by Dawn Lanuza
Elan finally met her eyes, and she was glad to see there was some life in them at least. He didn’t look as resigned anymore. Caty fished out her wallet and handed her credit card to the receptionist, who wore a gold nameplate that said Diane.
They kept quiet until Diane checked Caty in and handed her the room keys. “No luggage?” she asked.
Not anymore, Caty thought. Then she remembered her favorite sweater was in the suitcase and silently cursed. “No. Thank you.”
Despite her lack of luggage, a bellboy led them up to the elevators and pressed four. Not a word was uttered inside the metal box. Caty almost felt apologetic that the bellboy was stuck in the middle of this Elan snowstorm.
When the doors opened, she heaved a sigh. The rest was pretty quick and standard. The bellboy opened the room and told them to enjoy their stay. Caty stepped inside and threw her purse on the bed while Elan looked around the room.
“Not too bad,” she finally said.
Elan just replied, “It’s all right.”
Caty sat on the bed, her feet crossed and hands tucked in her belly. She didn’t say anything for a while, just watched Elan stand awkwardly near the door. She was waiting for him to tell her what he’d been meaning to say hours ago.
Instead he turned to her and asked, “Are you gonna be okay?”
Her eyes lifted up to him, her shock apparent. That wasn’t the first thing she thought he’d ask, but it was way better than what she was expecting. She smiled weakly, “I guess.”
“Okay, good.”
“Have you stayed here before?” she asked.
“No.”
She nodded, and the silence returned.
“So I should go,” Elan finally said. It seemed to bounce off the walls.
She knew she should say “I know” or “thank you,” but instead it came out, “I don’t mind if you stay.”
She sensed a reaction, but it was polite. That was his gig. He was performing the shit out of it today. “No, thank you. I really should go.”
“You said you were going to drive me to the airport,” Caty pointed out.
“I did,” Elan answered, as if he’d just remembered that.
“But what about later?”
“I can talk to the front desk; they’ll get a cab for you.”
“But you told Juliana you’d take me,” she insisted. There was no point to this; she was just making him talk. For what? To make her feel better at least, to give her time to leave him with a nicer impression of her.
“Yes, but that was when you told me you were flying out today.”
“So I lied,” she scoffed.
Elan put his hands in his pockets and laughed, “What are you doing?”
She looked up at him innocently.
“You’re stalling me,” he said, very matter-of-factly.
Caty stared. That was new—a different Elan. That wasn’t so polite and nice. “You were secretly hoping you’d take Juliana home with you, right?”
She watched Elan turn pale. She gave herself a pat on the back, not for making him look bad but for throwing something out there and being right about it.
“Well . . . yeah,” he said.
“She didn’t tell you about my brother?”
Elan took a deep breath. “We don’t talk about things like that.”
Caty smiled. “My brother is quick. He grabs life by the balls. If he sees something he wants, he just goes for it.”
Elan’s brows met in the middle, but he resorted to a shrug.
Caty finally stood up from the bed and walked toward him. “Really? That’s how you react? You just shrug it off?”
He took his hands out of his pockets, starting to turn away. “This is not gonna work, Caty. You won’t get a reaction from me about this.”
She hesitated, then tapped his arm so he wouldn’t walk away. Elan turned to her, and she pushed herself up on tiptoes, grabbed him by the nape, and kissed him.
This always seemed to do the trick. Why not try it now?
There were plenty of ways to get out of something. Fake an emergency. Pretend to be sick. Be a fucking adult and tell the truth.
But did he want to?
Elan felt Caty draw away and then realized how they were linked. His hands were grabbing her forearms. She had her hands in his hair. Their lips had been locked just a second ago.
How the hell?
“Lunch?” Caty disentangled herself from him.
“What?” was all he could get out. Everything was suddenly hazy, and all he could see was Caty running back to the bed to get her purse.
“Come on. It’s the least I could do for giving me a ride.”
He could still taste her lips on his. It was sweet but subtle, much like her scent.
“Elan,” she called again, one hand resting on the door handle.
His legs dragged as he followed her down the hallway. He blinked a couple of times, wondering why and how he was still here with her. Wasn’t he supposed to have left her by now?
Caty threw him a glance, and his eyes dropped to her lips. They looked the same as the first time he saw her, but now his mouth was filled with how they tasted, and he wanted more.
They stopped by the elevator. Caty pressed the button before turning back to him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her, focusing on her eyes, her hair, anywhere but her lips. Her forehead, he could focus on that instead.
Ah, shit, Elan thought. Is this happening? Is this what it’s going to be like now? Wasn’t she the same girl he was ignoring an hour ago?
He didn’t like what had happened at her friend’s house earlier. He wasn’t a fan of situations that involved chasing and running and trouble. He told himself he was studying law to bring some order in the world. To create a better sense of peace. Yet here he was, standing in front of a girl, and all he could think of was, I’m in trouble.
She smiled, her lips spreading wide. “Are you thinking about it?”
His eyes shot up to her. “No. What?”
“The buffet, man,” Caty answered, like it was the most obvious thing. Beside her, there was a poster announcing buffet hours at the restaurant next door.
“No. I’m not.”
“Well, I am.” She shrugged. Right then, the elevator door opened, and he was thankful she had turned around.
Elan stepped inside, putting an acceptable distance between the two of them. He asked himself again how it had happened. One minute they were having a spat and the next they were kissing. Or she was kissing him. He was simply responding.
Fine, he kissed her back. He was sure of that. He had been kissed unexpectedly before and simply didn’t return it, ducked away, and told the girl she had the wrong idea.
This one was hard to avoid, and she knew just what she was doing.
Caty swayed, more cheerful than before the kiss. Her fingers touched his momentarily but didn’t linger. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she smiled at her reflection on the elevator.
He ran a hand across his nape, extremely aware that his skin was still tingling from the memory of her hands.
The doors opened, and they got out.
Thank Christ.
The huge clock on the wall showed that it was way past lunch hour. Elan caught up with Caty as she exited the hotel and entered the restaurant next door. A waiter welcomed them and started leading them to a table, but Caty told him she’d rather stay at the bar.
She sat on a stool, and he simply followed, still at a loss for words as things spiraled out of his control. She ordered a rum and coke and a glass of water, then threw him a questioning look.
Elan replied, “Gin and tonic.”
Caty snorted, “Sorry, but a friend told me gin and tonic is for old men.”
“And rum and coke?”
&n
bsp; “College girls who never outgrew it.”
Just then the bartender handed her a glass of water, and she raised it to Elan. “Cheers, Grandpa.”
He rubbed a hand over his nape again, then over his hair to fix it. It was longer than his usual cut, and he had the vacation as an excuse for avoiding a trip to the barber.
“I always thought gin and tonic was the classy choice,” he admitted, “but yeah, it’s an old man’s drink. I got it from my uncle.”
His “uncle” was also a lawyer. They weren’t related by blood, but Pascual was his childhood hero. Like Superman, Pascual swooped in when Elan’s family needed help. Now Elan worked for his firm while he waited for the bar exam results. He was always encouraging him to take a break, but Elan kept coming back for more things to do anyway.
Caty raised her eyebrows as she sipped. “So what’s your real drink?”
He shrugged. He didn’t really have one. He wasn’t much of a drinker. “I don’t know. Just beer.”
“Beer is cool. It’s not pretentious. It’s simple.” Caty set her glass down. “Next time, just get beer.”
Next time.
The bartender handed Caty her rum and coke, and Elan suggested, “We should get something to eat too.”
“Right,” she nodded. “Lunch, that’s what I said. Not drinks. But we could use it. You more than me.”
“Hmm? The food or the drinks?”
“Both. You looked a bit dazed a second ago.”
“Well, yeah,” Elan jumped. He was going to be frank because they weren’t children. If he was going to stay until she left, he didn’t want to stare at her lips the whole time. He was aware that he was doing it again. “You kissed me.”
Caty nodded, “I did.”
“And?” he stalled. “That’s what we do now?”
“You’ve never just kissed anyone before?” She took the first gulp of her drink.
No, he thought. But yes. Maybe when he was younger. Did he?
“It took you awhile to answer, so you probably haven’t,” she assumed.
“You’re right, I probably haven’t.”
“Did you like it?” she teased.
He didn’t know what to say. She was waiting for him to answer with no trace of regret or embarrassment on her face. What should he say? Yes? No? The latter would just be cruel and a plain lie.
Elan could see the line, and his toes were on the edge of it. Only he wasn’t sure if he was already on the other side after that kiss.
“But you’ve kissed girls before, right?”
Elan gave her a look.
“Boys?”
He sighed, exasperated. “Yes, I have kissed girls before.”
“I’m just kidding; I knew that. You knew what you were doing. I just didn’t know which way you swing.” She laughed, handing him a menu.
“I’m not gay,” he clarified.
“Nothing wrong with it.”
“I didn’t say—” Elan exhaled.
Caty cut him off with a laugh, “It doesn’t take much to annoy you.”
That wasn’t him. He always tried to be calm and collected. “No, especially when you enjoy doing it.”
She nodded, eyes focused on the menu. “That’s true.”
“Why?”
She ordered a full meal, roast chicken or something, before she answered, “Because. When you’re annoyed, you’re not such a dud. And I enjoy Angry Elan’s company more.”
Elan straightened his back and insisted, “I’m not angry.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
He didn’t say anything else. It was her opinion, and he wouldn’t argue. He could live with that. Maybe.
“Can you relax, please?” She started again. “It’s not like I’m assessing you for something. I don’t have to go back to Jules and give a rave review of your services for the day.”
“Services?”
“You know what I mean. You did this nice thing for me, so you’re keeping up with the image. I get it. But quit it.”
“You want me to be mean to you?”
She shook her head fast. “Not mean. Real. Come to think of it, we’re actually the best kind of strangers.”
“In what way?”
She swiveled her seat to face him. “In the way that I’ll be halfway around the world in a matter of hours. We never have to see each other again.”
Elan shook his head. “No, we have people in common. We’re not total strangers.”
“Do we really?” She squinted her eyes.
The way she said it gave him the impression that they didn’t, and he remembered she’d said that her relationship with Jules was complicated. Maybe they weren’t really friends in the best sense of the word. And maybe she was the type who appeared every once in a while then disappeared off the face of the earth. A one-time thing, a rare occurrence, like a comet.
“What makes that perfect?”
“We can stop being the people we think we should be and just . . . be.” Caty lifted the glass of gin and tonic and handed it to him. “Do you get me?”
He did. It made sense. He took the glass. “So you’re telling me we should just be honest with each other?”
She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know about you, Judy, but I’ve been honest with you since I got in your car.”
“Except when you didn’t tell me why you were being chased by someone at that house.”
She sighed, a loud one, and dropped her shoulders. “You’re still not over that?”
“It was just hours ago,” Elan insisted. “Why weren’t you welcome? Whose house was it anyway?”
She remained slumped in her seat. “Okay. Fine. I was specifically told not to go there.”
“Because?”
“Hold on,” she said, raising a finger. “Let’s make this fun. You ask me a question, I answer. I ask you a question, you answer.”
“And if one of us refuses?”
Her face crumpled. “Why would you even do that? Don’t spoil the fun.”
“I’m just saying.” Elan finally took a sip and let the sensation of the liquid linger. “So we have options.”
She snapped her fingers. “Okay. If you refuse to answer, you have to do something for me and vice versa.”
“So it’s like Truth or Dare?” He frowned.
“‘Oh, Elan, you’re so fun! That’s what all the girls say.”
“Okay, fine.”
Caty put her drink down and clapped her hands. “I’ve got a good one.”
“I’m sure.” He stared at the ceiling, cursing himself for agreeing to this.
“How’d you get the nose?”
Elan felt his body jerk. His nose? He touched the slightly crooked bridge. He’d lived a part of his life with a straight nose, just like his mother’s until . . . “Basketball.”
“You play basketball?”
He pointed at her. “Not your turn. Why weren’t you welcome?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because someone else is already living there, aside from my friend.”
“But why would she chase—”
She held out a hand to stop him from asking a question out of turn. “You play basketball?”
A plate of pork chops was laid out in front of him, hot and fresh from the grill.
He didn’t really play basketball, but she hadn’t said anything about lying in the game. He just had to say something so he could get to his questions. “Yes. Not well, but yes.”
“I can’t see it.”
“What do you think I play?”
“I don’t know, bridge, chess, snakes and ladders.” She flashed him a patronizing smile, and he returned it with his middle finger.
Caty’s face lit up. “My friend Angry Elan is back.” She grabbed his face with both hands and pinched hi
s cheeks.
Elan batted her hands away. “Your turn.”
But she wasn’t done. “I expected a story. You know, I’ve been making up stories about your nose since we met. Bar fight over a girl. A girl punching you in the face after you broke up with her. Tell me if I’m getting warm.”
“Basketball.”
Caty shook her head. “So you just got elbowed by some other dude?”
“Yeah.”
“You should use one of my stories.”
“Is that what you do?” Wait, that wasn’t supposed to be his next question.
“No. I’m a stylist.”
“Meaning?”
She raised her hand. “You’ll get your turn. What’s the first thing you noticed about me?”
Her lips. Did she really ask him that, and did it mean the first thing she noticed about him was his crooked nose? It was the wrong, imperfect part of him.
“Your hair,” he settled. Really, it wasn’t just her lips; it was everything. She had color, whatever that meant. That’s what he thought when he first saw her. That, and her full, red lips. He really had to stop going on and on about them.
She tucked a strand of hair under her ear, as if that answer satisfied her. He never understood what women wanted to hear when they asked questions like that. She seemed pleased with his answer, so he patted himself on the back.
“Stylist?” Elan continued.
“Yeah. Prop styling.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“It’s just a fancy name for putting pretty things together. I took interior design, but I think I’m more comfortable with smaller spaces. I can manage them better.”
“Things as in?” was all he said.
“Products. To sell,” she explained. “It’s like doing a window display, but now it’s for your teeny-tiny mobile screens. Times are changing, Grandpa.”
“Got it,” he said, impressed. “Wow.”
“You didn’t even ask me if I’m good at it.”
Elan gave in to her demand. “Should I?”
“Do you think I am?”
He cleared his throat. Here it goes again. Putting him on the hot seat. Elan looked at her face, still radiating the confidence he had picked up the moment they met. “Well, you seem as if you know how to put pretty things together,” he gestured at her.
