Page 98 of Ripped & Shipped
“I’m a fan of unplugged night,” he says.
He releases me, and I step back. Then he turns and walks out of my home, saying, “Have a good rest of your night, Boots.”
“Boots?”
“It’s your winning Monopoly piece. I think it fits you.”
Huh. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a nickname. God knows I love me some boots. And yes, I’m always that boot when I play Monopoly. Everyone wants to be the dog. I’m all about the boot.
And, yes, in case you’re wondering, I stand at the window watching him drive away. In a different world … we’d be more. So. Much. More.
My phone is buzzing on the coffee table when I walk back into the living room. I hold it up to see who’s trying to message me. It’s Drake, so I break my little hiatus from social media to see what he wants.
@DrakesDaMan
I’ll cut to the chase. How serious is it with this ex-military dude?
Wow. Okay. Well, that makes sense, Drake sees my posts. I guess. Okay. Yes. He’s watching my posts! That’s pretty awesome. But, why does he care how serious I am with Chris? I take a page out of Chris’ book and use the same answer he gave Mabel.
@Fab-U-lous_EllaMae
We’re still new.
@DrakesDaMan
Good. Good. My offer still stands for you to come out. Let me know about staying here. I’m sure you and I will have plenty to talk about, and I’m looking forward to helping you get a leg up. I think about you, you know. We made a good team.
@Fab-U-lous_EllaMae
Thanks for reaching out. I’ll keep you posted. I really appreciate your support.
Chris’ adamant declaration echoes in my mind.You’re not going out to see him.If only he’d give me a real reason to turn Drake down. But he’s not, so I’m a free agent, and I’m pretty sure this party will be just the ticket to secure my place as a much larger influencer than I’ve been up until now.
CHAPTER33
Chris
The past week,Ella Mae and I have continued posting on social media, in addition to faking around town. We went to Mad River Burgers and then out to ice cream last Friday. And as we had planned, we strolled down Main Street eating our cones. I even tipped mine over to Ella Mae to give her a bite off it.
She licked that cone so slowly, just to make a show—so everyone around us could see we were clearly out on a date. And also, to torture me, I’m sure. She ran her hand over my beard at dinner. And we held hands.
Since she was being so touchy and affectionate, I reciprocated. I put my hand on the small of her back when I held the door open for her, rubbed my thumb across her knuckles while we held hands, and leaned in to place a soft kiss on her temple a few times throughout the night.
I know I was pushing my luck, but I figured, there she was, and we were trying to look convincing, so I went all in. Of course, I have ulterior motives. I’m starving for time with her, for any touch, look, laugh, smile. Faking gives me a certain ticket to show her affection, and I’m cashing that ticket in at every.single.opportunity.
Things between us feel easy, and half the time I forget we’re faking. Well, I’m not faking, but Ella Mae doesn’t know that yet.
Yes. Our situation is getting beyond complicated. And it’s not merely the added element of having to act like we are dating here in town now. Constantly being around Ella Mae makes me feel so many things. Keeping those feelings and longings in check is becoming increasingly challenging. All the lines are running together and blurring like a fresh watercolor.
I’m on my way to pick her up for our weekend in Cincinnati. There’s a little gathering with just our friends tonight, and then the reception with extended friends and family is tomorrow night. We all got Airbnbs to split the cost of staying overnight. Grant and Jayme, Duke and Shannon, and Ella Mae and I are all sharing a four bedroom house. Ella Mae and I will have our own separate rooms, and the married couples will take the other two bedrooms.
Ella Mae has two full suitcases and a hot pink bedazzled backpack sitting on the porch when I drive up—for our two and a half day weekend away. I chuckle and run my hand over my beard as I walk up to greet her.
“We’re going for two days, not two weeks,” I say with a taunting tone.
I really don’t care how many bags she packs, but I love poking fun at her, and I think she enjoys it as much as I do.
“I have to accessorize, Soldier. And stop running your hand over your beard. It’s too much of a tease. If you don’t want me touching it, you don’t get to touch it either.”
