My Ellie (The Perfectly Paired #1)

Chapter 28

Ellie

The common room is alive with hushed conversations and the sound of pens scribbling on paper. Coach says that team tape analysis sessions are character building, and they allow for constructive criticism from our peers.

I’ve never enjoyed them, but they’re mandatory—have been since before I joined the team. It feels unnatural to watch tape of someone’s practice and pick it apart. The dressage riders are limited to offering critiques to others within the same discipline, and so on, so I don’t have to listen to show jumpers dissect my flying changes.

“Ugh, we’re late.” Sanya murmurs as we enter the room. There’s usually enough seating for everyone, but today it looks like there’s a few more assistants sitting in on the session. We head for the back of the room where a solitary armchair sits vacant. I grab the plush throw pillow from the seat and place it on the floor before gesturing to the chair.

“Go on, I’ll take the floor.” I give my best friend a half smile and she places a hand over her heart before taking a seat. I nestle myself onto the cushion, thankful that there are no heads obstructing my view of the television.

“Right, looks like everyone is here.” Coach stands from his usual seat beside the television, giving the room a cursory glance before continuing, “We’ll be going through the cross-country tapes first, followed by show jumping and then, lastly, onto dressage—”

“Saving the best until last.” Peter pipes up from where he sits on one of the sofas. He earns a few forced laughs, my mother smiles as if he’s just said his first words. She sits to the right of Coach and is known to give some of the most brutal feedback, to all disciplines.

Coach gives a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before sitting back down and starting the first tape.

I bring my knees close to my chest and rest my notepad on them as I write, I need to tell you something . I gently elbow Sanya’s leg and tap my page with my pen to get her attention. I feel her lean forward slightly before she whispers, “You’ve got my attention.” I smile to myself as my pen hovers over the page.

How can I put what happened this morning into words? It’s one of the reasons I didn’t text her about it, I don’t quite know what to say. I feel like writing Colton and I snogged this morning wouldn’t quite cut it. I almost want to spill my guts about the mental hoops I had to jump through, the realizations I had to come to for this to even be my reality right now.

“El, I’m waiting with bated breath here.” She keeps her voice quiet as Coach talks over the tape, pointing out exactly how Matthew could have cut a few seconds off his time in certain places. The cross-country riders attach little go-pro cameras to their chests and video their entire ride—which is why these sessions take hours.

I press the pen to the paper, I kissed Colton this morning—he kissed me and it’s all I’ve been able to think about all day.

It’s the truth, not one minute has passed where I haven’t replayed the way his body felt against mine. The way his mouth claimed mine in a way that made me feel like he craved me— needed me .

I haven’t been able to think about what might have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted. It wouldn’t have escalated further, would it? Would I have let it?

I hear a sharp intake of breath from behind my shoulder as Sanya reads the note. “What?!” She hisses excitedly, loud enough to draw attention to herself. A few heads turn around to look at us and even coach pauses with a frown, “What—an incredible jump, Matthew. Bravo.” I stifle a laugh as the heads turn back to the television and Coach resumes his analysis.

“I need more details.” She whispers, her hands pinch my shoulders, and I feel her almost vibrating with questions.

So, I give them to her, I write everything down on the notepad, filling the page with my innermost thoughts and fears about the entire situation. It feels like something my therapist would have me do, and I know I’m smiling like an idiot once I get to the bottom of the page.

I know it’s temporary, I keep having to tell myself it’s only for the summer. But I’ve never felt like this. It was probably stupid to act on it, but when I saw him this morning after thinking about him all night—I couldn’t keep my hands off him. I don’t know what came over me, but I know that I want to race up to his room and barricade us in for a few weeks.

Sanya’s hands grip my shoulders a little tighter before disappearing suddenly. I hear her scribbling away on her own notepad before a piece of paper lands in my lap.

This is so GREAT!!! I am so fucking happy I could squeal. Ellie, I am SO happy for you!

More furious scribbling is followed by another note landing on top of my notepad.

As your best friend, I need to tell you that if you don’t find him after this torture session tape analysis, I will never let you live this down. I’ll bring this shit up at your fiftieth birthday party, I swear.

I lay my head against her leg, bringing my attention back to where Coach is asking all of the cross-country riders for their opinions on the tape. I occupy myself with thoughts of Colton for the next few hours, laughing to myself when Sanya receives some constructive criticism that she doesn’t agree with in the slightest. The string of curses she mumbles under her breath have my shoulders quaking as coach moves onto the dressage tapes.

My tape is played after Charlotte’s, and as always, Peter finds a few things to say about my performance. “The serpentine transition is sloppy, that could be improved upon. ”

“Agreed.” My mother nods her head, attention fixed on the screen.

I pretend to take note of their critiques as they both continue to pick apart my routine. This happens every time we have a team tape analysis session, so I’m not surprised when mother takes the remote and rewinds it to the beginning of my routine, inviting both Charlotte and Philippa to weigh in on what they think I could improve upon.

Ordinarily, I’d work myself into a spiral of self-doubt upon hearing their words. But today, I’m just counting down the minutes until I can leave and track down Colton. I should probably shower, do I need to shave? My hair needs a wash, what should I wear?

I’m making mental notes and working myself into a different kind of spiral when Peter’s voice drags me back into the room.

“No critiques for me, Eleanor? Not like you to be so quiet.” He smirks, leaning forward on the sofa.

I’m always quiet during these meetings. Giving people critiques is not something I enjoy doing. I’m much more likely to say something in person, in a hallway or in the stables. In front of the entire team and coaching staff feels wrong, like a premeditated attack. But fucknuts is asking, so I’ll answer him.

“Your hands are too hard on the reigns,” I look him in the eye as I speak, “Your horse is struggling— has been struggling—against your hold for the past few weeks. You ask for transitions with too much force, and I wince whenever you cue a collected canter. It pains me to see you treat a majestic, kind-hearted animal in such a careless way.” His jaw clenches as I continue, “My recommendation? Go back to the basics. I’ve seen children with better fundamentals than you.” I keep my voice even, unemotional, but my words hit their mark and Peter’s nostrils flare. He opens his mouth to speak, but Coach beats him to it.

“Alright,” Coach commands everyone’s attention to the front of the room, a forced smile on his face as he begins to dismiss us, “If you haven’t eaten yet, make sure you grab something from the kitchen. I’ll see you all tomorrow—oh and, the Olympic Scout will be back at some point in the next few weeks. We’ll let you know as soon as we have more information.”

People begin filing out of the room, most of them heading for the kitchen in small groups. I stand from my cushion before being whirled around by Sanya.

“What’s your game plan?” She whispers, wrapping her arm tightly around my shoulder before turning and walking us towards the hallway.

“I’m going to shower?” I say with equal quiet, unsure if there’s a correct answer to this question. “Then I’ll go knock on his door or something I suppose—”

“Yes, perfect.” She moves her other hand to her chin, “Alright, you go and shower. I’ll bring you some food up.” She gives me no time to object as she rushes off into the bustling kitchen.

I make my way to my room, half of me hopes I’ll run into him in the hallway, the other half wants to shower and prep for whatever might befall me tonight.

I make quick work of the shower, shaving and exfoliating every square inch of my body. I double condition my hair before shampooing, I even throw on a fancy face mask before scrubbing myself clean with a sweet-smelling soap.

I’m plucking stray eyebrow hairs when I hear my bedroom door open.

“I managed to get us some pasta,” Sanya calls, “Nothing with onion or too much garlic, heavy on the carbs.” I hear her giggling to herself as she makes her way towards the bed. I finish drenching myself in lotion and throw my damp hair up in a towel before exiting the steamy bathroom.

“Are you going to go over to his room like that?” She asks, her eyebrows high on her head. A spoonful of penne pasta paused midair, halfway to her mouth.

I make a point to look down at my robe, my fluffy slippers, and place a hand on the towel wrapped around my head, “He’d be lucky to have me either way.” I quip before sitting next to her on the bed.

“You’re so right.” She nods her head enthusiastically before digging back into her pasta .

“Do you think I should text him? Ask him if I can come over?”

“I think it’s hotter if you just show up, like a gift you hoped you were getting for Christmas but weren’t 100% sure—oh you need to wear something slutty, something scandalous.”

“Sanya!” I laugh, almost choking on a mouthful of food.

She hops up from the bed and runs to the bathroom, giggling when she returns with a white dressing gown in her hands. “Hear me out,” She holds the dressing gown in one hand and slowly pulls the tied waist belt loose, “Underneath you could be wearing a nice set of underwear, oh it’ll be like a scene from Sex and the City or something! He can unwrap you like an expensive box of chocolates! Oh, I’m so jealous, this is going to be so hot.”

I rest my head in my hands as she lays the dressing gown on the bed next to me. “I haven’t had sex in over a year, San.” I say into my palms. I hear her phone ding and peek through my fingers to watch her fish it out of her back pocket.

“It’s like riding a bike.” She waves her hand dismissively, “Besides, you’re gorgeous. All you really need to do is show up, the rest kind of takes care of itself. Ugh, I need to go,” She frowns down at her phone screen, “Rory’s having a bit of a hard time with his family right now. But update me if anything juicy happens, I’ll see you tomorrow?” She grabs her bowl of pasta from the bed .

I remove my hands from my face, “Let’s try to catch each other for lunch? Otherwise, I’ll text you at some point.”

She bends down to give me a quick hug before turning for the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She winks before ducking out of the room.

I finish up my food before making my way to the bathroom. I’m not a huge makeup girl—I never really progressed past my blue eye shadow phase when I was ten, but I know how to curl my eyelashes and groom my eyebrows into submission. I decide to go ahead and blow-dry my hair before doing my nighttime skincare, and then it’s time for me to choose an outfit.

I head to the wardrobe in the corner of my room and begin picking out a top and some leggings before turning and looking at the dressing gown Sanya left on the bed.

This morning I’d felt brave, I’d walked into the kitchen with the intention of telling Colton exactly how I felt, and it had gone far better than my wildest expectations.

“Brave is good.” I say to myself as I lift the robe from the bed. “Brave is... sexy ?” I sound a little less sure, but I don’t let myself second-guess the decision. I place the robe on a hanger before rifling through my underwear drawer.

I bypass my sports bras and fuller-coverage underwear in search of something lacy and delicate.

“This works.” I smile at the matching white lace underthings before shimmying into them and pulling the dressing gown on to conceal the ensemble.

My fluffy slippers are a little less brave, but my mother didn’t pack me a pair of six-inch stilettos so these will have to do.

I check my appearance once more in the full-length mirror next to my bedroom door.

“Brave.” I whisper to my reflection before giving myself a stern nod and opening the door. I poke my head out first, listening for any footsteps or approaching conversations, but it would seem I’m in luck.

I step out into the hallway, closing my door as quietly as I can before realizing I’m, in fact, not doing anything illegal and I don’t have to act like I’m on my way to rob a bank.

It takes me less than thirty seconds to make it to his door, and as I raise my hand to knock, I hear footsteps climbing the stairs at the other end of the hallway. I suck in a breath and knock three times, my toes wiggle in my slippers as the footsteps grow louder.

This was so stupid, I’m never brave—and maybe that’s for the best, now whoever is coming up the stairs is going to see me here, half-naked and—

Colton’s door swings open and I watch as his eyes travel from my face down to my slippers.

“Hi,” I rush, chancing a quick look down the hall as the footsteps reach the top of the stairs. “Please let me in, there’s someone coming down the hallway.” He quickly steps to the side, and ushers me inside with an arm. The door closes behind me and I almost slump against it in relief.

“This was so much sexier in my head.” I sigh, pressing a hand to my face.

“Not in mine.” I drop my hand to find him grinning at me, he holds his own hand out to me, and I take it. He lifts my arm, twirling me in a little circle as his other hand rises to rub his stubble-covered chin.

“Very nice, I love the slippers” He nods with a dimpled smile as I come to face him again, “And what’s underneath the robe?” His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes undress me.

“Well, that’s part of the fun. You’ve got to... unwrap me.” I gently tug on the belt of the dressing gown, not enough to undo the loose knot but enough for him to get the picture.

The hand at his chin moves up to wipe the disbelief from his face. “That does sound like fun.” He pauses again, eyes roving my face and body before he snaps himself out of his stupor, “I have to shower,” He almost sighs, “I’ve been working with Rory all afternoon, but I’ll be so fast,” He leans down before pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Come over here,” He leads me by the hand to his bed where I sit myself on top of the plush covers.

“How was your day?” He asks as I kick off my slippers and make myself comfortable .

“It was long,” I run a hand through my hair, remembering the unending tape session I had to sit through, “But I’ve been looking forward to seeing you since this morning...” My cheeks flush a little as I remember the way he kissed me in the kitchen, the blush deepening as I recall the number of times I relived the moment throughout the day.

“That makes two of us,” He takes a step towards me, and I have to crane my head up to see the smile on his face.

“How was your day?” My voice is almost a whisper as I stare up at him.

“Rory worked me hard, but it was a good day, called Wyatt and Meemaw this afternoon,” he lifts his hand and gently traces my jaw with his thumb, his eyes track the movement, “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you—not that I’d want to.” His eyes find mine once more, “You’re so beautiful.” He says softly, moving both hands up to cup my face before bending to kiss my lips.

I hold his wrists, not wanting him to let go, to break the kiss.

He pulls back, keeping his hands on my face. “Shower.” He whispers, as if reminding himself, “I’ll be two minutes, tops.” His hands fall away before he turns and jogs towards the bathroom.

I fall back into the sheets as I hear the water turn on, a giddy smile on my face as I try to root myself in the moment.

My therapist always tells me I need to be more present, and there’s, quite frankly, nowhere else I’d rather be in this moment. I take in the sheets that smell of cedar and spice, the pillow on the left side of the bed that’s far more wrinkled than the other.

I spot the Polaroid photos on the bedside table, and the few that he’s tucked inside the framed artwork on the walls. There’s a small whiteboard that sits on the desk in the corner of the room, a countdown until the day he gets to go home and a gentle reminder of the medication he has to take every day.

I feel as if I’m sinking into his bed, the soft sheets hug me, enveloping me in his scent as I close my eyes and inhale.

I feel content and warm, the looming anxiety that usually plagues my every waking—and sleeping—moment is a distant memory as my eyes become too heavy to open, and the sound of the shower fades into the distance.