“I don’t know what—” All the pieces shift together at once, and the picture starts to become clear. I remember complaining about the seat. The way he was so close I could smell him. Mmm, his scent was clean and manly, like spice and sandalwood. I don’t remember what he said, but I can remember the feeling I got when he pressed his lips close to my ear. The tingling that hit straight to my core. It is very rare for me to get turned on at all, especially in public, but I distinctly remember having to squeeze my thighs to keep my composure. He was wrapped around my waist, and I had my arms around his neck. “Oh my god, I really did that?”
“Yeah, you did!” He’s basically cheering at this point, and I am ready to buy a one way ticket to a random country and live in solitude forever. “Who knew getting a fake boyfriend would make you so relaxed and flirty?”
There’s an attempt to roll my eyes, but it just causes the pain of my headache to resurface. “Was it the fake boyfriend or the copious amount of alcohol you over served me? I’m going to revoke your liquor license!”
“I’d like to see you try.” He sticks his tongue out at me and grabs his wallet off the counter. “But, I gotta go. Someone called out, so I picked up an extra shift. See you later!”
Confusion sets in as he walks out the door. He was obviously dressed for his job at Working Class, but they don’t open until the late afternoon. When I do a quick scan of my surroundings, I notice the clock in the kitchen revealing a shocking piece of information. Nick is going to work because it’s 4 p.m.
It’s 4 p.m., and I have done nothing all day.
As I’m about to throw myself into a state of panic, my nauseousness overtakes me. Luckily, I am fast and stubborn, and I refuse to throw up anywhere that is not a toilet or trash can. Rushing into the bathroom, I vomit up the two glasses of water and whatever is left of last night’s fun.
I am never drinking again.
I piece myself back together with a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a blue Gatorade. It is not a perfect hangover cure, but it will have to do for right now. There is an analysis paper I need to submit by Tuesday, and about one hundred and ninety pages of reading standing in my way.
A lo-fi study music video plays on the TV, and I do my best to make myself comfortable. James Joyce and I are about to bebest friends. Unfortunately, I don’t even make it past the first page before I hear my phone buzz and feel the strongest urge to check it.
What if it’s Patrick?
Disappointment washes over me when my mom’s message pops up. I know I shouldn’t be upset, but I am.
Mom:Your dad told me about your boyfriend, and I’m so happy for you! I don’t like when my Elle Bell is lonely. *heart emoji*
Ellie:Thanks, mom…
Mom:Oh, Eleanor. You know your father and I just want what is best for you! Your father says he is a handsome young man, but I want to see for myself. Let’s have him over for dinner soon! Choose a day, and we will make it work. Love you so so so so much!
Ellie:Love you too, mom. *heart emoji*
She means well, but I wish she could just be happy with me.
My last relationship broke me, and I haven’t really felt the need to rush into a new one. Well, I guess at this point it wouldn’t be rushing. It’s been four years since then, and two years since I’ve hooked up with anyone. God, I couldn’t evencommit to sleeping with my rebound. It only got as far as third base.I had gone down on him, but when he tried to reciprocate, it sent me into a panic attack. It wasn’t his fault. He was nice enough, but my ex completely ruined my confidence and my trust.
Nick watched me go through the whole thing, which is why he has been good about not pushing me to start something if I’m not ready. I know that he wants to see me happy with someone new, but he knows the trauma that is still with me. That’s what I wish my parents could see, but I don’t have the type of relationship where I can talk to them about stuff. They only care about surface level, so that is what I give them.
I manage to finish the book before Nick gets home. It is completely covered in annotations—yellow highlighter, black pen, and sticky notes. Feeling accomplished enough, I make my way back into my room and crawl under the covers.
My mind wanders to Patrick’s whispers as I try to fall asleep. If I wasn’t so drunk, I might be able to remember exactly what we talked about, but what I do remember is the shiver I felt all through my body when he called me baby.Turning off my lights to go to bed, I attempt to resist what I’m feeling, but I can’t stop myself from sliding my hand down my body. In my head, it’s Patrick’s hands holding me, touching me, making me come.
I drift off to sleep, temporarily relieved and satisfied.
Chapter 18
Patrick
Otherthanacoupleof text conversations and picking up my morning coffee, I haven’t spoken to Ellie since I was in her apartment. She had mentioned being overwhelmed with work and school this week, so I didn’t want to bother her, especially since she is losing her only free time coming with me to the company weekend.
She got progressively more tired looking every day I visited her at The Brew. The bags under her eyes becoming more prominent, and her overall demeanor lacking the peppiness that she normally has during the morning rush of customers. After five days, she looked like a functioning sleepwalker, making the drinks the slowest I have ever seen from her.
You would’ve thought that I scared her by the way she jumped when I asked her if I was still picking her up after her shift. I’m glad I did because it turns out that she had forgotten her bag at home. Thankfully, Nick offered to bring it over before she got off of work so that we could leave on time.
There should be some time for her to take a nap either in the car or when we get to the hotel, but I’m kind of afraid to suggest it. Her lack of sleep has also come with a little bit of an attitude, and I might actually be scared of Ellie Brooks.
So, here I am. Sitting in the parking lot, waiting for her to get off of work. I considered going in to let her know I was here, but I don’t think she needs another change in her routine today.
As I pick up my phone to text her, she walks through the front door carrying a large duffel bag and a garment bag, and I can’t help but wonder what she is hiding in there. She must have been serious about having something really nice to wear to dinner on Saturday.
