Chapter 7 #2
“No worries,” he says in that Louisiana drawl, like it’s no big deal.
There’s silence for a few beats as we look at each other, and, curses, I can feel myself going red as I smile like a total wally.
We say “see you tomorrow” simultaneously, and then both give a nervous laugh.
He walks backwards for a few steps, watching for me to get up the front steps, unlock my door and get in safely, and he doesn’t start turning around until I’m locking up again.
Like a dreamy idiot, I sigh as I lean against my front door, watching the distorted mass of colours through the frosted glass as he walks away, warmth radiating through my body and sparking at my fingertips.
I have butterflies. Again. It’s been so long since a man gave me butterflies, and no man has ever made them flap harder.
I don’t want to push the feeling away right now.
I don’t want to tell myself to shut up and stop hoping.
I don’t want to smother it.
So I don’t. Just this once, I let it be.
Eli
I don’t remember much of the journey back to my apartment.
All I can think of is her. All of her, from the way she smiles to her taste in TV shows, everything about her.
She’s captivating to me.
The things she told me about her past were jarring, but all I can feel for her is admiration.
If I’d been emotionally and psychologically abused that insistently and that cruelly for that long, you’d best believe I wouldn’t be able to work up a smile for anyone, let alone everyone I meet. God, she’s strong.
Dean is waiting in the lobby when I get back, and the knowing smile in his eyes doesn’t reach his mouth.
Is she OK?
“Yeah,” I assure him, “Just...that asshole scared her.”
Badly, he agrees. I texted Leo. He's pissed. He’s talking about getting a panic button installed for her, so this doesn’t happen again.
He looks like he wants to say something else, and it’s not like him to hesitate.
“What?” I ask.
He sighs awkwardly. I heard some of what you two were saying. Didn’t set out to eavesdrop, I swear, but I was checking on you guys a few times, to see if Sadie and I would need to close up, and...
Oh.
I sigh. “How much?”
He grins awkwardly. I know you both have something in common.
I take out my front door key. “Ah.”
Aren’t you psyched? He asks incredulously, his face animated with happiness for me.
Dean hated Charmaine. Hated her. He never said so while she and I were married, but I knew.
He can be inscrutable when he wants, but when he thought I wasn’t looking, he let the irritated facial expressions fly behind her back.
And when I told him why she’d left me after our bad news from the fertility clinic, and what she’d said the night she left, when I was drunk off my ass and humiliated, it’s one of only two times I’ve ever seen him truly mad.
The other time was when he was told that Mr Whitmire had escaped justice by blowing his own head off after the shooting.
“Man, there ain’t no guarantee she even thinks of me in that way,” I mumble, but I can’t seem to help the grin that spreads across my face.
She might like me.
We’ve had a few eye meets that got so intense my dick jumped, and I can’t help but hope.
It’s a little wrong, though. She’s our receptionist. I have no desire to be the new Leo and chase away the office savior by blurring the lines.
But what if it worked out?
I can’t remember ever liking someone so much.
She’s my idea of heaven, and she has been since I met her.
Every time I see her, I just...I don't know how to describe it. But I feel like my entire body would glow bright as Mardi Gras lights if it could. Her warmth, her kindness, the strength of character that I now know is behind it… And she says the most interesting things. I would never have imagined she’d have been into D&D, and the passion with which she spoke was inspiring, and made me want to rediscover something I haven’t had in years.
And the way her lips look so soft and like they’re begging for a kiss…
Dude, I’d say snap out of it, but it’s too fucking good to see you so happy, Dean says, and he’s god damn beaming at me.
I sigh. “I just don’t want to...I dunno, count my chickens.”
And I get that, but also, you like her and she likes you. He gives me his best one-plus-one, are-you-a-moron look, and I can’t help but grin.
“Baby steps,” I say, unlocking my door. I pause, and then, like a hopeful teenage boy, I glance at him and ask, “You really think she likes me?”
He gives me a look of amused exasperation.
Yes, dude, I do. This is by no means a one sided deal.
You look at each other, and everyone’s hair gets static from the electricity in the air.
I keep expecting Teddy Pendergrass songs to start spontaneously playing and, I don't know, fucking doves to swoop in and start lighting candles and whatever.
I shake with laughter. “Poetic, man, that is...some poetic shit you got there.”
Poetic, but I’m not wrong. He gives me a pointed look, and starts towards the stairs. Don’t waste this. It doesn’t come around every day. He leaves me with that little nugget to think on, heading up the stairs as I unlock my front door.