Page 58 of New Growth
I exhaled, glancing toward the back of the club again. His gaze was already on me, waiting. My heart skipped a beat at the sight.
“Fine.”
I prayed to God for the confidence I had when I first walked in. But as I approached Elliot’s table, the reality of my prayers going unanswered again had set in. How crazy was it that I was walking up to a group of strangers to thank a man I hadn’t seen in over a week for bottles I hadn’t even asked for?
Still, I pushed forward, forcing the best fake smile I could manage.
Let’s just get it over with.
It was quieter back here, the section exuding an almost intimate dinner-party vibe—one I felt like I was interrupting. Still, when Elliot saw me approaching, his face lit up slightly. Standing at the edge of their section, I cleared my throat and addressed the group.
“Goodnight.”
“Ellie, hey!” El greeted. He moved over instantly, making room for me to sit, but I pretended not to notice.
“Guys, this is Elliot,” he introduced.
A wave of eyes swept over me, assessing. Suddenly, I regretted dressing like a slutty substitute teacher.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting your evening,” I added quickly, shifting on my heels.
“Not at all,” El said. “Have a seat. Please.”
He patted the spot beside him—the one he had so obviously cleared for me. There was no way to avoid it now, so I slid in next to him. Before my ass even hit the seat, the warm, spicy scent of his cologne wrapped around me. It was very intoxicating.
“How are you tonight, Elliot?” he asked, his voice low, gaze lingering on my patterned tights as I adjusted myself. The man once again had no problem openly checking me out.
“I’m good, Elliot. How are you?”
He took a slow sip of his drink before answering. “Feeling a little better now.”
Such a flirt.
El’s gaze softened when he spoke again. “It’s so nice to see you, Ellie.”
I swallowed. “It’s good to see you, too.”
He leaned back slightly, his arm resting casually on the booth behind me, careful not to make contact. “I wish I got the chance to see you sooner.”
I cringed internally, already dreading where this conversation could go. “I know, I just—”
Before I could respond, one of the men at the table, who was clearly drunk, swayed as he pointed a wobbly finger at me.
“You both are named Elliot,” he slurred. “That’s so funny.”
My eyes widened slightly.
Christ. Someone needed to cut him off. Immediately.
I shot El a concerned look.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “That’s Mike. He’s eloping in a week, so we’re throwing him a little farewell party.”
“I see,” I murmured, casting a glance at Mike, who was still giggling at his own observation.
Eager to turn the conversation away from her drunken mess of a friend, one of the women at the table cut in. “So, Elliot, how do you know our Elliot?”
I cleared my throat, grateful for the change of subject. “We met at a coffee shop.”
