After a moment, I hear Eli descending the steps outside. There’s the deep rumble of his truck starting up, the crunch of the tires biting into gravel, the low coughing hum as he drives away.
Once it fades, I can move. I lock my door. I drop my purse on the floor right behind it, not bothering to hang it on its hook, and I walk into my tiny bathroom.
I don’t even turn on the light, I just run the water and then splash it on my face because I need to do something to negate the shock.
Splash.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Splash.
You liked it, though.
Splash.
Eli’s a terrible idea. You don’t even like each other, why would you make out with him?
Splash. My face is getting really clean.
And you’re forgetting the maid of honor.
I pause my hands halfway to my face. For the first time in days, I’d forgotten about it, but now the scene comes rushing back full force: elevator, snuggling, smug look, doors closing, and now all my thoughts are crashing into each other, a confusing jumble.
He kissed you and then banged her and then kissed you — but maybe he didn’t — but maybe he did — and if he did then what? You’re just another girl on a list a mile long?
You could just ask.
You could just be an adult, for the love of God, and ask.
I don’t want to ask. I don’t want Eli to know that I even noticed that he was in the elevator with her, because then he’ll know that I care that he was in an elevator with another girl, that I’m jealous and wish I weren’t, and I just don’t want any of that.
I stand up, dry my face off, and wander back into my living room, putting my purse on the hook, then I head to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. I text Adeline and ask if she can give me a ride to the bowling alley in the morning. It’s her day off, and also, God knows she needs an update.
Thank God for the rednecks because if they hadn’t done whatever the hell they did, I’d probably have invited Eli in and then I’d really have done something I’d regret later.
Or not, I think.
No, I’d definitely regret it. Yes, Eli mysteriously got hot during his time away from Sprucevale, and yes, he’s changed slightly, but he’s still Eli. Earlier today we both acted like a bowling match was the final round of the world chess tournament, and it was just a dumb bowling match.
Eli and I are not compatible, even if kissing him is really nice. He will hurt me and I will hurt him, because how are you supposed to have a relationship with someone who you actively want to see crash and burn?
I’m pretty sure that’s not how any of the great love stories start.
Pride and Prejudice kinda does, I think.
“Eli is not Mister Darcy,” I say out loud to my empty kitchen, as if that settles anything.
Then I shut off the lights and go to bed, where I don’t think any more about the things that I’d like Eli to do to me.
Not even a little.* * *I sit up with a jolt in bed. The clock says five a.m., and I’ve just had a horrible realization.
Eli’s bringing me coffee this morning. To my office. First thing. Because that was the deal we made, and I won bowling, and oh my God this is going to be so awkward. Why is this happening to me?
Unsurprisingly, I don’t go back to sleep, and at five forty five I just get out of bed and try to clean my kitchen.
Adeline pulls up at seven forty five, and the second I’m in her car, she frowns at me.
“What did you do?” she asks.
“I kissed Eli again,” I say.
“Good, finally,” she says, and puts her car into drive, pulling out of my driveway.
Then she stops in the middle of the gravel road that goes through the trailer park.
“Again?”
“I might have drunkenly made out with him that night at the brewery,” I admit.
“That’s why you were so weird,” she says, the car moving forward again. “Also, you weren’t drunk. You didn’t even finish your beer.”
“Let me believe my lie,” I say.
Adeline just sighs, turning onto the main road.
“Fine,” she says. “You got super duper trashed, got it on with Eli in the store room at the brewery —”
“We didn’t get it on, we kissed,” I correct. “And we were outside.”
“And then you did it again last night.”
I sigh dramatically, leaning my head back against my headrest.
“Yes,” I say.
“I am so sorry you kissed a hot guy twice,” she says. “How terrible to have to put aside your plans for spinsterdom.”
“I have not put aside those plans,” I say. “We’re not dating. We can’t stand each other.”