Chapter 4 Dinner and a Mishap
T he next morning, I did exactly as Ethan told me and drove over to the bar that his friend owned. I walked right in, asked for Patrick, and twenty minutes later walked right back out with a brand spankin’ new bartending job.
To get a job as a bartender in Chicago, apparently all you needed was a recommendation and boobs. Patrick, the bar owner and Ethan’s friend, took one lingering look at me with his worn, hazel eyes, and gave me the job before even asking about any previous experience.
Before I had to leave.
My pride and heart ached as I thought of my dream job, my dream home, my dream life all back in New York that had turned in seconds to a nightmare.
All those hours, buckets of sweat, nights spent in rehearsing instead of going out with friends only to end up in a city I didn’t love with my dreams trailing in tatters behind me.
Now wasn’t the time to dwell in self-pity, though. I was making moves, trudging on, and today was proof of that.
My official training would start in just a couple days and strangely enough, I was looking forward to it. I’d danced, taught dance, ate, breathed, and rehearsed only dance since I could remember. Doing something different for a change would be exactly what I needed.
As I left the bar, I sent Monica a quick text that I got the job, knowing that I wouldn’t hear anything back from her for at least a few hours.
I walked around the area for a bit, trying to familiarize myself as much as I could with my new surroundings before something unexpected caught my gaze over the road.
Art In Motion-Dance Studio
Under their sign were the words ‘AIM for the stars’.
Cheesy but catchy, and I found a smile lifting my lips.
My body tingled with a longing to run across the street, throw open their front door, and demand to be put in their next available class.
I hadn’t danced in over a week, and for someone who danced almost every day since the age of six, I could already feel the effects it was having on my body.
Even as badly as my body yearned to be back in a studio, my heart wasn’t ready yet. As dumb as it was, I still felt a loyalty to my old dance studio lurking in my blood. Everything in New York had betrayed me right down to that studio, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same just yet.
A short vibration coming from my purse took hold of my attention.
Surprise lifted my eyebrows to think that Monica had responded to me while at work.
That pretty much never happened. When she was at work, she was in her zone and that zone did not include answering any social text messages, even from her only sister.
Bringing my phone out of my purse, my brows sank back down as I spotted the name on the incoming text message.
Ethan?
With curiosity bubbling up inside of me, I opened his message.
Do you eat chicken?
“Wha—” A breath of a laugh cut through the rest of my confusion as I stared down at his message. A twinge of amusement curled into my bewilderment at how completely random his question was.
Deciding to go with it, I responded.
Live chickens? Not usually.
I laughed to myself, feeling sort of proud of my humor. About a minute later, my phone vibrated again.
Ah. So, I’ve got a smartass living with me now. Noted.
A few seconds later, another message.
What about dead, cooked chicken? Would you eat that chicken for dinner?
A rush of uneasiness flushed my body with warmth beneath the already blistering sun. Monica worked late, so I wasn’t so sure she’d be eating with us.
It would most likely just be us two. Me and a man I just met yesterday. A stranger, basically. A ridiculously gorgeous stranger.
Monica didn’t cook. That much I knew from growing up with her and could remember a time when she came home from school one day in tears at having failed her first and only class ever—Home Economics.
So, Ethan was the likely cook of the house. I mean, why wouldn’t he be able to cook? He was good looking and funny, so why not add culinary skills to the list as well? I was happy for my sister. She finally snagged a good one. I was happy for her. I was happy and not at all jealous.
Okay, so maybe I was 5% jealous.
Rolling my eyes at myself for indulging my self-pity, I quickly typed back:
As long as it’s not poisoned then yes, I’d eat that chicken.
His response came back in seconds.
Chicken. Hold the arsenic. Got it.
Dinner’s at 6.
* * *
Over the next few hours, I walked back to my car and found a nearby park with a hill of green nestled in the back, past the playground and laughing children.
I ventured out to the lonely hill and relaxed with a couple hours of yoga before jumping back in my car, going home, and straight into the shower.
I scrubbed away the day where, even though I’d literally gotten a new job, I couldn’t help but feel like I did nothing all day long. Compared to my normal schedule of dance classes, workshops, and rehearsals from 10am-10pm, today really was an unusually chill day for me.
I was so used to going, spinning, and twirling myself from activity to activity that to have a ‘chill’ day wasn’t something I was used to just yet.
Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed my towel from the rack over the toilet and dabbed my body dry before moving the now damp towel to my head.
Pulling open the bathroom door connected to my bedroom, I snatched a pair of underwear and a sports bra from my unpacked luggage, still sitting in the room’s corner begging to be unloaded.
Tossing both on, my towel dropped to the floor, and I left my bedroom in search of a cool glass of water and maybe a pre-dinner snack.
My parched mouth and grumbling stomach brought me right to the kitchen, my shoulders slumping in preliminary defeat as my eyes fell to the cabinets, and I recalled my embarrassing debacle last night.
Opening up the cabinet door, my eyes went up to the top shelf. Annoyance sent a quick blip through my mind as I stared longingly up at the too-high-to-reach cups. Sure, Monica had always been taller than me, but was she really this much taller?
Lifting myself up onto my tiptoes, I reached my arm all the way up to the top shelf…
And then someone cleared their throat behind me.
My body held tight, muscles cramping with splintered shock. My heart stuck between a gasp and a scream. I’m pretty sure even time stopped moving for those next few grueling seconds just to watch and mock my unfailing tragic luck.
I could already feel my entire half naked body flushing with red hot embarrassment until nervous sweat sprouted beneath my armpits. Holding my breath in my lungs, I rolled my lips together, biting down on both of them at once to keep myself from screaming in sheer humiliation like never before.
On wobbling feet, I turned to see who I already knew had caught me in this mortifying snapshot of my life.
The eyes I’d met just last night were on mine as soon as I fully faced him.
They didn’t drift any lower— Thank God —but they also wouldn’t budge from mine either.
Ethan’s stare was shining with amusement at my expense, and I really couldn’t blame him.
We both held the other’s stare as the awkward silence lingered on.
He didn’t have anything to say behind his smirked lips.
He didn’t have to.
We both knew what an idiotic predicament I’d walked myself right into.
Before I could add any more time to the most embarrassing moment of my life, I spun toward my room and raced until I was back behind closed doors. My back pressed against the door as I slammed it shut, briefly appreciating the cool touch of the wood against my skin still burning with humiliation.
I dropped my face into my hands, breathing in deeply to tame my wildly beating heart. Why was I so stupid? This was someone else’s house. Not my apartment. I couldn’t just wander around half dressed like I was used to doing back in New York.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” My feet stomped with every whispered insult that came from under my breath.
Looking down at myself through the cracks in my fingers, I was glad I’d chosen the sports bra that I did as it was modest for the most part. No cleavage spilling over to be seen. My choice of underwear though…
I shuffled back through the door connecting my bedroom to the bathroom, finding my eyes in the mirror.
I even looked as mortified as I felt, my cheeks a blotchy red coloring and my hair a total damp mess as my natural curls twisted into existence.
Staring at my body from the front, I could justify that this is what I’d look like if he ever saw me in a bathing suit.
The view from the front wasn’t all that inappropriate.
It was when I turned the bottom half of my body towards the mirror that the inappropriate factor came into view. The deep blue thong I’d picked out to wear barely hid my ass. It was out there for however many seconds I was turned away from Ethan on full display.
Huffing to myself as I analyzed my appearance in the mirror, I quipped, “At least I have a nice ass.”
I stayed in my room for what I knew was an absurd amount of time, pacing away the finishing on the hardwood floors until I concluded I’d hid as long as I could.
Tugging on a t-shirt and a pair of thick leggings, it took several calming breaths to filter out as much nervous energy as I could before opening the door.
The sound of food sizzling hit my ears as I walked out.
Then, the smell of something delicious wafted through, and my mouth salivated on command.
All the soothing breathing I’d done before exiting my bedroom proved pointless as my heartbeat raced the closer I got to the noises and heavenly smell coming from the kitchen.
My stomach was a nervous wreck as I made my way out into the living room, spotting Ethan with his back turned to me and facing the stove.