My hand reaches out and wraps around hers. There is a warmth radiating from her touch that I am drawn to like a moth to a flame.
Despite her handshake being jokingly official, I don’t want to pull away. It’s weird that we’ve been close all night, but this is the first time we’ve touched. I’m surprised at how good it feels. I held her hand briefly in The Brew yesterday, but this feels different. She is soft and pliant, and holding her in any capacity feels natural.
Going against my instinct, I pull my hand away from her grasp. “Goodnight, Ellie. Please let me know when you get home safe.”
“Goodnight, Patrick.” She stares down at her empty hand, and it makes me wonder if she felt what I did too.
Deciding it would be too formal to walk her to her car, I watch her from the front porch to make sure she gets in safely. By the time her car leaves, I’m back inside doing the dishes, but it’s more upsetting than usual being inside of my empty house.
As I’m getting ready to go to bed, I hear my phone buzz on my nightstand. My heart beats a little faster when I realize it's Ellie.
Ellie:Told you I could drive home safely!
Patrick:I’m glad you did.
I start off my Monday morning the way I always do: half-awake and making my way through the line at The Brew. There’s only one person ahead of me, but as I peek over their shoulder trying to sneak a glance at Ellie—something I haven’t done in a long time—Ellie’s already waving me over. My brain is still not functioning, so I give her a hesitant look.
She looks surprisingly chipper for 7:20 in the morning, but there is a good chance she is fully caffeinated. There's a chance she might even be overly caffeinated by her crazy gestures.
“Patrick, come over here!” She whisper-yells at me, and I apprehensively step out of line.
As I walk up to her, I see her holding up a large iced cup that looks suspiciously like my order.
“I saw you walking in, so I got your drink ready! I told you on Friday that I had you covered.” I blink at her, realizing that our first interaction that started all of this chaos was only three days ago. “Don’t expect this to be a regular thing though. I’m technically not allowed to give out free drinks, especially not to my boyfriend.”
The way she says that last line pings in my brain.
“Uhh, yeah. I won’t expect any, uh, boyfriend perks moving forward.” I blink a couple more times, trying to orient myself to a full conversation in the morning. It's no wonder I always stand in the corner when waiting for my coffee. I can barely piece together a full sentence.
Like Ellie is reading my mind, she responds, “Damn, you really need this.” There’s that same feeling from last night when our fingers touch as she hands me my coffee. “I like you more when you are fully conscious.”
She teases me, and I wish I was more alive to enjoy it. It sucks that I don’t have the brain power to give it back, but I’m sure she has to deal with caffeine-less zombies all day.
“Thank you, El.” Sending her a half smile, I try not to embarrass myself anymore. “Have a good day. I’ll text you later.”
Chapter 8
Ellie
“So,youandPatrickare dating?”
“Yes.”
“But, not really? It’s all for show?”
“Also, yes.”
“And you’re okay with this? It isn’t some weird male manipulation shit?”
“For the millionth time, yes! Like I said, it’s kind of my fault to begin with, so can you just drop it?”
Nick and I have been going back and forth about this for the past twenty minutes. He had already gotten the initial run down on Friday, but so much more has transpired since then. And, he needs to be in the loop. Despite this being my second time explaining the entire situation and everything that had happened over this past weekend, he is still drilling me with the same questions.
Nick wants my full attention, but halfway through our conversation I realized that I have to post in a discussion board before 3 p.m. So, my attention is now split 10% Nick, 90% computer.
I’m pretty sure these discussion boards were just set up to make us suffer. There might be some actual reflection in theinitial response, but making us respond to each other’s thoughts is just pure torture.
Good point, Megan. I see what you’re saying, Daniel. That is an interesting way to look at it, Brad. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Who gives a shit?
