Chapter 2 #2
“So where to, Elaina?” I have his undivided attention again, and it’s wonderfully overwhelming.
“Um, Glendale. Do you know where it is? Oh, right, you’re new in town.
Of course, you don’t. I’m sorry. I’ll give you directions.
Make a left out of here. Also, I’m sorry about Betty.
You don’t have to pick me up and drive me home.
You’re not a chauffeur or a taxi. And I can pay you for gas for today.
Thank you for taking me home. Again, I’m so sorry.
” Breathe, idiot. Breathe. I look down at my lap, wishing I could just disappear when I feel his hand on my chin.
He tilts it up so there’s no way to hide that I’m, again, the sole recipient of his hot amber gaze.
“Hey, don’t do that. Where’s the confident girl I just saw serve nine tables at a time without writing a single order down or making one mistake?
You knew people’s names, and you asked about their family members.
When that toddler started screaming, you knew exactly what to do.
You don’t seem like someone who apologizes for something you didn’t do.
Mrs. Wilson wants me to get to know people, and I think she was forcing you to be the first victim.
So, I’m sorry. You don’t have to do this if you don't want to.”
His thumb is drawing small circles on my chin, and I think I understand how people get hypnotized now. Looking at his eyes, feeling his thumb’s lazy movement, listening to his smooth voice… I’m enchanted.
“Elaina? Did you hear me?” His eyes narrow as they roam over my face and I wonder what he sees. The redness of my cheeks from him touching me? The likely smeared mascara under my eyes from sweat? The frizz of my hair thanks to the 1000% humidity levels?
“Uh-huh. Yes. Um. Yeah.” I clear my throat.
He removes his hand from my chin. His eyes don’t let mine go as I will my mouth not to beg for him to touch me again.
“You don’t have to apologize either. You shouldn’t be forced to get to know anyone, so don’t worry about it.
You don’t have to get to know me. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do.
” His brows furrow, and something like annoyance or frustration washes over his face before he shakes it off.
He takes a slow, deep breath and pins me with that intense stare.
“I do want to get to know you. I just spent five hours with you, and I already like you. You’re kind.
You work hard. You’re polite. You make people laugh.
When you are concentrating, you hum." At that, he smirks and ohmygodddddd it's the kind of smirk you see at the end of a runway, on the cover of a magazine, on billboards with cologne ads.
"You make eye contact with everyone, even if it goes on for so long, it borders on weird and uncomfortable.”
I can’t help the peal of laughter escapes me.
“You did that on purpose?” My voice comes out a little too high-pitched and I smack him on the shoulder.
“I thought you were trying to read my thoughts or something. What the hell, man?” And now both of my hands are waving in the air frantically because I am not only a rambler, but also an exuberant hand talker.
As in, I talk with my hands, especially when I’m excited or pissed off or just have any sort of feelings.
So always. I am always a hand talker. Blame it on my Greek mother.
He laughs, and I now absolutely cannot contain myself.
He has the goofiest laugh I’ve ever heard, and the sound is both confusing and wonderful.
How can this Abercrombie model of a man laugh like this?
The more he laughs, the more I laugh and I don’t even know what we’re laughing at anymore, but we keep going until there are tears in my eyes and I’m clutching my aching stomach.
“Okay, stop,” I say, finally. “You have to stop. Please! Stop laughing!”
Eventually, he does, and I do too, but then we’re sitting there just looking at each other with big smiles on our faces. It feels… nice. Easy.
Huh.
“So, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says.
“I’m going to pick you up and drive you home for the next few shifts we work together.
Maybe you can even show me around since I’m the new guy and all.
” His brows furrow and he licks his lower lip.
I feel my eyes widen and immediately look down at my lap to hide my reaction to his tongue.
“We’ll probably be working opposite shifts once you’re done training me and we’ll never see each other for more than a few minutes between shifts after this, anyway. Sound good?”
No! Sounds awful. I want to see you every day and hear you laugh and kiss that dimple. AAAAAAAH! What? Oh my god. WHAT?
“Um. Sure,” I mumble.
“Mrs. Wilson won’t let me get away with not following through on her plan, anyway. I may have only met the lady twice, but I can tell she’s not someone you mess with.” His eyebrows jump up on his forehead like he fears Betty. I like that he calls her Mrs. Wilson.
“You’re right. Don’t mess with her.” I smile at him. “Okay, then. Do you want to start your tour of town now? Or should we start Monday when we work together again?”
“What? Really?” His brows are still up near his hairline, only this time it’s out of surprise.
His face is so expressive, now that I’m getting a chance to really see it.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s get started now!
” And at the sound of excitement in his voice, I giggle.
I picture Andy as a little boy being told he can have ice cream after dinner. So cute!
Stop this! Regular person! Remember that insane laugh?
He turns the car on and smiles. “Tell me where to go.”