Elliot

Damn my nerves. They’re driving me insane!

I look over at Charlotte’s legs—interminably long, extending far beyond the edges of the latte-colored leather bucket seat in my black, stick shift Jag Prestige XE.

I switch gears.

I’m speeding. I make quick turns and pedal my foot down hard as I weave between vehicles. I don’t know why I’m driving so fast. Maybe I want to show off. Maybe I want to get a rise out of her. Maybe I want to be the guy—the fast and handsome alpha-type of guy she liked to date back in high school.

“Mr. Nine,” she mutters, clinging to her door handle and crossing her legs. “Can you slow down?”

Be cool Elliot. You’re not a kid anymore. This isn’t high school. She might accept your proposal. She might not. Either way, you’re a grown man, so get your shit together.

I slow down, but we’ve already arrived at the restaurant and I pull around towards the back where a valet is waiting.

Charlotte peeps her head around. She’s taking note of the alley we’ve pulled into. It’s not exactly charming.

“Where are we?” she asks. “I thought we were going to dinner.”

The valet comes around to open my door. I couldn’t take Charlotte around the front. Everyone knows my name and the last thing I want to do is ruin the proposal.

“We’re in the back. A secret entrance.”

The valet goes around to open Charlotte’s door and she slowly gets out. I don’t know if I’m excited to see her so cautious or if I should feel sorry for her. It reminds me of the time I wanted her to handle the collection of Armadillidiidae I gathered. I believe we were only in kindergarten at the time and I might’ve made the mistake of putting the roly-poly bugs in a non-transparent container. The second she opened the lid, she screamed. I couldn’t understand it. I still don’t. What kid didn’t like roly-poly bugs? Every kid loves roly-poly bugs.

But not Charlotte. Charlotte had to be different. She couldn’t just be a kid or a normal girl. She had to be that girl. The one who was too pretty, too prissy, and, eventually, too popular to have anything to do with the likes of me.

I walk to the back of my Jag, pop open the trunk, and pull out a stuffed black duffel bag. When I slam the trunk hood shut, Charlotte is staring at me. She still has one leg in the car like she doesn’t trust me and doesn’t want to get completely out.

I put my palm out and signal with my fingers, encouraging her to join me. “Come now.”

“What do you have in the bag?” she asks and the valet—a young, blond, skinny guy, probably a college student, appears just as leery as Charlotte.

I can understand why she’s so guarded. Charlotte never liked secrets unless she was the one in control of them, including the gossip, back in high school. To this day, I’m still curious what kind of gossip, if any, she ever spoke about me. But I can’t tell her what’s in the bag or it’ll ruin the proposal.

“It’s a surprise.” I signal with my fingers again and a breeze blows through the alley lifting her hair over her ears and I remember the time I chased her around her backyard. We had to be in fifth grade or maybe sixth.

She ran in circles, but never into the house to get away. We just ran for the sake of running—with me always chasing her. Whenever she’d slow down her hair would flick me in the face, which was a little irritating when her fine blonde hair would catch between my glasses and my eye, but deep down I loved it. I loved to chase her and I think she liked being chased until we got too old to behave so silly.

I walk over to her. She’s gorgeous as fuck and she catches me staring at the top of her breasts bundled in the dress I bought. Her tits look like loafs of warm bread that want to be buttered by my tongue.

My tongue. I consider that maybe I should slip the pill under it and take Charlotte back to her hotel. Although if I drug myself now, I doubt we’ll make it that far before she’s coming onto me and I’ll have to pull over to appease her needs.

And mine. Finally.

Of course, she wouldn’t be coming onto me, per say. She’d be coming on to Mr. Nine and I’m a little jealous of the guy. I’m as jealous of him as I am of every high school quarterback, point guard, and first baseman she snuck into her bedroom on occasion.

I could just fuck her the way those assholes did. I don’t know why I haven’t. I’m sure I could get up inside her at this point without the pill. The thought is making my dick hard and I grab her. I wrap my fingers tight around the back of her neck the way any of those dumb athletes would do, treating her like she was their property.

“Charlotte, sweetheart. C’mon, you can trust me. I’m a friend of Elliot’s remember?” Gripping her neck, I nudge her towards me and she finally takes her leg out of the car.

For the first time, I feel like I finally know her—the girl next door. I knew she liked to be chased. She teased everybody into chasing her. I just had no idea she wanted to be caught and handled.

Gripping the duffle bag in one hand, I clasp her hand in the other and lead her around the Jag to enter a heavy metal door.

“What’s in the bag?” she asks, her voice echoing along with the click-clack of her high heels as we go up a flight of stairs.

Charlotte is slow to move so I tug harder, keeping her right behind me as I lead us out of the stairwell and into a kitchen.

It’s noisy and busy. A few restaurant cooks take notice, but no one says anything—as I instructed earlier. Charlotte seems cheerier to be among the clamor of people as I lead her to an open lanai that hosts a single table dressed just for two and well-lit by candlelight.

I let go of her hand to pull out her seat and I’m about to ask her politely to sit down, but polite doesn’t seem to work so well with Charlotte.

“Sit,” I command.

She does as I say and I drop the bag as I sit across from her opening my jacket and fixing my tie. There’s a rose between us centered in a small vase on the table and Charlotte’s eyes twinkle.

“What...what is all this?” she stutters and looks around. We are only on the second floor, but the view is spectacular. The city is streaming with people and we are separated from the interior of the restaurant.

“I’m going to propose.”

Charlotte sinks into her seat. “What are you talking about? Propose what?”

“I told you I have a proposal for you.”

“Okay, but this feels like a romantic proposal.”

“It’s hardly romantic,” I smirk as two men come out with our first course and a bottle of wine.

Charlotte raises a brow. “You don’t think this is romantic?”

“Most definitely not,” I say and point to her plate of salad with my fork. “Eat your food.”

“Well, I think it’s romantic,” she huffs.

“Is it now?”

Once the wine bottle comes open, I take it from the waiter and pour Charlotte a full glass. Taking my own glass, I hand it empty back to the waiter.

“Aren’t you going to have a drink with me?” she asks.

“No, I take a certain medication that won’t allow me to drink.”

“Oh!” She straightens up. “May I ask what for?”

I groan. “I take it to control the side effects of a certain condition I have.”

Charlotte sticks her fork in her mouth and leans in as she speaks next. She’s ashamed to be so curious, but inquires anyway. “I get the feeling you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not really, no.” I shake my head. “At least not until maybe after you’ve heard my proposal.”

She drops her fork. “Okay, what’s this big proposal you keep leading into? You know, I read a lot of books and if you’re going to propose I be your fake fiancé or something, I’m not doing it. I feel like this has been some kind of test to see if I’d make a good pseudo girlfriend or wife. Seriously, if you need me to marry you because you’re about to inherit some money or whatever, I’m not doing that either.”

“I want you to shave me.”

Charlotte scoots back in her chair and slaps the table, making the dishes tinker and rumble. “Damn it. I knew it! I knew you were into some kinky shit.”

I laugh. “No, it’s not like that. I want you to give me a makeover.”

“What?” she grimaces.

I lean forward to move Charlotte’s plate out of the way and then bend over to pick up the duffel bag, placing it in front of her and pull on the zipper.

“See, there’s this girl I like,” I mention as I sit back down to watch Charlotte fumble through the bag. “I’ve liked her for some time, but I’m not sure she likes me and I thought maybe you could give me some pointers. You seem like the girl-next-door type and I could use a friend. I don’t have any friends that are girls—or women.”

Charlotte reaches into the bag and pulls out a set of clippers with one hand and a razor with the other. “What’s the matter?” she asks, examining the tools. “You have sex with ‘em too soon before you get to know ‘em?”

I gulp. “Pretty much. Yes. But not this girl.”

“Is that why you haven’t had sex with me?” She raises a brow. “Twice now, you’ve gotten me off, but you haven’t helped yourself to—”

“I guess you could say since she’s been back in my life, I’ve been saving myself.”

“Wow. She must be some girl to make you want to hold out like that,” she shrugs.

Charlotte seems saddened by the idea of some other special girl. It’s terrible I’m so happy she’s jealous.

She waves the tools at me and cocks her head with a slouch. “I can understand how you might want a makeover to catch the attention of this girl, but let’s be honest, Mr. Nine—you still do want to fuck her. Right?”

Hearing the F-word coming out of Charlotte’s mouth certainly does make me want to fuck.

Her.

“That would be ideal, Charlotte, especially if I could get her to stick around for the long term.”

“Oh!” she exclaims—perky—though her bottom lip is pouting. “Long term? She sounds like she’s very special.”

“Yes, but I’m having some confidence issues. I’m a little afraid she might think I’m somewhat of a geek.”

Charlotte shakes her head. “Oh no, Mr. Nine. You don’t have to worry about that. You’re quite the opposite of a geek, which I’m sure you have to be in some ways as a managing partner at NIM. I have no doubt you’re a smarty pants, but even if you are geeky underneath all that fine cologne and fancy clothing, most girls nowadays love geeks, so you have nothing to worry about. Personally, I love geeks.”

“Do you now?”

“Mhm,” she nods then sighs. “Listen, Mr. Nine, I don’t think you need my help. I’d be happy to help you but truthfully, I think you’re wasting your time with me.”

“Pull out the envelope,” I interject. “It’s in the bag.”

Charlotte digs through some clothes and pulls out the envelope. She opens it and I’m not surprised to see her eyes widen freakishly as she skims through the header.

It makes me smile. “It’s the deed to your property—the one you say you burned down when you were younger. I had a friend check it out—”

“Mr. Crowe?” she assumes.

“Right, Mr. Crowe,” I nod and see that she’s blushing as she hugs the bag. “He says there’s still no house there, but I propose if you help me, I will pay you back by at least giving you the deed.”

Charlotte’s eyes get misty. “That doesn’t seem like a fair trade—a makeover in exchange for a piece of property?”

“If you understood how special this woman is to me, you would know I’m the one getting the better deal out of this. So, what do you say?”