smoke” Moore
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The blaring ringing of Ryan’s phone halted her midday nap. She didn’t glance at the screen before swiping the screen.
“Hello?” Voice groggy, face frowned.
“I’m outside.” Elijah grumbled from the other side of phone. “I texted you.”
“Where’s your key Eli?” She mumbled, wiping the tear from her left eye. Ever since she was a child her eyes would water every time she was jolted awake suddenly. She tried to keep that away from everyone.
“In Stack’s car. I’ll get ‘em later.” He paused. “You okay?” He listened to sheets being thrown back and his breathing evened when he heard her feet paddling to the front door.
“Hey.” She mumbled as she swung the door open.
Elijah sized her up. Taking in the plumpness of her sleepy face, her hair fighting to spill out of the scrunchie, and her pajamas wrinkled as could be.
Beautiful.
“You can go back to sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you up Sleeping Beauty.” He smirked.
“Come on.” She yawned. He stepped in, locked the door and followed Ryan in the familiar direction.
Ryan’s room was decorated in collectables from over the years. Sea shells, limited collaborations, fake plants, and the artwork that she worked diligently on. Soft pink curtains, carpeted floors, large white blanket, but underneath lied the infamous sheets.
Elijah took his shoes off and lined them neatly near hers. Slowly slipped out of the pants he’d been wearing to the layer of shorts underneath. Similarly stripped down to the tank underneath his shirt.
Ryan gulped down a few sips of water before sliding back into the sheets. “You know when you start dating again this’ll looks bad.”
Elijah paused from his hands tying his durag. “What made you say that?” He turned around to look at her.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Just thinking I guess.” She yawned once more.
Elijah entered the bed, usually keeping his distance, but decided to press it further.
“Maybe it’s time for you to stop thinking. Talking crazy again.” his arms folded around her body, shifting her impossibly closer. He tucked his head over hers and he felt the fight leave her body.
She drew small circles around his arms until she gave in to her heavy lids. Elijah’s grip remained strong as he went into deep thought.
When he starts dating again.
He couldn’t remember that last time he was involved with anyone else other than a thoughtless gesture. He’d hold doors open, carry groceries, but he wasn’t taking numbers down. He wasn’t sure when he would want to.
He’d told himself a thousand times that this, whatever this was, didn’t mean anything. That it was just familiarity. Loyalty. Habit.
But familiarity isn’t supposed to make your pulse kick like this when your best friend shifts closer in her sleep.
Ryan’s body fit against him like it had always known where to go.
He swallowed hard and stared up at the faint shadow her ceiling fan cast across the room. He should move his arm. He should put some distance between them before his thoughts went too far.
Time slipped in and out of focus. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the air vent and the slow cadence of her breathing.
At some point, Elijah’s eyes grew heavy. He told himself he’d stay awake a little longer, just to make sure she didn’t stir or hurt herself again.
But the weight of the day started to pull at him. His arm, once draped protectively around her, began to relax, until he was lying flat on his back, one hand still resting lightly against her hip.
Ryan stirred. A soft noise, something between a sigh and a hum, escaped her lips. She shifted, chasing warmth even in sleep, her cheek brushing against his chest.
Elijah froze.
Her palm rested over his heart now, the steady thump of it echoing between them. Her breath fanned against his shirt, hot and soft, smelling faintly of vanilla and coconut.
He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
If he breathed too loud, it’d break whatever this was, and Elijah didn’t know if he wanted that.
Her weight settled, light but certain, like she’d been sleeping there for years. The sound of her breathing synced with his own until he couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.
His mind whispered all the reasons this shouldn’t happen, the lines they’d drawn, the friendship they’d protected, the history that could crumble under a single mistake.
But his heart didn’t care about any of that.
He tilted his head slightly, just enough to look at her, her lips parted against the fabric of his shirt, her brows relaxed.
And for the first time in a long while, Elijah Moore, protector of everyone, let himself rest.
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The intimacy between Ryan and Elijah was long forgotten by the time Ryan’s sleep was interrupted.
“Girlll. You better be up!!”
Now the silence that followed was less peaceful.
Elijah was draped over the corner of the couch, one arm stretched along the backrest, the other hand thumbing through his phone. To anyone else, he looked like a man handling business, sharp, detached.
But his focus was a total lie. He was hyper-aware of the floor-length mirror three feet away and the way Ryan’s silhouette kept fracturing the light. He was no better than a moth to a flame.
The black bandage dress clung to Ryan like a second skin, the fabric compressing her curves into a jaw dropping form. Her hair was pulled half-up, half-down, exposing the her neck, the same place where her pulse had been erratic against his chest just a few hours ago.
Every time she shifted to adjust a strap or check her makeup, the dress casually rode up, and Elijah’s thumb would freeze on the screen.
She was already talking crazy, but dressing crazy too? Elijah’s breathing wavered.
He wasn't just watching her; he was completely starring. The way her muscles tensed, the way she looked like a dream he hadn’t quite woken up from yet. It made the "familiarity" he'd spoken to himself feel like a joke.
No, worse. Delusion.
Ryan tried to pivot in the chunky black boots, but her injured ankle buckled just enough to make her breath hitch. She caught herself on the nearby stool, a small wince tightening her features.
Elijah didn’t look away from her aching body, his voice dropping, heavy with a territorial weight. "I hope you know I ain’t letting you go out there and fall all by yourself."
Ryan paused, her hand still hovering over her ankle. "Eli, I’m fine. I just missed my footing—"
"Na." He declared sucking his teeth." You one step away from a full body cast. Imma just drive you there."
"You don't even have clothes!" she countered, gesturing to his joggers and fitted tank top. "You didn’t even put your shirt back on!"
Elijah stood up, the height of him suddenly making the living room feel much smaller. He didn't respond. He just grabbed his keys off the coffee table. "Grab your purse Ry.”
Ryan pouted, a small, frustrated huff escaping her lips, but she didn't fight him. She knew that tone was final. Even though it blurred her understanding of their dynamic, Ryan just didn’t put up much of a fight when he got like that.
Maybe, deep down, underneath dozen layers of denial, rested the truth. She liked when he was stern, especially when it came to decisions concerning her.
Ryan coated herself in one more layer of body spray before resting the bottle near the mirror. She gathered her things and limped toward the door, Elijah trailing a half-step behind her like a shadow. Like he always did.
When they reached his truck, she didn't reach for the handle. She stood by the passenger side, shifting her weight onto her good foot, waiting.
Elijah stepped close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. He reached past her to open the door. He didn't talk, just helped her slide in, his hand lingering on the frame until she was settled.
The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the gaps where words should have been. The quiet music filling in the background noise. He didn't head toward the club; he took the familiar turns toward his building.
When he pulled into his spot, he left the engine running and the AC blowing.
"Five minutes," he said, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before he disappeared into the lobby.
Ryan nodded then swallowed. She hadn’t even thought about telling her friends that Elijah was coming. That Smoke was coming.
True to his word, he was back before the next song on the radio finished. But the man who climbed back into the driver's seat wasn't her best friend who just took a nap with her nap. This was Smoke.
He’d changed into a crisp white tee, perfect fitting denim, not too damn tight nor falling off his ass.
As he settled in, a wave of his scent hit her something dark, and dangerously intoxicating. The familiar cologne forced Ryan to look away. She stared out the side window, but she could still see him in the reflection, the glint of his gold chain, his muscles, those damn muscles.
Elijah shifted the car into gear but didn't pull out. He waited. He turned his head, staring at her until she was forced to meet his gaze. His eyes traveled from her lips up to her eyes, slow and deliberate, before he let out a slow breath and licked his lips.
"Ready?" he asked, the word vibrating in the quiet car.
Ryan nodded, her voice momentarily lost.
"Cool," finally they pulled out toward the neon lights of the city.
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