“El,” he warns as I scoot past him again. We end up squared off on either side of the bed, but he’s closer to the door so I can’t get out of the room.
He props his hands on his hips, considering the situation. Then he has the nerve to grin at me as he crooks his finger. “Come here.”
I purse my lips. “Bossy time is over.”
“Bossy time?” He bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, and can’t help but wonder how the mood changed so quickly. “You like bossy time. And you heard me. Come here.” His voice drops low on the command, making my stomach squirm, but it’s not enough to divert my attention from his steps as he comes around the bed and makes a grab for me.
I go over the mattress and make a break for the door, but he catches me around my waist. “Scott!” He throws me down on the bed, jumping on top of me to straddle my thighs, holding me down by my wrists. I buck up against him, trying to dislodge his weight, but he’s too heavy.
“You can wipe that smug look off your face,” I grouse, trying to buck him off again. I feel a traitorous smile start to spread across my lips though because he does seem to have accepted my explanation of what was eating at me without judgment.
He leans down to kiss each corner of my mouth. “You caught me off guard tonight, that’s all. No girl has ever said she loved me. I didn’t know how to handle it, and obviously I messed up.” He grimaces. “But I don’t want you thinking that you and love haven’t been floating around in my head for weeks. When I said you were perfect, I meant it.”
My protests get shut down.
“Let me finish. This stuff scares me, but I want you and me almost more than anything else I’ve ever wanted in my life, El.”
He stares down at me with an intense sincerity as if willing me to believe him.
“Now,” he says gruffly. “You realize I’m screwed, right? No matter when I say those three words to you, you’re going to think I’m full of shit.” His lips tilt sheepishly.
“I wouldn’t think that,” I object. “And I’m a horrible ass for making you feel like you had to say them back.”
He chuckles mirthlessly. “At least I didn’t say thanks, right?”
“At least,” I echo witheringly.
“See?” His whole face lights up. “There it is again!”
“There what is?”
“That attitude. It makes me hard.”
I look down and sure enough, his dick is trying to make a jail break from behind his boxer briefs. “Is there anything that doesn’t make you hard though?”
“True. But he’s got a particular fetish for your legs in heels, and of course, your lips.”
I nod with mock wisdom. “Of course, what self-respecting dick would say no to lips – of any kind?”
We’ll be fine, he and I. This is a marathon, not a sprint, and the sooner I realize that, the better.
In the ensuing days, Scott seems inclined to let my meltdown go. He doesn’t give me sidelong looks, and he doesn’t tease me about it, and he doesn’t hint that my behaviour has freaked him out. In fact, he goes out of his way to shower me with affection. I’m both grateful and relieved. I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t worry myself sometimes, but I’m hoping now that I’ve voiced my insecurities, I’ve exorcised them and we can move forward.
It’s almost a week later that my Dad texts me, taking my mind off the incident almost altogether.
Dad: Hi Ellie. You at work?
Ellie: Yeah, why?
But that’s all I get until a local courier walks into the café an hour and a half later with a delivery for Ellie Summers. In a lull between customers, I rip open the envelope tab and pull out a parking pass and two gold-embossed tickets to The First Annual Action against Poverty Gala.
Huh. Seems my dad somehow wrestled the extra ticket away from my mother. Considering how much he dislikes going up against her, to stick his neck out like that for me is a big deal.
Ellie: Thanks, Dad! You’re the best! I’ll be sure to put them to good use.
I get a thumbs up emoji in response.
That night, despite having had class in the morning and then working a full shift, finding Scott waiting for me outside my building wipes away any trace of tiredness I was feeling and replaces it with joy.
“Hey,” I say, bouncing up to him. “You’re early.”
He grins down at me. “Yeah, I know. I’m pretty much a keener when it comes to you.”
Since we’re still caught up in the mother of all honeymoon phases, that’s about as far as the conversation gets until much later when we’re nested down in my sheets, both of us drowsy and sated. With my head on his shoulder, we talk about our days.
“Oh, so hey,” I say, sometime later. “Remember my dad wanted to set me up on that date last week?”
“Mmmm,” he acknowledges absently.
“Well, he got the other ticket back so we can both go.”
“Go where, sweetness?” He nuzzles at my temple.
“My dad has tickets to a charity gala that he can’t use. He thinks it might be a good opportunity for me to schmooze with potential employers.”
The nuzzling stops, but I go on.
“You’ll have to rent a tux because it’s black tie and it’ll probably be deathly boring, but I think it might be worth it for me to go. I need to get a real job as soon as possible.”
“And you want me to go with you?” He sounds skeptical.
“Of course I do. Unless you want me to go with Peter?”
His growl of protest wanes toward the end. “But black tie, El? What are we talking here? Standing around with rich people, making small talk?”
“That’s actually a pretty good description. But don’t worry. You won’t have to make small talk if you don’t want to. You can just stand there and look smoking hot in your tux.”
“Is that all you want me for?” he deadpans. “Arm candy?”
I giggle with delight. “You found me out. I’m using you to further my career in the cutthroat world of non-profit charitable foundations.”
He laughs, but it’s a weak one. “I don’t know. I don’t want to embarrass you.”
Scoffing, I lift my head so I can see him. “Like that’s even possible. It’ll be easy. We’ll go, eat a very expensive meal, listen to some speeches, then I’ll do my best to charm a few people.” He doesn’t look very convinced, so I’m forced to beg. “Please, Scott. Don’t make me go alone. If nothing else, your presence will keep the creepy, older guys from hitting on me.”
His answering expression is an encouraging mixture of disgust and over my dead body. “So, you’ll take me?” I press.
“When is it?”
“Not this Saturday, but the next. Downtown San Francisco. We can park at my dad’s office building that’s down the block from the hotel.”
“And where am I going to get a tux?” he whines.
“I’ll find out and text you the details.” I sit up, smiling gleefully, knowing I’ve got him. “Thanks, sweetness,” I mimic his nickname for me as I lean down to kiss him.