Chapter 11 Molly #2
‘Matt?’ Dylan asks, and I recoil in surprise. Luke did mention that he and Dylan work together, so I suppose it makes sense that he would work with Matt as well.
Luke nods. ‘My only sibling, fortunately or unfortunately.’ ‘Do you know him well?’ I ask Dylan, suddenly deeply concerned that they’re work besties. Dylan doesn’t let me down, though, wincing with a nod that tells me everything I need to know.
‘Unfortunately,’ Dylan says. ‘My congratulations on liberating yourself from that relationship.’
‘Dylan,’ Elijah chides, eyeing Luke warily, but Luke just tips his head back in a laugh.
‘No, it’s all right. I love him, but I know how he is. Molly is one thousand leagues outside of him,’ Luke says. He pats my shoulder and I shrug.
‘We should probably talk about something more fun before we invoke his presence,’ I say, lowering my voice like I’m telling a ghost story.
‘My nightmare,’ Dylan says, and I grin. I like him already.
Devi squeals when she sees Elijah and prances out of the kitchen with a thrifted brass tray of Jell-O shots, some green, some orange. ‘Eli, you look hot!’ she tells him, evidence of her pre-gaming on display.
‘Thank you, Ms Devi,’ Elijah says in an over-the-top Southern accent while he tips the brim of his cowboy hat in a way that fucking enchants and distracts me. Once again, not how I should be feeling about This Man.
I clear my throat and reach across Luke to take one of the plastic cups, removing the lid before tipping my head back and swallowing the sugary shot. Dylan and Luke each take one as well, but Elijah casually shakes his head in no thanks.
Devi introduces herself to Dylan, easily starting conversation with the trio and I take it as my opportunity to slip away to the bathroom.
I stand at the sink and let the water run over my hands as it goes from frigid to scalding and I curse and turn it off.
Looking in the mirror, I stare hard at my own eyes, hyping myself up for what?
I’m not usually nervous, especially at a party with a bunch of people I already know, but I can’t ignore the anxiety brimming in my bones.
Is it Elijah?
I was pissed about him ignoring me all week, and now I’m actively hiding from him in the bathroom? It’s getting increasingly difficult to remind myself that I detest him, or I’m supposed to.
‘Get it together,’ I mutter before leaving the bathroom. Five more people have arrived in my absence, making it easy to slip into small talk with a group in the kitchen. Before I know it, the apartment has turned into a proper party, music playing from a speaker and everyone talking in groups.
The nervousness hasn’t gone away, but the two Jell-O shots and one wine cooler help.
Even still, I’m doing my best to ignore Elijah while cursing him for also ignoring me.
I want to talk to him and ask what weird book he’s been reading this week.
I want to know what he thinks about the costumes and accidentally stand too close so I can smell the warm, spicy cologne he always has on.
I pinch my wrist to bring me back from my weird thoughts and excuse myself to the kitchen for something decidedly not alcoholic.
There is no reason for me having these thoughts other than drunkenness and my lifelong weakness for cowboys.
Otherwise, I would have to admit at least to myself that my hatred for Elijah has morphed into something resembling a high-school infatuation.
When did that happen?
‘So, I hear you’re to thank for Elijah not being fired after a disastrous first week,’ Dylan says, coming up to my side in the kitchen. I smile and roll my eyes.
‘He must’ve left out the part where I did in fact try to get him fired,’ I admit. Dylan’s eyes light in amusement, a grin showing straight white teeth. ‘But yes, I suppose since then I’ve been instrumental in his success.’
Until he started avoiding me, that is. I don’t say this. It would give too much away and be embarrassing as hell.
‘He did tell me about that. Even then, he speaks highly of you. Constantly. And I know way too much about your wardrobe.’
‘You’re lying.’ I face him, my hip leaning against the counter. The thought of Elijah noticing a single thing about me beyond my prickly exterior is almost too much.
‘Let me see.’ Dylan dramatically clears his throat and stands up straighter. ‘She has a closet full of fetching sleeveless jumpers, why can’t I wear one of those?’ Dylan says in his approximation of Elijah’s British accent. ‘Where can I find a sensible work boot like Molly’s?’
I can’t help the loud laugh that spills from my chest.
‘Oh my God, I do have a lot of sweater vests, but in my defence—’
‘They’re best for fall because you get too sweaty otherwise?’ he offers, quoting Elijah quoting me. Now that I think about it, I did tell him that off-handedly once when he complimented the green vest that I wear over a collared white shirt.
‘Wow, he really does talk about work a lot,’ I muse.
‘Something like that.’
From the other side of the kitchen island, Devi gives a gasp so loud and dramatic I’m sure her favourite actor’s just died, but when we look in that direction, she’s got a hand on Elijah’s forearm. Her eyes find mine and by way of explanation, she exclaims, ‘Eli’s never played spin the bottle!’
I blink at her, and at my side, Dylan gives his own questioning stare.
‘Because he grew up on a farm with no electricity,’ I say.
Dylan snickers and mutters, ‘You have no idea how right you are.’
Devi’s face is flushed in a way that tells me she’s just drunk enough to suggest what I think she’s going to suggest.
Mentally, I plead with her to please not say it.
This wouldn’t even be the first time she’s brought together a group of fully grown adults, frontal lobes all accounted for, and forced us to play a game for high schoolers or maybe college students–like truth or dare or beer pong.
I once drew the line at seven minutes in heaven and she gave in only because her closet is stuffed full of boxes.
‘We have to play for him,’ she says, so matter-of-factly I know the decision has already been made.
It’s absurd, unreasonable, and freaking insane, but Devi is an unstoppable force. Some group of people in this apartment will be playing spin the bottle in some capacity before the night is out.
‘He’s thirty-four,’ I say, flabbergasted.
‘Yeah, and obviously needs to heal the child within,’ Devi shoots back.
‘When else is he going to have the chance to play? You want him to die without first having experienced this rite of passage?’ Devi pours what remains of the red wine into her glass, then holds up the empty bottle triumphantly.
Turning towards the rest of the party, she yells, ‘SPIN THE BOTTLE IN MY ROOM IN FIVE MINUTES!’
A few people cheer, including Matt’s little brother, and Dylan tenses at my side. Elijah and I make eye contact briefly and my heart jumps, the absurd image of kissing him sprouting unbidden in my brain.
I guess we’re doing this.
Shit.