Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Actually, yes.” I’d been in New York for two weeks and had a shameful number of pictures to show for it. I handed over my phone and dragged Elliot to the railing so we could have the statue in the background.
“Left,” the woman said, “No, a little – okay there.” She frowned at Elliot. “You could at least look like you wanna be here. Put your arm around her.”
Elliot looked down at me. “Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
Elliot’s arm slid around my waist and the tips of his fingers grazed the tiny gap of bare skin between my shirt and trousers. Instantly I was reduced to a trembling wreck like I had been at the junket, imagining what those fingers could do to me.
“Gorgeous,” said the woman, snapping away.
“If you could both look at the – okay, great.” She gave me the phone back.
“Such a beautiful couple.” She was gone before we could correct her on our relationship status, and I busied myself with putting away my phone so Elliot couldn’t see the way my face was flaming.
He said goodbye to the mother and her kid, but I couldn’t even speak.
I looked out across the water again, grateful for the breeze calming my red cheeks.
“You good?” Elliot asked eventually.
“Fine,” I said, unable to meet his eye. Truth was, I was full of raging, inconvenient thoughts that made me terrified to meet his eye in case he intuited the filth raging through my mind. “Why don’t you share more facts about the Statue of Liberty?”
“I guess I can,” he said. “You look a little off, you sure you’re okay? You’re not seasick?”
“I’m fine.” Just a girl slowly losing her mind with lust, nothing to see here.
“If you’re sure …” he said uncertainly.
We made it to Staten Island and back without me melting into a puddle of uncontrollable horniness, my mind full of everything I’d ever wanted to know about the Statue of Liberty.
Elliot clearly wasn’t convinced that I was fine, but I couldn’t talk about it and as we walked out of the ferry terminal, I could feel his worried eyes on me.
“I think I’m just hungry,” I said after his fifth inquiry into my wellbeing.
“Okay, let’s get food.” But he didn’t move, just stood staring at me.
“What?” I said.
“I think I know what’s bothering you,” he said.
Fuck. “You do?”
“That lady back there assumed we were a couple.” He raked a hand through his hair, causing rogue tendrils to tumble adorably into his eyes. All I wanted to do was brush them away from his face. “It made you feel weird.”
“Weird,” I croaked. “Yeah.”
“Well, don’t worry,” he said gently. “It’s not like RJF could fire you for someone’s assumption. Come on, let’s get you something to eat. I have an idea.”
Don’t worry? I thought to myself. How could I not?
We jumped on the 1 train, which was rammed with people.
It was hot and sticky, but I was glad, as it meant we had to focus on fighting our way through the crowds and I could ignore the emotions churning within me just being in Elliot’s presence.
But as we emerged into the streets of Soho and I followed Elliot towards wherever he was taking me, I couldn’t help chastising myself over said emotions.
I would be leaving America soon, hopefully to an improved work situation that would require all my focus.
Wasting time and energy on a crush that was going nowhere – could only go nowhere – was pointless and I was just going to get hurt.
I was so furious at myself that I didn’t notice Elliot had stopped walking. He stood with a broad grin, cocking his head at something.
“What?” I said irritably. I was hungry and deep in self-loathing, a powerful combination.
“Look up, dumbass,” he said, pointing.
I followed his finger. A beautiful old red-brick building stood before me, with the words 8 – HOOK I was smiling happily at the camera with Elliot’s arm around me, but he was gazing at my face with a strange expression I couldn’t quite place.
And then I remembered, the mother taking the picture telling us both to look at the camera, clearly because Elliot had been staring at me.
“Girl, if I didn’t know better …” Riley handed me back the phone.
“You’d what?”
“You don’t see it?” she said, mystified. “The way he’s looking at you there?”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “He was caught off guard, he wasn’t ready to pose, that’s all.” It couldn’t have been anything else. Could it?
“Okay,” Riley giggled. “What you two get up to in that room all day is none of my business.”
“Seriously, it’s nothing!” I yelped, just as Elliot slid back into the booth with a Coke.
“What is?” he asked curiously.
Oh God. “They’ve asked me to sing!” I said, downing another mouthful of beer.
“How was the ferry, Elliot?” Riley asked. “See anything particularly beautiful?”
Elliot frowned. “What?”
I could have cheerfully murdered her at that point but was saved by the drunk students tumbling off the platform, just as a haunting synth and drums hook filled the air.
“Who requested ‘Bette Davis Eyes?’” Juno said, looking around.
“Who cares!” I scrambled out of the booth, desperate to escape. “I mean, I’ll sing it.”
“What happened to ‘I don’t sing, I shout?’” Elliot asked.
“It feels like shouting time.” Maybe it was the fear of Elliot working out what Riley had determined in just a few seconds or maybe it was the beer coursing through my system; either way I couldn’t sit in that booth for a moment longer.
I hopped onto the little stage and grabbed the mic, hands shaking.
“You don’t have to do this!” Riley yelled.
“I’m doing it!” I made the mistake of catching Elliot’s eye.
He was looking up at me as if I was something brilliantly new, a slow smile creasing his face to show those goddamn dimples again.
I was so lost in him I almost missed the first line of the song, but my scratchy warble was rewarded by a whoop and a cheer from one of the bartenders.
“Yeah!” Noah was up on his feet clapping as I lurched into the next line.
By the time I’d squeaked my way to the chorus, the whole bar was shouting along with me, and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t get the words of the next verse out.
But my stumble was short-lived because suddenly, Elliot was on stage next to me belting out the words tunelessly, wagging his finger at me as we sang how the woman in the song knew just what to do to make someone blush.
And then Riley was alongside us, dancing and yelling the words just as out of key as Elliot.
Juno ignored the warning yells from the bartender to jump on a nearby table with the drunk students from before to belt out the words at top volume.
And it felt so good, to shout at the top of my lungs, to forget all the cares that had plagued me these past few weeks.
It felt right to throw caution to the wind and wrap my arm around Elliot’s waist as we sang to applause from the scattered patrons of 1on1.
As we trailed off the last line, Juno and Noah stormed the stage and wrapped their arms around Elliot and me, squeezing us together in a cloud of beery breath and laughter.
“For the record, Lucie, that wasn’t shouting, that was actual singing,” Elliot said, putting out his hand for a high five.
I high fived him back. “Thanks for the save.”
“Ah, you didn’t need it,” he said. “I just couldn’t not sing along with you.”
“Interesting,” Riley whispered in my ear, the second Elliot turned away.
“Stop it,” I ordered, topping up my beer.
“I’m just saying,” she cooed playfully. “A wise woman once taught me about fart logic. This feels very much like a fart-logic situation. For both of you.”
“This is not a fart-logic situation,” I protested. “This is a ‘two temporary colleagues enjoying sight-seeing’ type situation.”
“If you say so,” she said with a grin.