A part of me doesn’t really believe Mabel saying that Elle likes me too. Why would Elle feel anything but annoyance and some sexual attraction. I was more than attracted to Elle but that wasn’t all it was for me. Elle had so much more than the grumpiness she was famous for.
She was so protective of her family and smart as hell. She may think she was too much but she was just right for me. The real question is why she would have any interest in me? I was an overly excited orphan who can’t stay in one place for too long to make any real connections. She probably—correctly—saw me as an unreliable spaz who was easy on the eyes and not much more.
These thoughts aren’t productive and I needed to stop them. I plug my phone into its charger and climb into bed.
I tossed and turned for an hour, unable to get comfortable. This was ridiculous, I couldn’t really be missing sleeping on that tiny pull out couch. I take a deep breath and readjust my pillows, punching it a few times and flipping it over to get the cool side.
I let my thoughts drift back to cuddling with Elle on that pull out, remembering the sounds she made while she slept.
With those sweet memories, I slowly slip into an untethered sleep.
Sunday morning comes and I have no plans outside of watching more of Elle’s comfort show, try not to think about Elle spread out on her desk, and keep myself from texting Mabel for Elle’s phone number. Oh, and I will probably eat something too. I got through a season and a half yesterday and I’m going to attempt to finish two more today.
I’ve just hit play when my phone goes off, notifying me I got a text. I debate leaving the phone be, intent on ignoring the world and enjoying this show, when it goes off again. With a sigh, I grab my phone and check my notifications. I can’t stop the surprise look that paints my face as I read the message that came through.
Unknown Number: This is Elle’s phone but this is Mabel. She made a comment that she didn’t have your number for some reason.
The second text is a picture of the Warren sisters together wearing jerseys for the new Utah NHL team. Lola and Mabel have matching wide smiles but Elle’s face is where my eyes instinctively go to. She’s not smiling but there is a faint tilt to the corner of her mouth that gives away that she's enjoying this time with her sisters.
I can feel a smile pulling at my lips as I type out a reply
Me: Love the pic. Is Elle okay with you giving her number out?
Chapter Thirty-Four
ELLE
I’m convinced my sister’s squeals just broke the sound barrier. My eardrum and my heart were beating as I read Patrick’s last text. After Mabel slept on it, she announced she was one thousand percent team Patrick and, because I had no experience—her words not mine—she was going to get the ball rolling with a flirty text.
That came with a few expletives towards the negative which Lola supported with slightly more placating between the both of us. Lola was our personal peace keeper but that didn’t stop her from laughing as Mabel stole my phone and sent a text to Patrick.
It also didn’t stop her from pulling me in for a proof of life picture. “Give me my phone.” I snatch it out of Mabel’s hand and hold it against my chest, I know that won’t stop her from wrestling it back but, for now, she’s letting me have control.
Me: This is Elle, yes, I’m okay with you having my phone number.
Patrick: I’m glad. Are you having a good trip?
Me: Can’t complain too much. Mabel’s a little more unhinged than usual.
“Rude!”
“But true, you need to take a chill pill.” I’m ignoring my sisters, nervous to see what his response might be. Debating on if I should tell him we are about to head to the stadium or lock myself in my room and let my sisters go without me.
“Elle, as cute as I think this is, we need to get going. We can’t be late after cancelling the dinner last night.” I hate that Lola’s right but we do need to get going, we have a tour scheduled before the game starts.
Me: I have to go, no rest for the wicked.
Patrick: Nothing wicked about you, sweetheart. Have a good time.
I’ve never been one to melt, I’m basically solid ice but every time this man calls me sweetheart, I start to defrost just a teeny tiny bit. I stuff my phone in my pocket and gather my things. “Alright, let’s rock n’ roll!” Mable does a little dance as we leave our hotel room.
Chapter Thirty-Five
PATRICK
The rest of the weekend passes without any fanfare or text messages from Elle. To be fair, I didn’t text her again either. That brief conversation started a brain spiral that caused me to restart my show on three separate occasions. I won’t admit to pulling up the picture of the Warren sisters, cropping the picture to just show Elle and saving it. Only a weirdo would do that.
A weirdo would also save it and set it as the contact photo for their crush who they’ve eaten out and spent the night with. And I was no weirdo. No siree bob.
