“What can I start ya off with?” she asks, looking between us.
Ellie looks at her name tag, and tells her, “Hi Holly. I think maybe a couple waters for now?”
I catch Ellie’s eyes, shake my head from side to side. “You’re getting an actual drink,” I tell her.
Holly watches us, eyes bouncing like a pinball between two flippers.
“Give us a minute, if you would,” I tell Holly without taking my eyes off Ellie.
She taps the table with an open hand and walks away.
“Ell,” I say quietly. “You deserve some fun tonight. If you’re okay with me driving your car, I’ll get us home. You get a drink.”
She thinks it over for a minute, seeming to battle with herself. I wish I could hear what she’s thinking. What she’s worried about happening if she gives in. Not like I’m going to ply her with alcohol and make a move on her. But I think, if I’ve learned to read her as well as I think I have, I think she’s worried about herself, whatshemight do if she drinks with me. And that gives me a thrill I didn’t expect.
“I’ll watch over you,” I assure her.
She holds out her pinky to mine. “Promise?”
I link mine with hers and smirk back at her. “Promise.”
“Then fuck it,” she says with a grin, and I give her one to match. “I probably need one.” She giggles, and it does something to my insides I wasn’t expecting.
Holly’s back with our waters, and Ellie orders some sort of alcoholic strawberry lemonade with all sorts of fruit in it. Holly looks at me expectantly, but I just shake my head infinitesimally, and after checking Ellie’s ID, she goes to put the order in.
Ellie giggles again. “Wow. I haven’t been IDed in ages. I think you’re making me look younger.”
I shake my head at her. She doesn’t look as old as she thinks she does. Her eyes follow a server delivering that same drink to another table not far away from us. “I’m gonna have to do double time at the gym this weekend for this, but I hope it’s worth it.”
My eyes coast down her frame, what I can see of it both above and beneath the table.
“You’re too hard on yourself,” I tell her. It’s not the first time she’s made some disparaging, almost apathetic comment about her body in front of me. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” I tell her, because it’s too much for me to tell her what I really think. That she’s goddamn perfect.
A blush coats her cheeksinstantly, and her head falls down, like she’s used to hair falling over it, hiding behind it, but her ponytail just swishes over a shoulder instead. “Thank you,” she whispers. I could get addicted to making her skin turn pink for me.
“So David wasn’t a fan of the tattoo?” I ask her, nodding with my chin at her arm, back below the table.
She shakes her head. “No. I think there were a lot of things about me he wasn’t crazy about, by the end.”
I fold my lips in over my teeth, keep my mouth shut, but will her to keep talking. I want to hear it all. What went wrong. How he fucked it up. What it takes to keep a woman like her happy.
She looks back up, sees me waiting for more, chews on a lip for a second, distracting me, then starts talking. “I think I was just too much for him a lot of the time. Sometimes I have a high volume of emotions. That’s kinda why I’ve gotta keep 'em under wraps in the office. Like, when I’m happy, I’m really fucking happy. I’m not particularly quiet, or even that calm all the time. God forbid I get upset about losing a client, or a campaign going poorly.” She rolls her eyes at something from the past that I can’t see. “It can be a lot to handle.”
My mind races with the picture she’s building for me. I only met the guy once, when he stopped in to hand her something one day, but he looked like he had not just a stick, but a metal rod up his ass, one of those giant ones from a construction site, where they’re building a high-rise. So serious—wouldn’t know a good time if it bit him on the ass and tried to dislodge that rod for him. Responsible, sure. Able to provide, I could tell that at a glance. But so is she. I’m thinking she needs someone who balances her out, loosens her up a little, not tightens her laces or makes her feel like she can’t let her hair down once in a while. She’s not fucking ninety, for fuck’s sake. She’s probably, what? Late twenties at most?
“And that was too much for him?” I summarize, picking up what she’s putting down.
She nods, thoughtfully. “Yeah. He likes his peace and quiet. Sometimes I like loud music, to dance around the house. Or in my car.” She blushes, remembering that I caught her doing just that not that long ago, and I’m taken by these little flushes, this insight into her.
A giant frosted tankard comes to rest between us, and I’m surprised to realize Holly is back already. I hadn’t noticed her approach. Ellie’s eyes widen at the sight in front of her, crushed fruit, pulp, strawberry puree all mixed into this massive drink, and she thanks Holly with a big smile.
She eagerly gulps down a giant sip, eyes widening again at the taste, how good it is.
“Wow, that’s amazing,” she says with a touch of awe. Starting to think she doesn’t drink much. “You can’t even taste the alcohol in here!” She takes a couple of long, long sips.
I just watch her, transfixed. Happy to give her a night of nothing but good memories. Wanting anything she’ll share with me. She surprises me with what she shares next, though.
“The main thing, I think, was that I wasn’t happy with him in the bedroom.” She lowers her voice on those final words, giving them particular emphasis. When she realizes what just came out of her mouth, she slaps both hands over it, covers it up, and her eyes practically pop out of her face, staring over at me, mortification written all over her expression. Like she’s praying for a time machine, some way to undo the last twenty seconds of reality. You couldn’t pay me to forget them, though.
