Page 6 of Lady Sings the Blues

Sputterin,’ I choke, spittin’ outmypop, spraying the ground because I’m smart enough to twist my head so she don’t end up wearing my backwash.

“I’m sorry?” I finally cough out.

“You heard me just fine. Don’t make me repeat it, not around here. These people already have a skewed opinion of me.”

Right.

I don’t want shutting down Elise. I want laughing/giggling Elise back. “Okay, so tell me what happened after Beau picked you up.”

Her eyes light up again with her unspoken thank you.

“The Hollister boys—hey, do you see that?” she asks, staring over my shoulder again.

“See what?” I turn to look behind me turnin’ my head left and right, but I don’t see nothin’. “What am I lookin’ for?”

“I thought I saw—nothing. I’m just being paranoid. Anyway, as I was saying, I’m sure you know, they were big. Beau, a little more than Logan, though not by much. So they squeezed me in the middle of the two of them. Even being as little as I was, it was a tight fit. Beau had this dingy Navajo print seat cover. Between the pattern on the seats, being squished between two Hollister men and the full blasting heat blowing directly on me, because you should know the rust bucket only had on and off for heat. No turning up or down option. At any rate, all that coupled with my drunken stomach—”

“You puked.” I chuckle.

“No. Puke would suggest a normal amount. I erupted. Like, a high pressure geyser. All over the seat, the dash, Beau and his steering column, Logan, the floor.”

She pauses her story to pile her napkins on the burger wrapper, ready to throw them away. I watch mesmerized as she stretches her arms above her head, arching her back, which of course makes me think about other ways to get her back to arch.

“Hey, eyes up here.” She laughs as catches me staring. But when she arched her back, her chest pushed forward. And Elise has a fuckin’ fantastic rack. I’m a grown man. Grown men have these thoughts regularly. Don’t want her thinkin’ I’m an asshole, though. But, that’s how I notice the other customers around us quickly turning their heads away.

Her story had an audience. Minds clamor for a look into her world. What with one Hollister father being the mayor and the other being county commissioner, along with both boys being lords of the football field, a look which included Thornbriar’s most fortunate sons.

And cute, petite Elise Manning got the inside scoop firsthand.

“Let’s go.” I grab up our trash and walk the three steps to the trashcan before she joins me.

“Mark, I’d like to hold your hand. Just while we walk. You have very strong hands. They look like good hands to hold. Would that be okay? I can even explain it to your girlfriend in case it gets back to her, that you were just comforting a friend.”

Smooth move, Elise. Shouldn’t that be my line? And with more spunk than I gave her credit for. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

The little coquette tips her head down, one corner of her mouth up in a playful smirk, watching me out of the corners of her eyes. “You don’t?” She asked with an obviously fake innocence.

I shake my head no.

“Boyfriend?”

“Don’t much care for one of those. No judgment, just not my thing.” Her boldness earns her a smile back. “And Elise.” I stop to make sure she’s looking at me full-on this time. “You can hold my hand any time you want. It’s yours to hold so long as you’re here.”

Replaced is my little coquette from a moment ago. I think I knocked her off her game because she lets out a shaky breath as she nudges at my bicep.

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me, but thank you.” The woman does what she wanted to in the first place and links our fingers together.

Her hand feels right in mine. Warm. Soft. We walk back in the direction of her father’s house because we’ll need to drive out to my bar. We’re silent for several minutes before she interrupts the stillness by speaking again.

“Okay, I didn’t want to say this while so many ears were listening, but I feel like I should say it now. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about Logan and Beau Hollister. But for some reason I feel compelled to talk with you.” The warm breeze picks up, rustling her hair, sweeping a few of the strands over her cheek. Elise nibbles her bottom lip. “Why do you think that is?” She asks.

“Don’t know. Maybe because I’m a bartender. I hear lots of dirty little secrets.”

What’s hanging between us is how desperately I don’t want that to be the reason. Part of me wants nothing more than for her to recognize it, while the other half hopes like hell she don’t. Not yet.

And Jesus, the lavender scent from her shampoo is kinda making me dizzy. It a smell that if she were mine, I’d be burying my nose in her hair as I held her close because that ain’t the kind of scent you grow tired of.

“What didn’t you want anyone else to hear back there?” I shake my head to clear it, slowing our pace to draw out our time together.

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