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“It’s part of it. I did other things too.”
“Like?”
“I played hockey. I ran track. I boxed. The police academy was no walk in the park.”
“A regular Ironman.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” She smiles up at me as we finish our dance.
The instructor has suggested that I change partners occasionally. It would help some of the women struggling to learn the steps, she said. I can’t seem to pry myself away from Eliot however. Every time we part, all I can think about is when I’ll see her again. If I have to use dance class to hold her, I’m not trading that for anyone.
“Okay, that’s all for tonight. Wonderful work, everyone. Until next week,” our instructor says. Couples part ways to gather their things. I’m reluctant to let Eliot go. I worry if it’ll be another week before I’m allowed to see her again. Unless I’m arresting her for the next prank gone wrong.
“Thank you for being my partner again this week,” I say.
“Hey, a deal’s a deal.” Not exactly what I was hoping to hear. “Want to grab something to eat? We were planning on grabbing pizza.”
“Sure.” It’s not like I’m going to pass up a chance to spend even more time with her. We’re joined by not only her sisters and their significant others, but a handful of their friends as well. We manage to overwhelm the single employee in the pizza place almost immediately.
“Brontë,” the older gentleman behind the counter yells. “See what everyone wants, and I’ll start prepping dough.”
“I got ya, Mr. Barron,” she hollers back. Standing, she grabs an order pad from behind the counter and starts writing down pizza orders.
“She worked here in high school,” Eliot says when I slide into the booth next to her. “He forgets she’s not fifteen anymore.” She winks and turns to her sister. “Waitress, I’d like to order my drink. I’ll have soda; thirty-three percent Coke, twenty-two percent Pepsi, twelve percent diet.”
“You’ll drink what I give you and be grateful I didn’t spit in it,” Brontë answers. “Owen?”
“Coke and meat lovers,” I answer.
“Meat lovers? How about some vegetables also?” Eliot says.
“With mushrooms and tomatoes?”
“Don’t let her bully you,” Austen chastises me.
“It’s fine. I like vegetables.”
“Damn, you’re already whipped,” Reed says.
“Without getting any p?—”
“Rand!” the women yell together. Reed holds out his fist, and Rand bumps it.
“Eliot, what pizza do you want?” She looks around like an idea will pop out of the walls.
“I’m fine. I’ll just stick with my drink.”
“You’re not dieting again, are you?” Austen asks. Eliot’s face blushes, and she sneaks a peek at me. I wish she could see herself as I see her. She’s perfect with curves in all the right places.
“How about making mine a large?” I suggest. “You can share with me. I’ll take home what we don’t finish.”
“But just pepperoni and bacon, no sausage,” she adds, and Brontë moves on. Reed makes a whip-cracking noise. There are more fist bumps.
“So, let’s talk about you showing us up on the dance floor,” Reed says, steering the conversation in a different direction. “I think I might have gotten pregnant watching that first one tonight.” I laugh, and we fall into an easy conversation. It’s nice to finally have a group I can go out to pizza with.
It’s an hour before anyone is willing to head home. When Eliot finally leaves, I follow to walk her home. We have to walk by my apartment on the way. There’s an alley that runs beside it that we cut through to her house.
“Would you like to come up?” I ask. She cocks her head at me then shifts her gaze to my apartment door.
