Текст книги "Wet"

Автор книги: Ruth Clampett

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

PLEASE AND THANK YOU

It’s a long weekend and I try everything to get a grip. I even go to church Sunday afternoon and sit in a pew for almost an hour hoping to get answers that I can’t figure out on my own.

By Monday I’ve got to face the fact that I still have nothing. We’ve flipped the traditional man/woman paradigm. Elle wants the sex with friendship, I want the love and complete relationship. How the hell did I end up being the needy one?

Tuesday, Elle texts me a picture of a horrific puffy, purple dress with ruffles and rhinestones. I can’t help but laugh at the accompanying message.

This is what I won’t be wearing Saturday. Thank God I’m not a bridesmaid.

Why do they want a bridesmaid to look like a sparkly bunch of grapes? I respond.

I have my theories.

Well, good thing you aren’t wearing that. It’d be a deal-breaker for me.

Oh, you’re not getting out of this wedding mister. Remember you promised.

And I always keep my promises.

She replies with a smiley face.

Wednesday morning—after a night of almost no sleep due to thinking about Elle—I consider going back to my Abstinence Until Love meeting, but then I realize I don’t even belong in that group anymore. I must be cured of my obsession with sex. Like Elle said, I’ve turned down three women recently that most men would be thrilled to screw. No, that apparently isn’t my problem anymore.

Instead what I need is EA—Elle Anonymous, since she’s become my obsession. She’s my constant craving, the cool water for my unquenchable thirst. I don’t know why I thought a self-imposed break from her was a good idea. It’s making me fucking crazy.

I literally have to grip the steering wheel extra-hard when I pull out of my garage so that I don’t turn my car in the direction of her house. In my weakest times, which are upwards of a dozen times a day, I pick up my phone and bring up her number just to see the picture of her I loaded there. This is followed by a battle of wills not to press the call button.

Yeah, I’ve become one of those guys.

Of course her little teasing texts only make things worse. Wednesday’s late-night text features a picture of what appears to be a wicker trash can shaped like a frog. She hasn’t attached an explanation.

What the hell is this? I text.

We’ve been drinking and voting on the tackiest wedding gifts Stella and Brandon have gotten so far. She has some distant relatives that apparently have a sense of humor.

So is this the winner?

It gets my vote, she replies.

Damn, I need to find my receipt. I got them the same thing. Do you think they could use two?

She doesn’t reply immediately, but when she does her response is golden.

Bwahaha! I just read your text to the girls and Stella spit up her Cosmo.

I grin as I text back.

Girls that I can make laugh and spit up Cosmos are my kind of girls. This wedding is going to be a blast.

Another minute passes and a picture shows up on my phone of a group of women laughing and holding up martini glasses like they’re toasting me. The blonde in the middle holding the wicker frog must be the bride, Stella. I scan the faces until I see Elle and she’s blowing me a kiss.

Damn, I love that girl.

But then Thursday night she provokes me by sending a picture with the group of them in front of one of those male stripper shows on Santa Monica Boulevard. It’s followed by a shot of her grinning and holding up a bunch of crisp five dollar bills.

Waiting to go in! she texts.

I grind my teeth for a minute before I can calm down enough to respond. If she’s going to provoke me, I’m giving it back.

Okay. See you inside.

Oh yeah?

Didn’t I tell you? I’m part of the show.

Then I’ll make sure and save some fives for you.

Okay, but don’t expect special treatment or anything. I’ll be working all sides of the stage.

Is that so? I bet you’re popular.

Well I don’t want to brag or anything.

You know what? I don’t want all these horny women crawling all over you.

Really? I promise to keep my G-string on.

Oh hell no. Put your loose jeans on and get your butt home.

I love that she sounds jealous.

All right, but you don’t know what you’re missing.

That’s the thing, I do.

It’s radio silence Friday and I try not to let my stupid imagination go wild. Saturday morning she texts asking me to pick her up at 5:30 for the wedding, and I’m amped to know I’ll be seeing her within hours.

I can’t believe it’s been over a week. I surrender to the fact that I didn’t figure anything out in our time apart, and I’m giving up trying. I’m as lost as I was the first time I set my eyes on her.

I take my run in the early afternoon and come home to shower and figure out the tux. It’s a long time since I’ve worn one but I have to admit, my last glance in the mirror before I set out to get Elle is pretty satisfying. I look damn good if I do say so myself.

I grab the flowers I bought this morning. I’m not sure if they’re the right thing to be giving her considering our ambiguous status, but can you really go wrong with red roses? They’re the essence of romance and women love that shit.

I’m nervous as all hell when I ring her doorbell, and damn if she doesn’t answer. It really would’ve been nice for once not to troll through her side yard. Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m twenty minutes early. I guess I was more distracted than I realized. I decide to go in the back and hope the French doors are open so I can wait inside.

When I step in her house I can hear Elle singing—wailing really, at the top of her lungs. I vaguely recognize an old Annie Lenox song and she’s into it. I laugh to myself when she misses a high note but owns it anyway.

When there’s a pause in the song I call out her name but she doesn’t answer and starts in on the song again. My gut tells me that I really should let her know I’m here, and enjoying her noteworthy performance. Hopefully she won’t be too horrified to know she’s had an audience.

I approach the bedroom suite since that’s where the singing is coming from and when I reach the entrance to the bathroom hallway I can’t take another step. Hell, I can barely breathe, and my grip tightens on the bouquet of roses.

She’s turned away from me, and swaying her hips as she sings. A second later she rests her foot on the edge of the bathtub and slowly smooths lotion over her leg in long strokes.

I swallow thickly as I watch. If it weren’t for the tiny pale lace bra and panties she’s wearing, she’d be nude, and my carnal reaction is similar to when she sent that white bikini selfie from Hawaii. I’m so instantly aroused that I’m almost disoriented. Reaching out, I rest my hand against the hall doorjamb to steady myself.

I watch her run her lotion-filled hands up her neck in slow motion, down her arms and over her hips. I wish it were my hands sliding over the soft skin of those curves. She stops singing and now hums as she turns to the mirror, and pulls a clip out of her hair so that it cascades around her shoulders.

I’m overcome with the most powerful jolt as I realize that seeing her like this in the flesh is more than I can handle. It’s pushing me off my cliff. All of these weeks I’ve been dangling from the edge with my fingers slipping and losing their grip, my legs wildly waving try to find a toehold in the jagged rock of our friendship—but I can’t fight it anymore. I’m not even sure when I finally let go, what direction I’m going to fall.

I tilt back against the doorjamb, trying to catch my breath, and silently watch her. When she looks up and sees my reflection in the mirror, her lips part. My heart is thundering so hard that I can barely hear her gasp.

She half turns and looks back at me over her shoulder. She doesn’t act embarrassed or try to hide. She studies me with a curious expression but I sense from the hunger in her eyes that she’s as turned on to see me as I am to watch her. It’s incredibly sexy that she’s so comfortable in her own skin.

The corners of her mouth edge up just slightly. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long enough.”

Her eyes grow wide as her gaze moves down my body. “Wow.”

“What?” I ask.

Her cheeks are tinged pink and her eyes narrow. “Look at you. You’re so handsome.”

I straighten up. “You like the tux?”

“I like you in it. You wear it well.”

I nod toward her state of undress as I pull on my lapels. “I’m feeling really overdressed. Maybe I should take the tux off.”

“Is that so?” she says in a low voice with an arched brow.

I notice her nipples are hard as I think of all the ways I’d like to touch her, starting there. As she watches me I don’t know if she can tell how aroused I am, but from the way the flush has moved down her neck, and how rapidly her chest is rising and falling, I’m guessing she’s getting worked up, too.

I nod. “Look at you. I could be as bare as you in a matter of seconds.”

Please say yes. I’m aching for this.

“So now you’re teasing me? We’re supposed to leave in fifteen minutes or we’ll be late for the photos.”

My mouth is dry as she places her hands on her hips. The swell of her ass holds my attention as she pivots. I want to take a bite of that perfection.

“We don’t really have to go, do we?” I reach up, wanting to loosen my tie.

For a long pause she looks like she’s going to come to me, but then she shakes her head and steps back instead. “Yes, this is one instance where bailing is not an option. Stella would never speak to me again, so please stop provoking me. You’re making me crazy with want for the very thing I can’t have right now.” She picks up a silk robe that’s draped on the edge of the counter and pulls it on, tying it shut with a defiant stare.

Damn.

She walks toward me. “Are those roses for me?”

I hold them up for her and she takes them with a smile. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

“Are you sure about this?” I can almost hear the pleading in my voice.

She pushes my shoulder. “Quit toying with me, big boy. Go make yourself busy while I pull myself together.”

I nod and back out of the room, but damn it’s hard to finally take my eyes off her.

A few minutes later she joins me in the den. Her long, dark grey dress accentuates all her best assets, including her curvy hips and full breasts. I let out a low whistle.

Smiling, she turns for me. “You like?”

I give her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Now that I see you in that dress, I’m extra glad you aren’t a bridesmaid.”

“Believe me, me too.”

“Honestly though, I preferred what you were wearing a few minutes ago. But this is a close second.”

“What’s gotten into you? A week away from me and suddenly you’re amped up with all this flirty, sexy talk.” She waves her hand. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

“Yeah, I missed you.”

Her expression softens. “I missed you, too. But we’ve got the night ahead to have fun.”

I stand up and straighten out my jacket. “Let’s do it!”

When we pull up to the Ebell Club off Wilshire Boulevard, the valet takes the car. Elle links her arm through mine as we walk through the Mediterranean courtyard looking for the wedding group. The coordinator approaches us and explains to Elle where the bridal party is with Stella. She also lets me know that some of the men are at the bar.

“You don’t mind if I leave you for a while? They want to get pictures of us helping Stella get ready.”

“Yeah, you told me about that. No problem. I’ll hang with the guys.”

As I search for the bar I wonder if I’ll find her ex, Daniel, there. Of course he doesn’t need to know who I am in relation to Elle . . . not yet, at least. I plan to show him later in a very vivid way.

But apparently Daniel and some other friend are helping the groom get ready, so I get a beer and chill with Jack and Erik. These dudes aren’t as happy to be here as I am, and they’re taking away my mojo with all of their complaints about wearing tuxes and that they’re missing some movie screening. I’m relieved when Elle finally comes to find me, and the energy from the party starts amping up as more and more guests arrive.

“Isn’t this place cool?” Elle asks as she takes my hand and pulls me into one of the empty ballrooms with the carved ceilings, huge arched windows, and antique chandeliers.

“Yeah, very cool. I looked it up the other day. It was built in the twenties as a social and philanthropic club. The architectural style is impressive.”

“And I’m finally free to enjoy it with you,” she says.

“So what were you girls doing all that time?”

“Oh you know girls, we like to make a big production of these things. We fawned over her make-up and hair, and helped her get dressed. We may have had some champagne.”

I smile at her. “You seem a little buzzed.”

“It was Cristal.”

“Fancy.”

She steps closer to me and pulls at my lapels. “So are you going to dance with me later?”

“I’ll dance with you now.” Grasping her hand, I lift it up and guide her so that she slowly twirls full circle.

“Ooo,” she gasps as I pull her back into my arms.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Ma. She told us that all young men should know how to dance. She taught Patrick, too.”

She presses her hand to her cheek. “That’s so sweet.”

“She intended to raise fine gentlemen.”

“Well I think she succeeded.”

While being serenaded by the faint melody from the ballroom next door, I take Elle for several spins around the room. We move smoothly together like we were meant to be in each other’s arms and dance. I don’t say anything as I look at her, but something about being here with her to watch two people get married makes me want to tell her everything. I want her to understand how she’s turned my life right-side up, and how I’ve never been happier than when I’m with her.

Maybe tonight she’ll agree to more with me and we could finally start writing our own dramatic romance novel. Our prologue would be part comedy, part tragedy, crossed-wires, friends to lovers, and everything in-between. I’m sure the main part of the book will be full of steamy erotica and obsessive devotion. Finally, I’ll make sure we finish our novel our way, with a happily ever after.

When the music fades we wander back into the smaller room that is set up for the ceremony with large overflowing flower arrangements and ornate candelabras. This shindig is fancy as all hell. People are starting to take their seats so we do the same. When the minister, groom, and best man file in I get a firm elbow in the side.

Elle didn’t need to alert me. She should’ve figured out by now that meeting her ex was near the top of my list for reasons to come to this wedding. I’m disappointed as I study him and realize there isn’t a whole hell of a lot to make fun of with the man I’ve been calling an idiot. He’s good looking and has that confident air. What an asshole for being more impressive than I’d been counting on.

I mean come on, universe, give me something to work with here: ears that stick out, acne scars, a soft jawline, or at the very least he could be bowlegged. But no. I’ve got nothing but Mr. Tall, Dark, and look at me, I’m handsome.

I glance over at Elle as she watches him with narrow eyes while pretending not to. When his gaze starts to scan the seated guests she turns toward me and takes my hand.

“That’s him, right?” I whisper.

She nods. It bothers me that she looks nervous. Where’s the pissed off Elle who never said anything nice about the guy?

I give her a smile and squeeze her hand. “You okay?”

She shrugs. “This is really awkward for me. I may be drinking a lot later.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Can you imagine if you hadn’t come with me? I’d be a wreck.”

My eyes grow wide. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

The ceremony is okay if you don’t mind a bride that looks more like a Vegas showgirl. Her dress has so much sparkly shit on it that she’s blinding as she wades through the rose petals littering the aisle. I’m half expecting her to slip and land on her ass, but her dad is holding onto her tight. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.

Meanwhile I’m willing to bet money that the bride’s tits are going to make an appearance. The sparkly dress probably weighs so much with all that fancy crap on it that it can’t help but droop down bit by bit with each step until the girls are almost clear to break free.

Good thing Ma isn’t here as she went off at my cousin’s weddings about her sagging dress. I overheard her drilling into my sister that there’s a reason for straps on bras. Have wedding dress designers lost sight of that?

Meanwhile the groom looks scared out of his mind. Well I would too between my bride’s tits about to flash our entire posse, and being bedazzled by her damn dress. This is no way to start a marriage.

Like church services, I pretty much tune out the vows. Instead I watch Elle as she listens. The way she reacts to everything is fascinating, her expression shifting one moment to the next from sad to happy, and inspired to confused. I guess girls really pay attention to this stuff.

After the kiss, which goes on so long there are cat-calls and whistles, the happy couple leaves the room and we file out behind them for cocktails and hor d’oeuvres on the patio. I’ve just stuffed an oversized meatball in my mouth when Dashing Daniel, the ex, and his poor replacement for Elle, step up to us. I decide to refer to him from now on as DD. His woman looks like she’d rather be at the bar getting a lemon to suck on.

“Elle,” DD says with a fake smile.

Elle lifts her hand and gives him a little feeble wave. “Hi, Daniel.”

I can’t help but be irritated. Come on, Elle! For fucks sake, you can do better than that.

“I’d like you to meet Veronica.” The woman with the tight smile nods her head and gives Elle the once over. All I can think of is that she reminds me of the Veronica in the Archie Comics that my sister used to read.

“Nice to meet you,” Elle says with a false sincerity. I suspect that she’d secretly like to push the sour-faced bitch who just hooked her arm through DD’s into the fountain right behind them.

Dashing Daniel holds out his hand to shake mine. “And you are?”

“Paul McNeill, Elle’s boyfriend.” I shake his hand firmly—really firmly.

I don’t even need to turn to Elle, I can feel the delight come off her in waves. She loops her arm through mine. “Paul’s a landscape architect,” she states proudly.

Yup. Sprinkler man has left the building for good.

DD pulls a card out of his tuxedo pocket and hands it to me. “Excellent. I do property development and I have a project coming up that may interest you.”

Veronica nods her head and her helmet hair nods with it. “Sycamore Falls?” she asks. DD nods briskly.

What an ass. Who brings business cards to a wedding? I take the card, smile and nod too. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

Just when I’m at a loss what to say next, another douchebag guy interrupts us to tell DD that there’s someone he wants him to meet. They excuse themselves and move across the courtyard.

Elle let’s out a deep breath and pulls her arm out of mine. “Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“All of it. Saying you’re my boyfriend. Being gorgeous and classy. Not saying what I know you wanted to.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“I’m guessing that the word idiot would be involved.”

I grin at her. “You know me so well.”

I notice she’s chewing on her thumbnail.

“So do you think she’s pretty?” she asks in a soft voice.

“Veronica?”

She nods. For some reason Elle looks a little insecure.

“She’s all right I guess, if you like the pinched face look.”

Elle lets out such a loud guffaw that some wine splashes out of her glass. Luckily I dodge the wave of cabernet.

Pleased to see her enjoy my response, I share my other reference for her ex’s girlfriend. “You know, when I was young and got bored I used to read my sister’s Archie Comics, about that group of kids in high school. I thought Veronica was an uptight bitch. I’d pretty much say the same about this Veronica.”

“Archie Comics! I read those,” Elle exclaims.

“Betty was the one I liked. She was a cutie and kind of sexy. Fourteen-year– old me imagined pulling on her pigtails while I screwed her.”

“Naughty boy,” Elle says finishing off the wine she didn’t spill. “I bet Betty gave good head too.”

When I laugh it’s my turn to spill my wine, but alas my glass is empty. “Damn, Elle, you and your filthy mouth! And meanwhile Veronica was hanging with that rich gay dude . . . was it Reggie? Well honestly, he reminds me of a teenage version of your ex.”

“Me too! And not just in looks! Truthfully I’d screw Archie, or even Jughead before I’d do Reggie, knowing what I know now.”

I tip my head at her. “You’d do Jughead? The dude that wore a crown?”

She giggles. “On second thought, maybe not.”

A waiter comes by, and after taking our glasses he gives us fresh ones. I raise my glass to her. “Here’s to more laughs and spills tonight.”

She lifts hers. “Here, here.”

“I’ve got to say, I thought it was tacky when your ex gave me his business card. Is he always like that?”

“Always working? I bet you thought I was exaggerating. Well, I promise you, I wasn’t.”

“Wow. That sucks.”

She nods. “It does. I did’t care how much money he was making. I mean I work hard, but I want to have fun, too. Otherwise what’s the point?”

“Exactly.”

“You know that’s how I ended up with the house. He got it cheap because it needed a ton of repairs. He lied to the old lady who sold it to him and said he’d move his “family” in when all along he planned to tear it down and build a McMansion. When the neighbors found out about it they fought him hard with the city council.”

“Good for them,” I say. “Those kind of developers are despicable.”

“Yeah . . . and he doesn’t know that I gave them ammunition to fight him. I love that house and I hated what he did to that sweet old lady. Eventually he gave up fighting them and let me have the house in the divorce instead of a bigger chunk of his money.”

“So you won and the neighborhood won, too.”

She nods. “And the best part is the neighbors all love me for it.”

“You’re a clever woman, Ms. Elle Jacoby.”

She stands up straighter and her smile lights up the courtyard. “Thank you.”

Elle looks off to the far side of the gathering, apparently making sure her ex isn’t close by. “So Stella’s fiancé, I mean husband, told her that Daniel and Veronica met at work.”

“Really? DD and Pinchy?”

She blinks at me rapidly. “Excuse me?”

“Those are my new nicknames for them.”

I love watching her laugh as I explain the references. This time it takes her almost a minute to recover.

She presses her hand over her stomach after she’s caught her breath. “Pinchy evidently is a mortgage broker.”

I nod. “She looks like one.”

She steps close to me and kisses me on the cheek while squeezing my shoulder. “I can’t believe you! I was dreading tonight and I’m having the best time.”

“I told you I loved weddings. The material to work with is endless.”

So whomever is paying for this shindig is loaded. Dinner is big portions of steak and lobster. I pity the pale-faced vegetarian girl sitting across from me with her tragic steaming plate of vegetables. This is probably the best wedding food I’ve ever had. The wine is also flowing freely so we’re feeling no pain.

Elle was nervous about giving her speech but she does a super job, telling cute, single-girl stories from her and Stella’s party years that segue to her being overjoyed that Stella has found her prince. She looks relieved when she sits back down at our table.

I lean in close to her. “You did great!”

She glances over at me with big eyes. “You really think so? You aren’t just saying that?” she whispers.

“I swear. And may I also say that you are by far the prettiest girl here.”

She turns to look at me and studies me silently with her lips pressed together and her eyebrows scrunched. Why is she suddenly so serious?

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t know. You’re different tonight. What’s up?”

That damn girl-radar. She’s onto me. I stumble to recover. I don’t want to give up my game just yet.

“Nothing’s up. I’m just having fun. This is a great wedding!” I give her a goofy grin, and after watching me for another long second she takes a sip of wine and settles back in her chair.

Pinchy comes over to our table to say something to the woman sitting directly across from us. The woman nods and Pinchy heads back to the wedding party’s table.

“I wonder if she’s really smart,” Elle says with a pensive look on her face.

“Why do you care?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t really, but Daniel always made me feel like I didn’t work hard and that I wasn’t smart enough.”

“You?” I ask, not hiding my disbelief at the dickwad’s gall.

She drinks more wine and I’m worried we’re about to head down emo road. When she isn’t looking I move her glass over behind mine.

“He also thought something was wrong with me because I liked sex so much.”

“Well, I think something was wrong with him because he didn’t,” I reply.

“He implied once it was low class.”

“Chalk up number forty-seven on the idiot tally.”

“The final straw was that he kept putting off having kids even though he understood how much I wanted them. He knew about my insecurities from my childhood, and told me he didn’t think I could handle a baby.”

My fingers curl into fists and I feel my pulse pounding in my forehead.

She looks over at me with an alarmed expression. “What, Paul?”

“You need to stop, okay? Because right now I’m amped up enough to beat the shit out of him and then he won’t be Dashing Daniel anymore unless he has deep pockets for plastic surgery.”

She gasps and shakes her head.

Resting my hands on her shoulders, I rub my thumbs over her soft skin. “Please change the subject, okay?”

She blinks rapidly and then her eyes dart around nervously before she leans into me. “I’ve got it. Did you hear what outrageous thing the Bruins did to the Tommy Trojan sculpture yesterday?”

I grin and gesture for her to bring it on.

That’s my girl.

Lots of wine at weddings can lead to some clueless dancing and this wedding is no exception. While out on the dance floor I’ve finally discovered the second thing DD doesn’t do well, after being a crap husband . . . is dancing. He looks like he has a Paul Bunyan-sized stick up his ass. I take great pleasure in watching him embarrass himself.

It’s a different story on our side of the dance floor. I know I’m a good dancer, and Elle’s an even better one, so her sexy moves inspire me to be my best. I catch people watching us move together. Yeah, take notes people. This is how it’s done.

When the music finally slows, I’m so charged up that my nerve endings are sparking. There’s an awkward moment when Elle asks if I’d rather sit the slow stuff out but I answer her by pulling her into my arms.

I shake my head at her slowly as we start to sway. “You’re not getting away from me.”

“Who said I wanted to?”

The corners of my mouth turn up. I’m liking this. There’s a feeling in the air, a current of possibilities as Billie Holiday serenades us under the golden light. I’m just buzzed enough to feel reckless but not wrecked, and I’ve got the most beautiful woman in my arms. I’m liking this a lot.

She trails her fingers up the buttons of my dress shirt and tugs on my collar which pulls the shirt open where I’ve undone a few buttons. “Hey, where’s your bowtie?”

I nod back toward our table. “In my jacket pocket. Why? Are you missing it?”

“Nope. Not one bit . . . I like your sleeves rolled up. You and your sexy, strong arms.”

“You know I wasn’t teasing earlier, right? You’re the most beautiful woman here.”

She grins. “Well, except for the bride of course.”

“Bride, what bride?”

She pushes me on the shoulder and gives me a side look. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were working on getting laid tonight.”

“Hmmm,” I say as I slowly spin her around. “What if that wasn’t all I wanted?”

“You know you don’t have to work it so hard with me, right? Just say the word . . .”

“What fun is it if you haven’t worked for it . . . earned it?”

“Earned? Let’s not even go there . . . I owe you so much. Everything really.”

Leaning into me, she rests her head on my chest and I hold her tighter as we take small steps.

I don’t know if this weird feeling comes over me because I’m in an unfamiliar place and surrounded by people I don’t know, or that we’re dressed like movie stars at a premier—but I feel like I’ve stepped into a different reality. I close my eyes and rest my chin on top of Elle’s head, trying to get my bearings. She holds onto me tighter as if she senses I need reinforcement.

I have a dreamlike image behind my closed eyes and I see myself running at a steady pace through an endless, dimly lit tunnel. I can feel my chest rise and fall, the pounding of my feet on the unpaved ground and my laser focus as I look ahead trying to see the end of the tunnel and finally find my destination.

My eyes pop open and I take a sharp breath. It all hits me hard. For two fucking years I’ve been running . . . running away from who I was but never certain where I was going. But right now I can feel the surge of relief from figuring out the answers to what I’ve been searching for. I’ve finally arrived where I’m supposed to be. It’s like that goddamned tunnel ended at the doorway to this ballroom and there was Elle, lit from behind like a vision, waiting for me.

I pull back from Elle, intending to ask her to come with me out to the patio so we can talk, but her attention has shifted to her ex and his girl as they dance not far from where we stand. She looks distressed.

“Elle, look at me,” I instruct as I skim my fingers across her lower back.

She glances at me briefly and then her focus moves back to DD and Pinchy.

I cup her chin in my hand. “Come on. He isn’t worth your attention, Elle. Stop looking at him.” I run my thumb across her chin and she sighs.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes grow wide as she studies me. “Yes?”

“Repeat after me . . . He is nothing, Paul is everything.”

She gives me a coy smile like she thinks I’m playing with her. “He is nothing. Paul is everything.”

I tip my head back and look down at her with narrow eyes. “Say it like you mean it.”

“He is nothing, and Paul is everything!” She smiles. “And for the record, I knew that already.”

I nod. “Good.”

“I was just remembering something I’d rather forget, but that’s all gone now.”