sweaty on her arm. “Don’t be mad.”
“Don’t be mad ?” Mary Mother, it really is like a script out of Everybody Loves Raymond, and Addie’s been cast as Patricia Heaton with her hands on her hips. “Whoa, buddy, I am not mad. We hooked up, okay? It’s cool. Just let me know if I need to get tested for anything.”
Eli drops her wrist. “ Tested ? Jesus, Addie.” He’s wearing jeans and his station undershirt, the plain white T-shirts that come in bulk packs from their NFPA-certified retailer. Addie wishes he didn’t look so stupidly good.
“It’s a fair question,” she says, crossing her arms. She pictures the blonde again, her shiny curtain of hair. Addie yanked her own curls into a bun less than ten minutes ago, and already she can feel it frizzing. When she was small her mom used to rake it all into a braid for school, then secure it with an avalanche of bobby pins. Jenn called her metal head. “Look, let’s not do this, okay? We said we’d keep it out of work.”
“We aren’t at work though,” Eli insists. His t’s aren’t quite lining up on the way out of his mouth.
Addie sighs. The band is playing a cover of “Under Pressure”, heavy on the strings. It’s embarrassing that she knew how this was going to end all along. “Well, I’ll see you at work then, how about,” she tells him, and heads back out to the table to say her goodbyes.
And that, she thinks, is that.
Not for Eli, apparently. On Sunday, he shows up on her doorstep as she’s getting ready for church, bold as you please.
Addie blinks. “What are you doing here?” she asks him, when she comes downstairs to answer the bell. The buzzer doesn’t work in this apartment. Neither does the cold water tap in the bathroom sink or the back two burners on the stove. Addie kind of likes it that way. It adds character. Last night, the club downstairs played ’NSync mash-ups for three hours.
“I wanna take you out,” Eli says.
Addie gapes at him, his khaki shorts and a summer-weight button down rolled up to his elbows like something out of a Land’s End catalog the silvery scars on his arms. Then she laughs out loud. “Well, I’ve got a date with God right now, so you’re kind of gonna have to take a number.”
Eli shakes his head. “I’m serious,” he tells her, and the weirdest part is how he actually seems to be, those dark eyes locked on hers. “I was an idiot the other night, I was drunk. Let me take you to dinner.”
“The other night nothing. I told you it was fine.” She’s picturing it though, his solid arm curved around Bird Bones McGee at the bar, her expensive-looking clothes and artily tousled hair and the way she was leaning into him. Addie tries to make her face into the face of someone who hasn’t thought about it at all since then. She’s dressed in her church clothes, an A-line skirt that’s kind of teacher-y. Chicken Cat darts out between her feet. “You came to my house to ask me on a date ?”
Eli smiles at her then, shrugging. God, he’s so effing dumb. “I don’t have your number,” he says.
Addie rolls her eyes. “You could have gotten my number from somebody,” she informs him.
Eli nods. “I know.” His hands are in his pockets, clean-shaven as a choirboy. He’s wearing leather flip-flops. He’s a stupid bro, and Addie wants not to find him attractive anymore. “Look, let me drive you?”
“To Mass?” Addie shifts on the landing. She left her sensible heels upstairs, she needs to grab them and some lipstick, fix her hair. “Eli, no. I need my car afterwards.”
His face sags. “Yeah,” he agrees, looking lost. “I guess you do.” He rubs the back of his neck. “So that’s a no on the date too, huh?”
Addie sighs. He’s good in bed. Christ. “Yeah, Eli. That’s a no on the date too.”
After he’s gone, she drinks another cup of coffee, standing beside the AC unit, and tries to forget about the whole thing. That’s what you get, she reminds
“Don’t be mad ?” Mary Mother, it really is like a script out of Everybody Loves Raymond, and Addie’s been cast as Patricia Heaton with her hands on her hips. “Whoa, buddy, I am not mad. We hooked up, okay? It’s cool. Just let me know if I need to get tested for anything.”
Eli drops her wrist. “ Tested ? Jesus, Addie.” He’s wearing jeans and his station undershirt, the plain white T-shirts that come in bulk packs from their NFPA-certified retailer. Addie wishes he didn’t look so stupidly good.
“It’s a fair question,” she says, crossing her arms. She pictures the blonde again, her shiny curtain of hair. Addie yanked her own curls into a bun less than ten minutes ago, and already she can feel it frizzing. When she was small her mom used to rake it all into a braid for school, then secure it with an avalanche of bobby pins. Jenn called her metal head. “Look, let’s not do this, okay? We said we’d keep it out of work.”
“We aren’t at work though,” Eli insists. His t’s aren’t quite lining up on the way out of his mouth.
Addie sighs. The band is playing a cover of “Under Pressure”, heavy on the strings. It’s embarrassing that she knew how this was going to end all along. “Well, I’ll see you at work then, how about,” she tells him, and heads back out to the table to say her goodbyes.
And that, she thinks, is that.
Not for Eli, apparently. On Sunday, he shows up on her doorstep as she’s getting ready for church, bold as you please.
Addie blinks. “What are you doing here?” she asks him, when she comes downstairs to answer the bell. The buzzer doesn’t work in this apartment. Neither does the cold water tap in the bathroom sink or the back two burners on the stove. Addie kind of likes it that way. It adds character. Last night, the club downstairs played ’NSync mash-ups for three hours.
“I wanna take you out,” Eli says.
Addie gapes at him, his khaki shorts and a summer-weight button down rolled up to his elbows like something out of a Land’s End catalog the silvery scars on his arms. Then she laughs out loud. “Well, I’ve got a date with God right now, so you’re kind of gonna have to take a number.”
Eli shakes his head. “I’m serious,” he tells her, and the weirdest part is how he actually seems to be, those dark eyes locked on hers. “I was an idiot the other night, I was drunk. Let me take you to dinner.”
“The other night nothing. I told you it was fine.” She’s picturing it though, his solid arm curved around Bird Bones McGee at the bar, her expensive-looking clothes and artily tousled hair and the way she was leaning into him. Addie tries to make her face into the face of someone who hasn’t thought about it at all since then. She’s dressed in her church clothes, an A-line skirt that’s kind of teacher-y. Chicken Cat darts out between her feet. “You came to my house to ask me on a date ?”
Eli smiles at her then, shrugging. God, he’s so effing dumb. “I don’t have your number,” he says.
Addie rolls her eyes. “You could have gotten my number from somebody,” she informs him.
Eli nods. “I know.” His hands are in his pockets, clean-shaven as a choirboy. He’s wearing leather flip-flops. He’s a stupid bro, and Addie wants not to find him attractive anymore. “Look, let me drive you?”
“To Mass?” Addie shifts on the landing. She left her sensible heels upstairs, she needs to grab them and some lipstick, fix her hair. “Eli, no. I need my car afterwards.”
His face sags. “Yeah,” he agrees, looking lost. “I guess you do.” He rubs the back of his neck. “So that’s a no on the date too, huh?”
Addie sighs. He’s good in bed. Christ. “Yeah, Eli. That’s a no on the date too.”
After he’s gone, she drinks another cup of coffee, standing beside the AC unit, and tries to forget about the whole thing. That’s what you get, she reminds
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