Page 83 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
I let out a muffled scream.
“But you like her?” I hear Alistair ask, overloud.
“I like Ellie a lot, yes,” Ian says, a self-conscious laugh in his voice.
My heart skips. I turn my head in his direction, peeking over my arms. That half smile of his hooks the corner of his mouth, and I prop my chin in my hands, wildly curious about what’s inspired it.
Alistair’s uncovered one of his ears. “Rad. Who made the first move?”
I bury my head again.
“Ellie!” Diego calls. “The comment section thinks that was very incriminating.”
I growl. The comment section can eat me.
“It was fairly synchronous,” Ian says. “But I had it bad for her early on.”
Oh?I risk another peek. He’s still smiling, but it’s different. Sweeter. Soft.
“Like, when she came to Firehouse the first time?” Diego asks.
“More like… twelve hours before that? I went into the bathroom at your place, and there was the ‘whole-ass woman’ Alistair had told me was looking to move in. All he said was that she liked cheese, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.
“She was…” He’s smiling. Smiling so much, in fact, that the mask bunches over the rise in his cheeks. It’s only when I feel the tape tugging against my face that I realize that I’m smiling, too.
“Regal,” he concludes.
“Regalis a good word for Ellie,” says Diego. “Ah! And Babs says thatsmittenis a good word for both of you! Oh, that’s so sweet! This is getting so many hearts!”
“And these are gonna be sick!” Alistair cheers, pointing at the arrangement of fully assembled chalupas on the plate in front of him. He finished the entire batch. Sneaky. “Let’s air fry these up!”
We relieve ourselves of our self-imposed handicaps to eat, and after we’ve expressed an appropriate amount of enthusiasm for the chalupas, which are, as per Alistair’s prediction, indeed sick, Diego signs off. While I did avoid the comment section for theremainder of the stream, I appreciate that there is nothing further from my roommates on the subject of whatever it is Ian and I are “doing.” Classic Dawghouse.
At least, not until after we’ve cleaned up and the guys start to head out. Diego smiles at me, then peeks down the stairwell, which Ian and Grant headed down to load up the equipment Grant brought over. “Ellie, if Built Box thinks more of you and Ian would be good for numbers, would you be up for it? Viewers werereallyresponsive.”
“Take your leftovers,” I say, pointedly shoving a to-go container into his chest. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Oh!” A hint of his fuck-with-you face slips in. “Asleepover?”
“Goodnight,” I say, and he descends, grinning.
Alistair steps up, his eyes on the floor, then he tugs his headphones around his neck. “Uh, sorry if I blew it for you guys.”
I wave off the apology. “It was going to come out eventually. I’m more interested inIvan Illych. Why?”
“It’s recommended reading for med students. Like, to help see patients as actual people? I dunno. Have you read it?” I nod, and he tosses up his hands. “Do we ever find out what’s killing this guy? It’s driving menuts!”
“It’s been a while, but…” I think back. “What if it’s less about what’s killing him, and more about how he’s being treated, and how he comes to terms with his impending death?”
“Huh.” He frowns thoughtfully, which is a new look for him. His eyes widen. “Oh! Shit, I’ll have to start this all over again.” He sighs, tugging the headphones back over his ears. “Hey!” he shouts, and jogs down the stairs. “I’m gonna walk home! For more book time!”
I leave the door open in anticipation of Ian’s return, then move farther into the apartment. I eye the window beside Ian’s bookshelf, which overlooks Tom’s porch next door. I edge closer, peering into the dark. I haven’t dared look at my phone. Heather and Mark will have left who knows how many texts decrying my betrayal—and reminding me that I owe Mark twenty bucks—and I’m sure Helen and Babs have more thoughts than they shared in the chat.
Ian’s steps sound on the stairs, and he comes back in, a wry smile on his face. “They ambushed me,” he says, joining me at the window. “They’re very protective of you. Diego demanded to know what myintentionsare.”
“If you saidpure, I’m going to be very disappointed,” I say, papering over the opportunity for that conversation.
His responding rumble is enough to distract me from my guilt. “How’s your mouth after taking off that tape?”
