CHAPTER 19
Vaughn
Air refuses to fill my lungs. Sound wants to escape my mouth, but I’m too worked up. I have never laughed this hard in my life, and if I suffocate from excessive laughter, I’ll be fine with it.
The Tweedle Twins called and invited us to Midnight Cowboy for drinks. It’s rare that we all have the same night off and somehow, they’ve become close with Eli. They’re secretly feeding him information about me. They deny it, but I know it’s true.
So, here we sit. The three of us. Jax, Marshall, and myself. Marshall has his head thrown back with his clenched fist covering his mouth. Jax is face down on the table and clutching his stomach in pain. Meanwhile, I’m genuinely struggling to breathe, and tears are pouring from my eyes. Eli...well, Eli is on the bar...singing, “Bohemian Rhapsody” with his whole heart.
This is gentle Eli. Hilarious Eli. Couldn’t imagine he would tie a girl to a sink and rail her within an inch of her life Eli. This is the Eli who everyone wants to be close to. He just has that thing. That something that draws people in. The dimples are definitely a factor, but it’s more than that. People notice him, and not just because he’s the human equivalent of Mount Everest. He sparks joy and comfort when he smiles, and he’s always smiling. He’s someone you instinctively know you can trust. I can trust him. I do trust him, and not only that. Because of him, I have learned to trust myself again.
Even after seeing another layer of his personality, it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t shake my faith in him. He’s still Eli. He’s my Eli, and I crave every complex layer of him.
“Bohemian Rhapsody” comes to its inevitable end, and the lives of everyone in this bar have been enriched by witnessing the epic rendition. It’s important to understand that Midnight Cowboy is not a karaoke bar. Eli is on the bar because there is no stage. He sang into a half full bottle of Jim Beam because there is no microphone. No one is sad about it, and Eli receives a standing ovation.
The three of us clamor to fawn at Eli’s feet as he gracefully leaps from the bar. As a group of women walk through the door, Eli turns to greet them. He’s smiling with full dimples.
A pretty, middle-aged woman in the group quickly grabs her abdomen as though she’s in pain. “Oh, damn it!”
“Hey, are you okay?” Her face doesn’t look pained, but she’s clutching her stomach in a way that concerns me.
“Fuck no, I’m not okay. My post-menopausal ovaries just fired back up. That man is the human equivalent of a Greek God. The genetic next step. Thor with dimples. Two cups Zeus, three ounces Hades, and a sprinkle of Jesus. He’s- “
“Yeah. I got it. Thanks.”
Eli winks at her as if that will help this situation. She’s cackling alongside her group of oglers as I push the genetic next step back to our table.
The table is vibrating. Eli’s phone. He left it sitting on the table when he went to order the drinks from the bar that swiftly turned into Coyote Ugly. He never leaves his phone out. It’s always in his pocket, but he’s consumed an unconscionable number of double whiskey and Cokes so he must be getting lax with it. It’s not intentional...it’s just a reflex but, I see the screen. Abigail Washington is calling Eli Washington.The sister? It can’t be his mom. If it were his mom, it would just say mom. Right?
His presence is unmistakable, and I feel him looming over me before I turn and see him. He’s looking down at his phone. He sees who’s calling, and then his gaze meets mine. He knows that I also see who’s calling.Will he explain? That’s the natural thing to do, right?My gaze darts down to his left hand, that I’ve already seen so many times before. His ring finger, more specifically. Nothing. No ring. No tan line. Nothing.Of course, there’s nothing. This is Eli. He isn’t the kind of man who keeps a wife at home and a girlfriend on the weekend. Plus, it’s been months. I would’ve noticed something by now.
Our eyes meet again, and his is questioning, so I smile, relieving whatever doubt lingered there.Dimples. Those are some really nice dimples.
He sits in the chair beside mine and lifts me from my seat, placing me snugly on his lap.This guy. I mean, I’m not upset about it, but who does stuff like this in public?
“Dude. Epic performance, my man.” Fanboy Jax sounds like a groupie. He looks like one, too, with that swoony eye thing he’s doing.
“Yeah, for real. I mean, what inspires you? There’s so much heart in your production. That’s got to come from somewhere deep.” Now I’m staring at Marshall with a half dumbfounded and half ‘are you serious,’ expression.Are these guys for real?
Eli uses the back of his fingers to rub the scruff of his jaw before responding.
“Inspiration? This little devil.”
The twins look at one another dubiously and then both look to me. They’re studying me, fully unconvinced, as though they don’t see how Eli could possibly find inspiration in me.
“Hey, guys. I forgot I have a gift for you.”
A simultaneous “You do?” Comes from both men.
“Yeah!” I pretend to dig in my nonexistent pocket. “Ah. Here it is.” Out of my pocket, I fly the middle finger in their direction.
Finally, they give a perfectly timed dual “humph” as though I just solidified the point they were trying to make before shouting an equally well timed “Jinx” and falling silent, glaring at one another. Both men turn slowly in their seats until they’re facing us and again speak at the same time, saying, “hitting the head”. They jerk back to face one another again and yell “drain the lizard”. Flustered noises then, “releasing the floodgates”. More huffs and scowls, “seeing a man about a horse”. Their eyes widen, and they flip each other off with both hands before finally saying in perfect synchrony, “fuck it. Let’s go”.
Eli stares in stunned silence at their empty seats. It’s weird the first dozen or so times that you see them do stuff like this, but it’s just the norm for me now, so I’m unfazed.
“Will you take your adoring fans on tour with you?”
Eli’s smile is wicked, and that’s hard to do with dimples.
