ELLA

 

It’s not often that I find myself out of the house unless I’m shopping or meeting Kara for a girl date. It’s even more rare for me to find myself going out to eat dinner, and it’s been years and years since I’ve gone out on a date with a real, actual, walking, talking, living, and breathing man. It’s been even longer still since I’ve allowed myself to indulge in something so loaded in carbs.

Luke sits across the table from me. Though he wouldn’t tell me where we were going before we left the apartment, he did say that I would feel overdressed wearing a flowing black dress that cuts off just above the knees. I should have listened to him because boy was he right.

If only it were as simple to be a woman as it is to be a man. He pulled a simple black tee shirt over his head, paired with a pair of dark denim, before we left the house. He could show up anywhere and he’d look either casual or cool depending on the location.

It’s not fair.

We’re in a dive bar called Gritters. Based on the name alone, it’s the last place I would have chosen for our first date, and that’s not saying anything for the location. The walk from the car to the bar would have been terrifying if it weren’t for Luke standing at my side. I’m not a damsel in distress by any means, not in my normal day-to-day life, but lately I’ve been feeling that way. Instead of fighting my plight, I’m simply learning to deal with it.

Our server, a tall woman with dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, slides a large chicken alfredo pizza onto the table between Luke and me. It’s placed on a silver tray and is uncut. The server passes us two glass plates and a pizza cutter. My eyes shift up to Luke as the server walks away.

“Seriously? They make you cut your own pizza?”

“Eh.” He shrugs as he reaches for the pizza cutter and begins to slice the pizza into six large triangles. “It’s a part of the charm. It’s actually in their advertisements.” He drops the utensil and gestures with his hand as if he’s reading the headline of the advertisement itself, “Stop into to Gritters and get your hands gritty; cut your own pizza so you’ll always have the perfect slice.”

“That’s actually not a bad advertisement,” I say, nodding my head. “Maybe I should track down whoever’s responsible for creating that slogan and contract with them for my web design business.”

Luke winces but nods his head anyways. “I think whoever that guy is, is probably content with his life as it stands. Probably some college-aged man trying to build his portfolio or something.”

“Nevertheless, it’s important to always keep an eye out for new and upcoming talent. If they’re not going to work with me, then they’re a competitor.”

“Seriously?” He furrows a brow as he drags a slice of pizza onto his plate. “I’d think that you’d be content with your current roster of work.”

“I could always use more money.” I find myself staring at him, and I find myself smiling a genuine smile. I can’t remember the last time I really, truly smiled. Before I met him, I was content to live in my own misery. Now, I find myself wanting to escape it as soon as possible so I can smile more. “Speaking of new hirings, I was thinking that when this is all over—if this is ever all over—that maybe I could expand my business or something.” A smile ripples across my lips, as I get lost in a daydream. “Maybe start a media empire of my own, and then maybe you could come work security for me.”

He bites into his lip and scoffs, scratching at his nose. I’ve come to learn that it’s a nervous tic of his. “I don’t know it’s a good idea to mix business and pleasure.”

“Are you kidding me?” I scowl playfully. “What are you doing right now?”

His lips wrinkle into a shit-eating grin. “I’m not being paid, remember?”

“I’m still paying you.” I pass him a curious look. “Do you think that’s the only reason I let you come back? Did you think that the only reason was because you said you’d offer your services for free?” I shake my head. “No, I had you come back because even though it was hard to admit, you have a way of making me feel like I’m the safest girl in the world, like I’m the First Lady of the United States or something. That’s why I had you come back.”

He nods intently, places one elbow on the table and uses it for leverage to lean against. “I like you, Ella.”

“Thank you.” I comb one hand through my hair, trying to take attention away from the blushing of my cheeks. “But I kind of already figured.”

“No, I’m being serious.” He drags a napkin over his lips and then wads it into a ball, clenching his fist real tight around it. “You can be a confusing woman at times,” he points at me with his finger. “But you can also be incredibly charming and witty, and smart and beautiful and vulnerable. You have all these amazing qualities, and I just wish you didn’t feel like you have to hide those parts of yourself.”

“I’m not hiding,” I say lowly and drop my gaze to the pizza. “Or maybe I am, but maybe it’s also because I have no choice.”

He wipes his hands clean before reaching across the way and lifting my head by the chin. He forces me to look deep in his eyes as he continues, “You have a choice. You always have a choice. Just remember that the next time you want to close up shop and tuck your emotions away.”

I force a smile and nod, sighing slightly under my breath. His fingers dance along my skin before he finally retreats and pushes himself back in his chair.

“And what about you?” I question softly. “Do you have those same choices?”

“I chose every minute to stay with you, to stay by your side and protect you.” He scratches at the back of his head and wets his lips. “I chose to come back to you even when you tried to push me away. Over and over again, I’ll choose to protect you—not because I have to or because I should—but because I want to.”

“Huh.” I try to make sense of the feelings swimming around in my heart. It’s like there’s a school of butterflies wreaking total and utter havoc on my innards. “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Romantic?” He grabs the glass of water in front of him and raises it to take a long gulp. When he tilts his head back, I can see more clearly day-old stubble encroaching on the square footage of his chin. He places the glass back onto the table and reaches for his slice of pizza. “If that’s being romantic, then I’m probably the most romantic man alive.”

“Because you’re protective?”

“Something like that.” He wrinkles his nose as he nods. “Now can we resume this conversation once I’ve devoured this pizza? I’d hate to be rude, but I’m absolutely starving.”

I look down at the odd pizza in front of me. I’ve never had such a thing in my entire life. Who in the hell was the first person to come up with the bright idea to turn chicken alfredo into pizza toppings. “I don’t know if I can eat this,” I muse out loud, my eyes searching back and forth over the pizza. “I love chicken alfredo, but—”

“But nothing,” he scoffs with a mouth full of food. He finishes chewing and pats his hand against his chest before offering me a bite of his pizza from across the table. “If you don’t like it, I’ll order something else.”

I take a long gulp before leaning over the span of the table and taking a small bite at first. It’s the perfect storm of mouth-watering delight. I lean in closer and take another much larger bite. He casts me a wicked grin before pointing to the pizza. “That’s enough of that. It’s time for you to get your own plate.”

 

# # #

 

Somehow we managed to eat the whole pizza. To be fair though, he had six slices and I was only able to manage two. Since this all began, I haven’t been eating much, certainly not enough. I’ve lost my appetite since this mysterious person began harassing me, so the fact that I ate two oversized slices of stuffed pizza makes me feel a little queasy to my stomach.

I lean back in my chair and brace a firm hand over my stomach, trying to calm my embattled innards, but it doesn’t seem to help much. Across the table, Luke clears the last remnants of the pizza with a napkin against his lips and then drops the balled-up napkin onto the empty pizza serving plate.

“Now, where did we leave off?” he questions with a grin, his head cocked sideways. “I think we were talking about your trust issues,” he points out with a chuckle.

I grab a spare napkin, ball it up, and throw it at his face. He manages to duck out of the way. “I think we both have trust issues.”

“Does that mean you think we’re a perfect match?”

“It means I’m considering it, but I haven’t decided yet.” I straighten myself out in my chair and drop my elbows on the table. It’s a relief not having to pretend to be the perfect high-society woman anymore, not with him anyways. “Are you afraid of me, Luke?”

“Afraid of you?” He jerks backwards. “Why would I be afraid of you? You’re five feet ten, can probably only lift seventy pounds, and you can’t shoot a gun to save your life.” He shakes his head with a wild grin. “So no, I’m not afraid of you.”

I glare at him with narrow eyes. “I meant does my past scare you?”

“Why would it scare me? You have a past,” he points out, both verbally and with his finger. “I have a past. Everyone has a past and there’s a reason we call it the past, because it’s supposed to stay behind us. I don’t care what you’ve done or what’s happened to you. All I care about is the woman sitting in front of me today and let me tell you something, I think she’s pretty damn special.”

“You really know how to make a girl blush.”

“That’s not my intention.”

“Well, it’s the result.”

“In that case,” he leans over the table and whispers to me, “I lied because that was my intention.”

“You know, when I first saw you, I had you pegged as a womanizer.”

“Remember what I said about having a past?” He furrows a brow. “Well, I used to be a womanizer.”

“And when did you stop?”

He tilts his head back and forth, contemplating. “Sometime around the day I met you.”

“Are you kidding me?” I wad up another napkin and launch it at his face. He doesn’t evade it this time. He doesn’t even try. “You just met me three days ago.”

“And yet it feels like a lifetime ago.” He shrugs, trying to hold back a grin with little success. “At this rate, I’ll be tired of you by tomorrow.”

“And we’ll have kids next week,” I join in on the fun. “And we’ll be divorced next month.”

“And we’ll be dead in three months,” he continues, but all of a sudden there’s a dark cloud hanging over the table. He clears his throat and frowns. “That was a terrible choice of words. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s fine.” I force a smile and realize that this is the worst possible part of this conversation to excuse myself from the table, but a woman’s got to go when a woman’s got to go. “Please don’t think I’m upset, but I really need to go to the ladies’ room.”

His eyes sink low. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“No.” I assure him by reaching across the table and caressing his cheek with one hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m not going to ditch you and make some kind of great escape and leave you alone to pay the bill.”

“That’s good,” he chuckles out loud, “because I’m not sure I’d be able to pay the bill, considering the fact that you’re not paying me.”  He chuckles again, clearly proud of his joke-making abilities. When I don’t respond, his lips flatten. “That was a joke.”

“I know.” I pass my fingers over the rough stubble on his cheek once more before leaning in and kissing him softly. It’s just a quick peck, but it manages to light my soul on fire. I can only hope that I survive long enough to know if that feeling ever goes away. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper to him, my lips so close to his.

He takes the initiative to offer me one final kiss before I depart for the ladies’ room.

 

# # #

 

I drop my purse onto the long counter and then drop my phone into my purse. The lighting in the bar bathroom is atrocious, a gloomy pale yellow. In the tall mirror, I take particular notice of how pale I look contrasted against the fabric of my black dress.

I lean in closer to the mirror, trying to get a better look so I can adjust my hair. There are stray strands flying away at the sides, so I wet my fingers and try to slick them back into place. I dig into my purse to grab a nude-colored lipstick and apply it as quickly as I can without smudging it at the corners of my mouth. I pucker my lips and then smack them outwards.

As soon as I drop the lipstick back into my purse, the dingy room goes dark. It’s only when the lights are out that I catch a whiff of the foul odor of the bathroom. It’s musky and reeks of piss. Will someone please remind me why I agreed to come to this place?

I sling my purse over my shoulder and make a break towards the door. Though it’s almost pitch black, I can see just enough to be able to grab the door handle. But when I try to pull it open, it doesn’t budge.

“Shit,” I groan under my breath. I try once again, but I’m met with the same result. It seems to be stuck on something. I angle myself against the door and pound it with my fist, hoping someone can hear me.

But when my phone vibrates in my purse, lighting up my face in the oversized mirrors, my blood runs cold. It’s like I can practically feel my veins curdling with fear. I’d almost forgotten that I’m being hounded by someone, but I can no longer remain forgetful. Not when I pick up the phone to see a message from the same damn number as before.

 

213-555-7373: Little Miss Ice Queen sitting on her throne. Little Miss Ice Queen all alone. Little Miss Ice Queen found her heart, and little Miss Ice Queen is about to know what it feels like to be torn apart.

 

My entire body trembles; my fingers, my hands, my lips… I stand frozen in place and just when I think about screaming, a hand covers my mouth and drags me backwards…