My Ellie (The Perfectly Paired #1)

Chapter 14

Colton

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a building like this, in person at least. The pub looks like it should be in a museum or something. There’s a thatched roof and boxes of flowers in every window of the stone structure. A hand painted wooden sign hangs just above the door, two golden keys sit crossed in front of a pint of beer.

There are far more cars in this little parking lot than I would have expected, each of them smaller than the last. Peter’s red sports car sits across two parking spaces near the front door of the pub. I snap some pictures of some of the smaller cars, Rory’s included, sending them to my family group chat along with some photos of the pub itself, before I follow the others into the medieval-looking building.

I smile down at my phone as a text from Meemaw pops up.

Meemaw: That place looks almost as old as me, be safe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Meemaw: ;)

Wyatt recently showed her how to use emojis and she’s been a menace ever since.

The small pub is filled with groups of gardeners, housekeepers, and grooms from the estate. They fill the little nooks and crannies, cramming themselves into the wooden booths and onto the mismatched barstools. We make our way to the bar where a graying barmaid takes our orders. She serves all the alcoholic drinks first, leaving Ellie and I waiting for our glasses of juice—or cordial , as Ellie calls it.

“I think we should start again.” She says once the others leave to claim the only free table in the joint. We’re standing at the corner of the bar, making it easy to lean on the wooden surface and look each other in the eye. “Can we just pretend I wasn’t... unpleasant for the past couple of weeks” She winces, with a half-smile.

“Oh, I think you’ve been quite welcoming.” I say sarcastically.

Ellie huffs a laugh, playfully batting my arm with the back of her hand. “Well,” She starts, “We definitely got off on the wrong foot, and we’ve established that I’m one hundred percent to blame.” She’s a different version of herself here, in this small pub where she isn’t under the constant scrutiny of her coach or her mom. She’s just Ellie for the night, not a future Olympic prospect, not a daughter in need of constant instruction, just Ellie. And she’s absolutely glowing.

“What I’m saying is,” She continues, “I think I’d quite like to be friends—if your offer still stands. And as tragic as that sounds coming out of a twenty-four-year old’s mouth... you seem, well, rather nice and you really did me a solid earlier with fucknuts —and that other time, when you saved me from being crushed by a bale of shavings. I just think that it would be marvelous to have a friend who doesn’t have their tongue stuck in my other friend’s mouth for the whole summer.” She looks up at me, waiting for my answer as the bartender finally serves us two glasses of pale green juice and scuttles away. “And you’d be more like a trial-basis-friend, you know, with you only being here for the summer.” She tilts her head at me with a raised eyebrow, a mischievous grin on her lips.

I extend my hand to her, she looks at it for a second before cautiously grasping it with her own. I try not to think about how soft her skin feels against mine as I say, “I don’t believe we’ve met, my name is Colton Brooks. I’d love to know yours, ma’am.”

She tips her head back and laughs as I shake her hand, and it’s a sound I wish I could bottle up and stash away somewhere safe—no, it’s a sound that should be heard far and wide, played for thousands in a grand concert hall. Her laughter skitters over my skin, making my throat work as she lowers her gaze back to mine.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brooks,” She dips her head for dramatic effect, “My name is Ellie Stirling, and I am utterly hopeless and forlorn, would you do me the great honor of being my friend?” She’s still laughing, the most beautiful smile plastered to her face.

“Oh absolutely, honor’s all mine,” I finally release her hand, “Miss Ellie, your first task as my friend will be to tell me exactly what the hell is in this glass.” I say as I point to the watery-green juice in front of us.

She brings her glass up to her face, sniffing the mystery liquid before taking a sip.

“Elderflower cordial, it’s really quite lovely.” She nods enthusiastically before taking another swig.

I take a sip of my own glass, drinking down the sweet, honey-citrus water. “I think you should know that, as your friend, I vow to never stick my tongue in any of your friends’ mouths.”

She nods her thanks to me as she lowers her glass from her lips.

“Until the summer is over, I mean, after that I make no promises.” I hold my hands up in front of me as she chokes a little on her drink, “What? Rory’s a good-looking guy.”

She’s still laughing when I ask her, “So, how is it that you always draw the short straw as the DD?”

“Ahh,” she says before taking another gulp of elderflower cordial. “I could lie and say I have some moral objection to drinking, but really I just can’t drink with my medication.” She gives me a small shrug and a half smile.

“I—” I blink at her a few times, my own glass paused on its way to my lips, “I also don’t drink because of my medication.” Back home in Texas, it’s so rare to meet anyone who doesn’t at least enjoy a few beers with the boys on the weekend. I met a guy from Wisconsin one time, and I’ve never been the same. Never seen anyone drink quite like that guy did. The only people I’ve met back home who were sober had been much older and recovering from addictions of many kinds.

“I see,” She says in that sing-song way of hers, “Would that be the medication you take for your knee?”

My glass pauses on its way to my mouth again. “How did you—”

“Again, I could tell you that I’m just extremely intuitive—a budding anatomy enthusiast, perhaps, but alas... Your towel, the other night? Comically small, almost scandalously so.” She raises her eyebrows, “Your right knee looks like it’s seen some things, if the big old scar is any indicator.”

“You’re not wrong, it’s been through the ringer.” She doesn’t ask, but I see the unspoken question in her face, “Rodeo accident.” I concede with a nod, “But that’s not the reason I don’t drink, I mean I do have meds for my knee if the pain gets bad, but the injury is two years old at this point. There’s a metal rod in there to keep everything in place and sometimes it acts a little funny, but other than that it’s all good. I don’t drink because of the meds I take for my head.” I tap a finger against my temple.

A look of understanding washes over Ellie’s face as she taps a finger against her own temple with a small nod.

“Over here, you two!” Sanya calls. She and Rory are sitting with the twins and a couple of the grooms I’ve seen around the estate. The six of them are crammed around a worn wooden table, their drinks in front of them. Peter and a few of Ellie’s other teammates are stood at the bar near the table.

Ellie takes the seat next to Sanya as I make my way to the only other free chair on the other side of the table—I’d rather sit on the floor than stand with Peter and his friends at the bar. Rory pulls a deck of cards from his pocket, “What are we thinking? Blackjack, Irish switch?” He says with a grin as he begins to shuffle the deck.

“We should all play a game to make our American friend here feel more welcome.” Philippa says. I’m seated next to her sister, Charlotte, and one of the grooms who I think is named Henry.

“Oh, that’s alright,” I say to her, “I don’t really—”

Charlotte gasps, gripping my arm excitedly, “Strip poker!”

Peter, still standing at the bar, chokes on his drink, “What? We’ve never played that before—”

“It’s an American thing, you know. It’s in all the movies and television shows.” Philippa looks irritated by his sudden outburst.

I’m not sure it really is in all the movies and TV shows back home, but instead of arguing I say, “I’ve never played strip poker before, either.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Charlotte purrs as she reaches across the table and snatches the cards from Rory’s hands. “Who’s in?” She smacks the deck down in front of the guy sitting next to Philippa. “Matthew’s the dealer.”

Poor Matthew begins to open his mouth to object, but Philippa has already pulled up the official rules of strip poker on her phone and is reading them aloud to the table.

Turns out, they’re pretty similar to regular poker, like Texas hold’em but with clothes instead of chips. We establish that, since we’re in a public place, no one will expose their private parts—but underwear is fair game.

Peter scoffs in disapproval, a pint of half-drunken beer in his hand. “This is ridiculous.” He shakes his head, and I follow his eyes to where Ellie’s sitting.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude, Peter.” She says lightly, not bothering to spare him a look as she picks up her cards. With that, Peter and his friends move to the other side of the bar, making this area of the pub a little less crowded—not private, by any means, but as close as we’ll get to it.

“So, we start with two cards and then we go around the table five times, each picking a card from the deck,” Philippa explains, still reading from her phone. “Once we all have seven cards, we’ll show our hand and the one with the worst cards has to strip off one item of clothing.” She stares directly at me as she speaks, which is... unsettling, because she doesn’t blink all that much .

Charlotte claps her hands excitedly before placing one back onto my forearm and whispering, “Good luck.”

Matthew deals two cards to each of us and the game begins, I’ve got a pretty lousy hand but I’m hoping to get at least get one or two pairs.

“Are these any good?” Sanya whispers to Ellie as they compare cards.

“Amateurs.” Rory scoffs, earning a kick under the table from Sanya.

I can’t help but laugh at some of the expressions that are made as we go around and draw our cards from the deck. Ellie’s biting her lip in concentration, swapping around the cards in her hand as Philippa announces, “Alright, Charlotte you go first, and we’ll go clockwise from there.”

I grow less and less confident in my singular jack card as everyone reveals their hands. The worst so far has been Rory with three twos.

Ellie consults her phone before laying her cards flat on the table, “Flush, I think.” Her smile turns to a look of challenge as she turns her attention to me, eyebrows raising and eyes flicking between my cards and my face. There are three more hands revealed before it’s my turn and all that matters is that they put my jack to shame.

“Well, damn.” I say with a smile as I place my cards face up on the wooden table. “This is not very welcoming of y’all. ”

Sanya and Ellie laugh, others around the table clap and Rory hollers something before taking a hearty gulp of his ale.

“ Take it off !” Sanya yells in an American accent.

I shake my head as I stand, opting to unbuckle my belt and remove it as my first item of clothing. I can feel the twins watching me, but I lift my eyes to where Ellie is sitting. She’s resting her head on a hand, eyes on mine as she lifts her juice to her smiling mouth.

I pull the leather through my belt loops slowly, keeping my eyes pinned to Ellie as the belt falls from my jeans.

I take my seat and place my coiled belt on the table, returning my cards to the deck with everyone else's before Matthew gathers them back up.

Twelve games fly by, and I manage to escape relatively unscathed. I’ve lost both my shoes and a sock, but there are a few people at the table who are making out far worse than me. The twins are down to their jeans and tank tops, most of the guys are shirtless and Sanya lost her shorts a few rounds ago.

Ellie has only lost one shoe and seemed to find great joy in watching me remove my own boots and socks. She even baited me one round, making me think she had a terrible hand by pouting a little before revealing four kings with a wicked smile.

“Sorry, friend.” She’d laughed as I removed my second sock.

“Matthew,” Rory says after he loses for the fifth time in a row, “You’ve got to be fucking with me.” He’s already removed his shoes, socks and belt. He gives Matthew a sharp look before standing and yanking his long-sleeved shirt over his head. A few whistles echo around the table, followed by laughs as he jokingly covers his nipples with his index fingers. “Pipe down, pipe down.” He takes his seat again, smiling at Sanya as she shakes her head at him, an answering smile on her own lips.

Matthew deals the cards for a new game and Ellie shoots me a smile after plucking a card from the deck. I don’t know whether she’s trying to trick me again, but I think I’ve got her with this hand.

It’s Charlotte’s turn to reveal her cards first again, and by Sanya’s turn the best hand is three nines. Ellie slaps her cards down onto the table, her worst hand yet but she’s far from upset. “Read ‘em and weep.” She laughs as everyone takes in her pair of twos. It’s funny to see her come out of her shell in this relatively low-stakes environment. Three more hands are revealed before it’s my turn and I make of show of looking reluctant to share my cards.

“That bad, cowboy?” Ellie says across the table, “What’ll it be then, shirt or jeans?” The other women laugh, and I can’t stop the menacing grin as it grows across my lips.

“Neither.” I answer, delighting in the way her brow quirks, “I’m real sorry, friend , but I’ve got a full house.” Not the best poker hand, but a damn sight better than anyone else’s cards this round .

“Oh, you faker! You had me with that sad little face!” She throws back her head, hands over her eyes as she laughs. She returns her gaze to me and pauses for a split second. I expect her to reach for her other shoe, but she stands, smirking as she grips the hem of her white t-shirt.

It feels like there’s nobody else in the pub, nobody else at this table, it’s just me and her as she begins to lift it. I swear time moves in slow motion as her shirt rises, exposing more of her midriff and snagging on the weight of her breasts before they fall free. She’s wearing a lacy white bra, a dainty little thing—I’m honestly not sure how it’s holding her up so well but damn it’s doing the Lord’s work. I slowly lift my gaze past her clavicles, up the column of her neck, over her plump, upturned lips to where her emerald eyes are still pinned on me. Her golden hair is tousled, and she winks at me with a chuckle before mic-dropping her t-shirt onto the table.

I’m not even sure how long it’s been since she pulled her shirt over her head, have I been sat here drooling at the sight of her for ten seconds or ten minutes?

What is wrong with me? I’ve seen breasts before, seen fancy little cuts of lace that are often passed off as bras, but... this is wholly different.

I tell myself to look anywhere but at her chest as she sits back down in her chair. She won’t want to be friends with you if you keep gaping at her, dumbass I scold myself as Matthew collects the cards again.

A small, stubbornly hopeful part of me tries to persuade myself that maybe she chose to remove her shirt, instead of her remaining shoe or socks, because she might want a little more than friendship.

I try to convince myself that I’m reading way too far into it, and that it’s because I haven’t been interested in a woman this way in... well, ever, and that this really is just a game of strip poker between new friends.