“Poor you,” she says, patting my hand with mock sympathy. “But you know what’s even more unfortunate? That there are no movies in my immediate future. Since I’m about to pay you back the money I owe you, I’m broke. At this point,” she shoots me a wry look, “I’m all set for my vows of chastity and poverty.”
I laugh. “Don’t you have to be Catholic for them to let you in?”
She practically chokes on her coffee mid sip. “I think I’m offended. I’ll have you know I went to a private Catholic school for my very formative elementary school years.”
“What?” I tsk. “No way. I don’t believe you.”
“Pfft, would you like me to recite a few psalms as proof?”
My jaw hangs open for a moment. “You’re telling me that you, Opal, used to be a Catholic school girl?” Don’t do it. Don’t imagine her in one of those skirts –
“Yeah, my mom was raised a hard core Catholic and so was I.”
“Really? You go to church?”
Her lips twist. “I said I was raised as a Catholic, not that I am one. As soon as I was able to convince my mom to let me go to a regular school, I was out. Ninth grade was a new beginning for me.”
Some of the pieces of her life start clicking together. “Ninth grade? When the Piper thing started?”
“Yeah. New school. New me. When I set my mind to something, I usually get it done.”
“Like joining a convent?”
“Exactly. But that one’s not quite set in stone yet, just under consideration.”
We finish our coffees, talking in circles and making jokes. There’s something about her that’s so . . . charming, I guess. Her easy smiles, her laidback sense of humor, her self-confidence, they all pull me away from my usually tightly-wound self like a magnet.
“Okay, I gotta get back to work,” I finally tell her as I stand. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“No, thank you for the loan.” She gets up and pulls the cash from her pocket, but I shake my head.
“I want you to hold on to it until you get paid, all right. I don’t need it, and I don’t think the sisterhood would approve of you robbing Peter to pay Paul.”
“I didn’t rob Vanessa, I got a loan.”
“Well, pay her back then. I trust you not to pull a runner.”
She hesitates until she finally decides to shove the money away. “Okay, thanks.”
I’m not sure I like the way her soft tone burrows its way behind my sternum and takes up residence. “I’ll see you Friday, okay?” I say quickly. We finally agreed that I still owe her and that I’d pay for the movie. “How do you feel about ribs?”
“No, no dinner,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t like being a free-loader.”
“Please,” I say with irony, “you’re doing me a favor. Adult food and an adult movie? I don’t remember the last time I did that kind of thing.”
She wants to argue, but I cut her off. “I’ll pick you up a bit later than last week.”
Ellie
I’m left standing there with a stomach filled with butterflies. Dinner and a movie? Does it get more date-like than that? No, but obviously friends do that kind of thing too. Dinner and a movie can be platonic, I’m sure of it. I sit back down to finish my coffee, thinking that I may actually be getting the hang of this opposite sex, friend zone stuff. High five, Ellie Summers.
Now, if only he weren’t so good-looking. Because, damn, spending time with him is a bit of a double-edged sword. Every teasing comment, every smirk, every flex of his arms further re-ignites my long-dormant sex drive. Even his hands, which are big and scratched up from his job, turn me on.
I know that doesn’t mean I have to act on my impulses. Proving to myself that I can enjoy his company without complicating the situation with sex is good for me. Anyway, I’m sure sex would alter the laid-back vibe we’ve got going. And I don’t want that. He’s exactly the kind of friend I need, one who isn’t interested in luring me into trouble. And he seems to like me. Me! Ellie. Ellie, who admits to playing Word Cookies, who’s always sober, who loves Chipotle. Granted, he’s not remotely attracted to her – but that’s cool. I need my feet firmly under myself after being at sea for so long.
“Girl! That man is beautiful!” Vanessa flops down beside me.
“He is,” I agree.
“He the reason you’ve been in such a good mood lately?”
“Probably, but don’t get too excited. We’re just friends.”
“Uh huh.”
Despite her sarcasm, I know I can do this.
The last class of my academic career starts on Thursday. I can’t believe that all the requirements for my degrees are done with the exception of this one last Spanish lit class. Tentatively, I’m hoping to work in the public sector when I graduate; municipal or state government maybe. Social issues and policies are what get me going.
Before I went off the rails during my junior year, I spent a lot of my time volunteering for different political campaigns. I made a few contacts in those early years, but I’m worried that finding a real job won’t be easy. There’s no way I can keep paying out ninety percent of my salary in rent though. Something’s got to give and graduation in June can’t come soon enough.
After class, I work the late shift, so when Friday morning comes around and it’s my day off, I’m grateful. I use my free time to get ahead on my reading list. At least I try to when I’m not thinking about Scott, wondering where we’re going for dinner, pondering which movie we’ll see, considering possible topics of conversation, ruminating over . . . yeah, it’s possible I’m obsessing.
I don’t hear from him until after 6:30 on Friday evening. Was I a bit worried? Maybe. Do I laugh at the text he finally sends me? Yes.
Scott: I’m out front.
Apparently, parking to pick a girl up at her door isn’t part of the friend-zone package.
Ellie: Be right out.
I’ve kept things simple for tonight. My hair is down but I’m just wearing jeans, a T-shirt and black leather booties. On the way out the door, I grab my purse and my short black jacket. I feel good, I look decent. And I’m excited at the prospect of making conversation instead of being cooped up at home, entertaining myself.
He’s double parked right in front of my building. My confidence wavers the teensiest bit when I see him. He obviously went home to shower and change. His hair is still wet and he’s wearing dark jeans and a long sleeved Henley that molds just enough to his upper body to catch my eye.
“Hey,” he says barely sparing me a second glance as he pulls out into traffic. “You ready?”
My confidence bounces back with his blasé attitude. This isn’t him making an effort, it’s just him being him. “Yeah, I’m ready. You still haven’t told me where we’re going though.”
That gets me a quick grin that ups my heart rate. “We’re going for ribs.”
“You’re a fan, I take it.”
“Who isn’t?”