Chapter 11
eleven
a prayer to saint eligius
B efore Elissa got out of the car on Tuesday evening, she checked her phone for the thousandth time. No messages.
Well, none from her date. About thirty from Jules. Mostly to hype her up, but the last few were bordering on begging for details as soon as Elissa said goodnight.
She’d exchanged photos with Nice-Ryan over the weekend, and the sandy-blond subject of the picture she’d doubled-checked stood right in front of the restaurant, five minutes early.
Shorter than average, nerdy but in a cute way, with thick-rimmed glasses framing his light brown eyes.
He was exactly her type. Her mom had done good.
“Hi, Ryan.” Elissa hurried over to him.
“Elissa, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”
His handshake was firm and brief, businesslike. His smile was friendly and he kept his gaze on her face. He gave off nice vibes.
“You, too. I’ve never been here before, but my friend says Nopalitos serves the best margaritas in the city.”
“That’s a high bar. After you.” Nice-Ryan held open the door and led her straight to the bar area, finding the lone table available. “This okay, or would you rather sit at the bar?”
“This is fine.” Her short legs made the tall bar stools a bit uncomfortable. This Ryan was waving all kinds of green flags. She relaxed a bit more and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Be right with you!” called a voice muffled by the din.
“It’s busy for a Tuesday,” Ryan said.
Elissa glanced at the TVs above the bar. “Basketball game on.”
“Oh, sorry, I don’t follow sports much.”
“Me either, for the most part, but Wildcats basketball is the one exception, if only because my parents and brother won’t shut up about it.”
“Ah, gotcha. My sister and I were raised by a single mom. She didn’t have a lot of time for things like sports, so I was the odd man out.”
Someone cleared their throat above them.
She looked up, only to freeze as she recognized the man in front of her.
Jerk-Ryan. What the hell was he doing here?
More importantly, how was she going to explain his presence to the very nice, very normal guy sitting across from her?
She drew in a deep breath, uncertain if she was preparing to yell at the jerk or defend her bad luck.
“Welcome to Nopalitos. What can I get you folks?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. His voice featured in several NSFW dreams this past week, dreams let left her wanting, needing, and gasping. It was even more sensual in real life, and he looked even better than she remembered.
She vaguely noticed Nice-Ryan ordering.
Jerk-Ryan worked here? Here? With those expensive clothes and his arrogant attitude? As a server, a bartender?
The jerk scribbled on a notepad as Ryan ordered, gave them a bland server’s smile, and returned to the bar. Her gaze dropped to his tight butt as he walked away, but just for a second. She let out the breath she’d been holding and turned her attention to her actual date. Not the jerk. The nice guy.
C’mon, Elissa, get a grip.
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs, and her heart rate dipped back to the normal range.
“So, Elissa, my mom says you’re an accountant. What company?”
“JMS Accounting.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them. Well regarded.”
“Do you work in accounting?” Her mother would totally set her up with another numbers nerd.
Odds were he was in finance or banking, possibly an accountant himself.
Elissa liked numbers, excelled at numbers, but often found her fellow accountants a bit…
well, boring. There was a stereotype for a reason.
“Adjacent, I guess. I’m a loan officer for a mortgage company.”
Bingo! She hated that she was right. She hated even more that she’d made a game out of this. She should do better.
“What do you do in your off hours?” she asked. Workout, hang with his bros at some fancy-pants bar, or read literature, her brain filled in before he could answer.
Shut up , she told it. He’s nice .
“I hit the gym and run, and I read. Mostly mid-century American literature. What about you?”
Two out of three wasn’t bad. No, bad Elissa. This is not a game.
He could be holding something back. If she was that boring and predictable, she would. She chose her next statement with all the care of grabbing a knife from a disorganized knife drawer.
“I swim and hike, and I like funny books.” She watched him closely. Even more important than someone’s own preferences for how they spend their free time was their reaction to someone else’s choices.
His eyes swept along her arms, looking at the proof she worked out as she mentioned her favorite ways to exercise, but otherwise was unfazed.
But when she mentioned she read commercial fiction, and funny fiction at that, he rolled his eyes ever so subtly.
Mid-century literature was all well and good, but he didn’t have to yuck her yum.
This discussion was depressing. And, as loath as she was to admit it, she missed the banter she’d enjoyed last week with Jerk-Ryan.
It may have ended poorly, but she’d had fun until his untoward offer.
“Who’s your favorite author?” she asked.
Maybe he’d surprise her. Maybe it wouldn’t be Hemingway, or Updike, or Orwell. All great writers, but everyone knew them. Maybe he’d pick someone she’d never heard of, and she could add a new book to her never-ending to be read pile.
“Hemingway.”
Nope. She kept her polite smile plastered on.
“But I also like Kerouac. How about you?”
Better. Not an author she would have guessed from him.
“Oh, Douglas Adams is my all-time favorite.” She could see the wheels turning in his head. “ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy . Don’t panic and always bring your towel.”
Her polite smile faded when nothing replaced the confusion. Oh well. They didn’t have to enjoy the same things to have an interesting conversation. Besides, it would give her a chance to tell someone new about her favorite things. Certainly better than being arm candy for an obnoxious jerk.
“Here you go. Two house margaritas, frozen, no salt.” Jerk-Ryan’s voice startled her out of her reverie. Speak of the devil. “Anything else I can get for you?”
Again with the bland, customer-service smile. But did his gaze keep sliding to her? No, she was imagining things. Either he’d forgotten about her, or he was trying not to be an asshole. She’d take the blessing and call it a win.
“No, thank you,” Elissa murmured.
“Thanks, man,” Nice-Ryan said.
Jerk-Ryan returned to the bar, and Elissa tore her attention away. Something about the man drew her eye, made her want to watch him. But it was unfair to the man at the table with her, who’d been nothing but polite.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers.”
They clinked glasses, and Elissa took a sip of her margarita. She much preferred her margaritas on the rocks with salt. But this was uncommonly delightful for frozen, a nice balance of lime, sugar, and tequila. Top shelf tequila. And was that a touch of Tajin? Tasty.
“So you like sci-fi?” Nice-Ryan’s voice pulled her back to their previous convo.
“Only the funny stuff. Scalzi is also a favorite. You said you run. Do you do races or just for exercise?”
“Treadmill at the gym. Lets me customize my workout.”
As Nice-Ryan went all rhapsodic about the fantastic equipment at his gym, her attention wandered to the other Ryan.
The way he moved through the crowd, the smile on his face as he greeted customers, the occasional laugh carrying over the noise of a busy restaurant.
What was wrong with her? Pining over some dude who didn’t even acknowledge her existence. She was better than this.
But every time she tried to pay attention, her eyes glazed over.
She gave encouraging nods, asked a few follow-up questions, but Nice-Ryan seemed more than happy to talk about himself, while the handsome, mysterious jerk kept invading her thoughts as he’d done for the past week.
Her brain wanted nothing more to do with Jerk-Ryan, but she needed to have a serious conversation with the rest of her body.
When he distracted himself with his almost empty glass, she glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes! It seemed like hours.
“Do you have somewhere else you need to be?” he asked, catching her checking her watch.
Dang it!
“Yes, actually.” She decided to play the family card since he had last time. “I promised to bring home dinner for my kid brother tonight. My parents are out with friends, and if I don’t bring him food, he’ll play video games until they get home.”
Elissa opened her clutch and pulled out a credit card.
“No. I’ll pick up the drinks. Family comes first. I had a nice time, Elissa.”
Crap. She’d hoped he’d been as bored as her. Apparently, her politeness had passed for interest, and he hadn’t even noticed she’d been a bad date. Elissa was at a loss for how to let him down easy. She needed Jules’s advice. Instead, she stuck out her hand.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Ryan.”
Another face popped into her mind as she said the name. A leaner face, framed with dark hair, and brown eyes that did uncomfortable things to her female anatomy. Damn.
“I’d like to do this again.”
Double damn. And add two dollars to the swear jar. The way she was going, they’d have family fun night before the end of the quarter. She really, really needed to talk to Jules. But she had an ace up her sleeve.
“Sure, but tax season is around the corner, so I need to check my calendar. I’ll text you in a couple days.” Maybe she would try again. She owed him a better date far, far away from hot guys who kept distracting her.
Nice-Ryan signaled to the object of her distraction, and Elissa left before she had to confront him again. The sun was down and the chill had her rubbing her arms as she walked to her car in the well-lit parking lot. She texted Leo as soon as she shut the door.
E: I’m getting sandwiches. Want one?
L: Yes date bad?
E: Ugh.
L: U didn’t want 2 lie so ur bringing me dinner
E: Why do you insist on using abbreviations? Autofill is there for a reason.
L: Ur old
Elissa sent an emoji with the tongue sticking out.
E: Do you want a sandwich or not?
He sent back the drooling emoji, which Elissa took to mean yes. Teenagers were weird. There was a Baggins between here and home, and he loved their jalapeno popper grilled cheese. She placed her order via the app, choosing the Thanksgiving dinner sandwich.
Motion outside caught her eye. Nice-Ryan—no, too boring to be nice—Beige-Flag-Ryan strode out of the restaurant. She was supposed to be in a hurry, so she ducked down and hoped he didn’t look around for her. A few minutes later, a car pulled out.
Cautiously, she sat up and looked out the window to see a Prius turning right out of the parking lot. Sighing in relief, she sent a reply to Jules’s earlier text.
E: Date sucked. Details later.
She stuck the key in the ignition and turned.
The engine gave a tired whine, the lights flashed, and nothing.
Dammit.
Elissa turned the key again, sending a prayer to Saint Eligius, the patron of mechanics. And to hedge her bets, Saint Jude. She hoped Bertha wasn’t a lost cause just yet, but the car was old enough to drive itself now. No luck. Grrr-grrr-grrr went poor Bertha’s engine.
She bent forward until her forehead touched the steering wheel. Could anything else go wrong tonight?