He shifted to drive, but her hand on his forearm made him stop. “No.” She shook her head. “No, I was just surprised is all.” She glanced up at him, finding his eyes so blue it was like looking into still water. “I—I hear they have good wings here,” she finally stated. She didn’t know if that was true or not, but she didn’t want to disappoint him. Not again.
He scratched the back of his neck, obviously having a hard time believing her, but then a slow easy smile curved the side of his lips. “I reckon they do.”
She let out a relieved breath and nodded. “You’re not wearing your glasses.” It was more of a realization than anything. His eyes seemed so vibrant without them. Almost hypnotic.
He laughed, then pinch the bridge of his nose, as though her words reminded him that his head ached. “My contacts came in this morning, I’m surprised my eyes aren’t bloodshot with how long took me to get them in.”
“They look good.” She took a breath.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Once again, a moment in his presence and her heart was pounding. She glanced to the entrance of The Barn, and lifted her chin. “Well, are we going to do this thing, or what?”
He smiled at her, then opened his door. “Let’s go.”
A moment later, ushered through the door with a dozen other people, she suddenly wished she was back in his truck. Yes, it was terrifying to be alone with him lately, but stuck in a crowd of people like this was her definition of a nightmare. She hated crowds, and being in a place like this made her anxiety flair up like a million sparklers.
It was only Monday, but saying this place was busy would be an understatement. She glanced around the room, terrified they’d run into someone she knew, but stopped when she noticed Elliot’s expression beside her. His jaw was tight, his face scanning the restaurant looking for a table. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” he shouted in apology.
She grabbed hold of his hand and proceeded to follow him. She could tell by the set of his jaw, he felt guilty for taking her here. He knew about her anxiety, and she knew, that after Friday night he would feel guilty. She gave his hand a firm squeeze, and rose up on her toes to get close to his ear. “I’m fine, Elli, don’t worry,” she whispered.
He froze, as though something had climbed under his shirt, then he turned to face her. “I’ll get us through this. I promise.”
He began weaving in and out of the crowd, all the way to the other side of the building, until they came to a table, tucked away in the corner of the room. He pulled out her seat, and waited until she sat down. “This okay?” he asked, bending in close to her so he didn’t have to yell.
She nodded promptly, because his breath on her neck made her shiver. “It’s perfect,” she said, anchoring her shoe in the rung of the barstool to push herself farther back on her seat.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” She flashed him a smile of reassurance, and took a deep breath. She wasn’t even lying this time. The table was far enough from the crowd she could hear herself think again, which was bitter sweet, to say the least.
He took a seat across from her, and passed her a menu. “I hope you’re hungry.”
She smiled and glanced around the room, soaking it all in. The restaurant was just what she’d imagined. Wood everything, peanut shells covering the floor, people trotting around in cowboy boots. What surprised her however, was instead of a real-life replica of a bull like she’d imagined, the thing was made up entirely of metal, covered only with the barest about of leather at the sharpest parts. In fact, the only resemblance between it, and its animal brother, was the fact it had horns, and wore a saddle.
“A buddy at work told me about this place,” Elliot said, obviously picking up on her intrigue. “He said it was good for laugh, and after the last few days…”
She met his eyes, because she really didn’t want to talk about this weekend. In fact, it was the last thing she wanted. “It’s perfect, Elliot. Truly.” She touched his hand, but quickly snatched it back again. Why did she keep touching him? Why couldn’t she keep her hands to herself like a normal person?
Opening her menu one last time, she glanced over the photographs and her stomach to growled. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse,” she stated.
Elliot laughed, “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, not really wanting to admit the reason. Because admitting she’d hurried out of the house simply to avoid his presence was juvenile. She cleared her throat. “How will we ever decide?”
Elliot smiled at her. “Let’s get one of each.”
She laughed. “There are at least thirty items here, we couldn’t possibly.”
“Top five?”
She bit her inner cheek, hesitant to order that much food, but reluctantly agreed. “What the heck. Why not?”
After a short disagreement about chicken wings, they finally settled on an order: Bacon wrapped shrimp, avocado crostini, wontons stuffed with jalapeño poppers, fried chicken and waffle-bun sliders, buffalo wings, and last but not least, a build your own S’mores kit that came with its own fire.
“That was actually six,” Fe stated, when the server walked away. “And did you see the way she was looking at you? Priceless.”
Elliot leaned back in his seat and studied her. “Looking at me? How?”
“Are you kidding? She was totally checking you out.”
Elliot pushed at the bridge of his nose, forgetting he wasn’t wearing his glasses. “Are you shitting me?” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the server.
Fe giggled. “Yes.”
He rubbed over his five o’clock shadow, and flexed his chest a little. “I guess your hard work is paying off.”
She took a sip of soda and shook her head. “Our hard work.” She corrected.
“Fine.” He grinned a little. “Our hard work.”
Her chest inflated a little, and she let it out a sigh as she played with her napkin. It was hard to believe this man was the same person, that it had almost been two weeks, that soon he’d have a girlfriend. She glanced up at him, to his new-found confidence and shook her head. He wasn’t hiding his face any longer, or his body for that matter. “You look good, Elli.”
He squinted a little, embarrassed by her compliment. “I guess you were right about my wranglers.”
She sat up straighter. “What makes you say that?”
“I’ve had about four different woman compliment my ass in the last week.”
She almost spit out her drink. “Really?”
“Yep.” His cheeks grew crimson, but he sat forward in his seat like he wasn’t the least embarrassed. “What’s next on the list, Fe, what you got in that your big bag of tricks?”
Her throat tightened, and she shook her head. A few nights ago he was rolling around on the floor with his brother, and now he was asking about the next step? “About that. We don’t have—”
But Elliot braced his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Are you bailing on me, Porto?”
In spite of herself, she laughed. “I don’t even remember where we’re at.” She exhaled. “I don’t even know what’s next.”
He held up a finger, then dug his cellphone from his pocket. “Hang on.” He flicked through his device and pulled up his album. “I took a picture.”
“Of course, you did,” she whispered to herself.
He scanned over the list with his finger, making a few faces as he went. “Drink. That’s the next one. Whisky or beer. No pussy drinks. That’s what you wrote.”
She cringed, because she was pretty sure it was the first time she’d heard him say the p word. “Well, I guess we’ll have to plan something. Maybe we can Uber after?”
“Uber? Why do you want to Uber?
Fe shook her head. “Because if you’re going to drink, we can’t very well drive, now can we?”
“Let’s do it at home. I get shit-faced, make a fool of myself privately, and you can put me to bed.”
&n
bsp; She frowned, because that sounded like the worst possible idea ever. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
But the server came to the table then, filling the space with their order. “Anything else?” she asked Elliot, not even attempting to hide her flirtation.
He blushed a little, picked up his napkin, and shoved it into the collar of his shirt. “No ma’am, we’re good,” he answered.
Fe waited for the server to walk away, snatched the napkin from his shirt, then sat back in her seat. “Don’t do that.” she laughed. “And don’t call women ma’am either, it makes us feel old.”
He grinned. “Why’s that?” he asked, obviously enjoying her amusement.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It just does.” She took a slider form the tray, and took a bite. Warm delicious juices ran down her throat, and she forgot about everything else. About their argument, or the fact they avoided each other the entire weekend “Oh my God, that’s good.”
Elliot leaned forward in his seat and picked up a bacon wrapped shrimp. “Yeah?” And just like that, she was enjoying another meal with her best friend. Like they always did. Like they always would.
“So, there’s a problem with your plan,” she said with a mouthful of food.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“Your brother.”
He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “My brother?”
“If we bring alcohol back to the house, he’ll be there, and that will be…awkward.”
Elliot took another wonton from the plate and bit into it. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“What if we did it tonight?”
“Tonight? On a Monday? I don’t think so…”
“He’s gone, Fe.”
Fe placed her half-eaten wing back on the plate and leaned forward. “He left?”
“Not for good.” Elliot shook his head. “We had a talk and worked things out. He’ll be back tomorrow…after his gig.”
“Oh…” Well there goes her buffer.
“So… I was thinking when we’re done here, we could grab a bottle of whisky, check off the next box.” He took a sip of tea. “What do you say?”
“I don’t know…”
He leaned forward, wiping his face with his napkin again, but there was something in his eyes that told her this was important to him. That told her if she pulled out now, it would crush him. “Come on, Fe. This could be the perfect opportunity.”
She glanced off into the distance, to the line of people gathered on the other side of the bar, and a slow grin tugged at the corner of her lips. “On one condition.”
He laughed. “What?”
“You have to ride the mechanical bull.”
Chapter 12
There was one thing she knew for certain—and that was when she asked Elliot to ride the mechanical bull, she hadn’t expected him to agree so easily.
But he had. Not only agreed, but seemed almost eager to do it.
“Sure,” he said with a shrug.
She leaned forward, confident she’d misheard him. “What?”
“Sure, why not?” He lifted his shoulders. “All I have to do is stay on, right?”
“Yes.” She nodded slowly, wondering who’d taken her best friend and replaced him with…this.
He grabbed another burger, continued to eat as though nothing strange had just transpired between them. But it had. He was different, and she wasn’t even sure if she recognized him any longer.
Twenty minutes later, stuffed with so much food she almost felt drunk, they stood in the line for the bull ride. For a second, when the tenth person was bucked wildly from the steed, she thought he might back out. He turned to face her, his eyes wide and brows pinched together so tight, it appeared almost painful. “Do you see what I see?” he asked her.
She glanced over to the arena, finding a woman pulling herself to stand to the soft padded landing. “Staying on the bull isn’t as easy as you thought?” she asked.
He shook his head and met her eyes. “They’re all chicks.” He raked his hands through his hair.
She almost laughed, because the statement was ridiculous.
“So?” she asked, almost daring him to be that chauvinistic.
He clenched his jaw and turned to face her. “I’m the only dude here, don’t you see a problem with this?” he whispered.
She laughed. “No. Why is that a problem?”
He raked his hands through his hair, lifted one boot up to the wrung of the fence, and frowned.
She couldn’t help but watch him, hope that he’d chicken out, and that she’d be free from the rest of the evening—but he didn’t.
Of course, he didn’t.
As they got closer, she focused on the mechanics of the bull to distract herself. It was fascinating. These weird traditions human’s gravitated toward. Fake or not, she couldn’t help but smile as she watched another woman climb on the back of the steely animal. Though if this were a real steed, there would be no rhyme or reason to its movements. It would buck and kick, giving into instincts and environment alone…but this…this hunk of leather covered metal, was a machine. A program, a computer, which meant there was a pattern to it… She squinted her eyes, let her mind go numb, and tried to figure it out.
After a good minute, or ten, when they were halfway through the line, she began to see the rhythm. Slowly at first, but eventually it became clear. She turned back to Elliot unable to hide her grin. Like the time she discovered where her parents hid their candy stash.
“Elliot.” She placed one hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. “You can back out, you know? No hard feelings.”
He flexed his jaw, then shook his head with determination “No.”
Fe bit her inner cheek, and proceeded to watch the bull. As the line moved forward, she took in the movements of the rider, the way the bull pulled their bodies in each and every direction. By the time the woman came around to greet them, she was confident she’d cracked the code. It was easy. Simple really. The woman handed her the release form, and she quickly filled it out for Elliot, handing it over for him to sign. But from that moment on, everything else became a blur.
They were ushered into the arena, where The DJ nodded to the woman with the clip board, and let them both in through the gate. “It’s ladies’ night brother, are you two riding together or what?” he shouted to Elliot—but she could barely hear him over the roaring of the crowd that had begun the second their feet hit the padded floor.
What the heck was going on?
Sure she was surviving on adrenalin alone, she shook her head, and turned to the DJ. “Sorry, there’s been some kind of a mistake, I’m not—” but Elliot’s voice cut her off.
“Yes, sir,” he stated. “We’ll go together.”
She turned around to face Elliot, to ask him what the hell had gotten into him, when the DJ lifted her off of her feet, and hoisted her up to the back of the bull.
“No. What?” She spun around, looking for a way out of this mess, but then Elliot hoisted himself behind her, and she felt his legs brush the back of her thighs.
Holy hell he had muscular legs. “What are you doing?” she asked through clenched teeth. “What’s happening?”
The DJ started hollering instructions. “Only one collective hand on the bull at all time.” He pointed to Elliot. “That means you. One of you falls, ride’s over. If you can stay on sixty seconds, your bill is on us. Any questions?”
She opened her mouth to say he’d made a mistake, that in fact, they wouldn’t be riding together, but Elliot’s arm wrapped around her stomach, and she was hoisted backward against his groin. Oh my God. “I need to get down. I need to get down right now!”
But it was too late. Her last words came out as a high-pitched squeal, because suddenly, they both lurched forward as the bull sprang into action.
Elliot’s fist was gripping the horn between her thighs, his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and
she yelled! “Where do I put my hands?”
“Squeeze your thighs.” Elliot demanded in her ear. “Hold onto my legs. I got you. I got you.”
It was the simplest of requests, one that made perfect sense given their current circumstance, but damn it if her lady parts didn’t throb at the sound of his voice. Soothing, deep, and so southern, it practically dripped honey onto her earlobe.
Determined to get a grip on herself, she placed on hand on each of his legs, and held on tight, just like he said, feeling his muscles move below her hands. She said a silent prayer, please lord, please don’t let make a fool of myself. Please don’t let me pee my pants.
“Place your bets ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ yelled. “Place your bets.”
Her eyes flew open, and she gazed around the arena. “Is he serious?” she yelled to Elliot.
He only laughed, then squeezed her stomach tighter.
Every time she felt herself slip forward, she squeezed her legs. Every time people started screaming, she knew they would fall off at any second…but then she remembered the rhythm. What was it? One two three, three four two one.
“Come on Fe, you can do this. Come on girl.”
His voice was barely audible in her ear, but it was said with such passion, she suddenly wanted to win. Not for the crowd, but for Elliot.
She turned her face to the side, and yelled as loudly as she could. “One two three, three four two one. That’s the rhythm.”
“What?” he shouted back.
“One two three, three four two one. Trust me. The bull, it alternates back and forth in that rhythm.”
He pulled her in against his chest, tightened his grip on the horn, and nodded.
“Here it goes!” Because the rhythm had started over again. “Forward one. Back two, forward three. Get it? Let your body absorb the moment, don’t fight it, and it will make things easier.”
He nodded his head against her side, his whiskers abrasive against her cheek. It was amazing how much easier the ride became once they got into the sync of things. Forward, back, forward, back. She let her body relax against his chest, accepting him as he leaned forward onto her, absorbing each roll, each jolt, each lunge the bull threw at them.
Eight Steps to Alpha: A Nerdy by Nature Novel Page 10
