Going All In

by Cassandra Carr

  Once again, he was rewarded with the sounds of her laugh, but this time, she leaned against him as she did so. “What, you have blades on your dress shoes?”

  “What?” he wondered, confused as they continued along the street.

  She shook her head, and he felt the softness of her hair against his jawbone. “I have a close friend who’s a really good skater, but you wouldn’t know it because without blades on the bottom of her feet, she falls at the first signs of ice.”

  He laughed, grinned and pointed. “Well we don’t have to worry about falling, at least not now.”

  Her eyes were focused, full of questions. “Why?”

  He gestured towards the wooden door with his free hand. “Because we’re here. Welcome to The Elk” And without looking at the expression on her face, he pushed it open.

  Chapter Four

  Melanie looked through the door, seeing the stone walls, wooden floors and polished bar. She wasn’t sure what to expect of a place where ‘Emo’ Emerson would come to find a bit of relaxation, but then again, he’d probably be surprised what qualified to her as a calming spot.

  “Christopher!”

  A guy who looked to Mel like he was in his early forties, with a bald head and focused eyes, headed towards them. “What are you doing here tonight? You did the books already…and I thought you had that crazy shindig earlier?”

  Did the books…?

  But Chris shook his head; apparently he wasn’t going to elaborate. “Yeah, well, Bruce, y’know, totally crazy-ass. Didn’t stay for long.”

  “What?” A young woman with bright eyes came into the room. “You got your sorry arse in trouble already? Duude.” She shook her head, put her arm around the bald headed guy and looked at them. Despite herself, Melanie found herself relaxing. “And in trouble with her?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and she could see the humor in the young woman’s eyes. “Y’know how it goes, Sousa” he replied. “Woman who can kick some serious arse charges into battle like a gladiator, only her opponent isn’t necessarily prepared to fight a gladiator. Soo, I can’t help myself and well…”

  “You in trouble?” The older guy, Bruce, focused on her before turning back to him. She wondered what Chris had done to earn his watchful eye. “Though from the both of your expressions, you need a drink. What is it? On the house.”

  “Tequila shots. Three for each.”

  She bit her lip and looked at Chris, then at the small group of people watching them. “I don’t like tequila,” she said softly.

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Lemon drops.”

  Bruce stared at her. The woman, Sousa, gazed at her with frank appreciation.

  “What the hell’s a lemon drop?” Bruce asked, all New Yorker in his anger.

  Sousa rolled her eyes. “She wants vodka, sugar and lemons. She’ll match him as he goes with his salt and tequila.”

  Bruce shook his head. “I don’t believe this shit. Sucking sugar with a goddam vodka shot. Next she’ll be drinking fucking diet coke with Crown.”

  “Well, it’s what the lady wants, man.” Chris said, quiet, clear, and just very relaxed. She liked that.

  “So,” Sousa interjected, “go grab a corner and Bruce’ll bring your bottles, glasses, shakers and citrus fruits to you. Come on. Shoo.”

  “Shall we?” Chris asked her, a smile even in his eyes.

  And considering she felt like grinning from ear to ear, she nodded. “We shall.”

  *****

  Chris showed her to a wooden table in the corner, smiling at the expression on her face. “So what do you think?”

  “This is awesome,” she replied, with a look of amazement that warmed his heart. “How did you find this place?”

  “Sousa’s my sister’s best friend from high school. This was her brother’s dream, and she was a bored first year financial analyst when he died. So she went through with it.” And then he stopped talking, tapping his hand against the table. What was it that made him want to confess his secrets? What about her was it?

  But instead of shock, there was understanding in her eyes. “One of my college buddies, he did the same for his sister. He went to medical school, and his sister died during the middle of it. She’d been off saving the world for some humanitarian organization. He decided it was more important to save the world than to go into private practice, so he went off and joined Doctors Without Borders as soon as he could. He’s been running around ever since.”

  He smiled at her, wondering if there was anything he could say to that, but was stopped by Bruce’s arrival. The older man put the two bottles, six shot glasses, a bowl of sugar, a salt shaker, lemon slices and lime slices in front of them. “Enjoy,” he said. “And don’t drink too much.”

  He smiled back at his friend. “Thanks, man.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  And like that, Bruce was gone, leaving him with Melanie. And she looked adorable, happy, a bit of expectation in her smile.

  “So?”

  He grinned up at her, reaching to separate the different items Bruce had delivered. “I still don’t understand how you drink this,” he said, looking up at her, shaking his head. “I mean…well.” His hand encompassed the sugar and the lemon.

  “Tequila is disgusting,” she replied. And she was cute saying it.

  “No,” he replied, staring at the bottle of vodka he’d placed near the sugar and her lemons. “You’re doing vodka shots. That is disgusting.”

  “Gin shots are disgusting.” She shook her head, and went about the business of putting together her shot, pouring the vodka and licking her thumb in a way that made him hard before putting on the sugar. “Bottoms up,” she said. Then she downed the vodka in her glass and sucked on the lemon wedge in front of her. He tried not to think about what those same lips would feel like on his cock. “Lemon drops are not disgusting.”

  He tried to ignore her as he put his own shot together. Then he found himself concentrating on the burn of the tequila before focusing on the fact she’d said she’d had gin shots. “You’re crazy,” he exclaimed, before sucking on his lime. “Where the hell did you drink gin shots?”

  “Went to a conference in college,” she began, her laugh getting throaty, her eyes looking off to some faraway place. “Friends took me to this bar and ordered gin shots. I was so excited to be able to drink legally in college when I was a sophomore that I said yes…and then I realized I was drinking gin. It was awful.”

  He laughed, then looked closely at her. She’d gone to an American university, and there weren’t many, if any places she could’ve had a legal drink while there. He had to know, so he asked. “Where were you…I mean where did you make this unfortunate mistake?”

  “This bar called…Montaigne, I think?” She looked puzzled, even as he got excited. “Yes. Montaigne. It was in Montreal. Such an amazing city.”

  He grinned. “Spent three psychotic years there myself,” he answered. “Went to McGill for three years, so I know all too well about Montaigne, and the green beer at Peel pub.”

  “Oh my God!” It was excitement, not shock or surprise that altered her expression, and that made him happy. “That’s so cool. I wish I’d spent more time there. What did you study at McGill?”

  “Economics,” he said as he poured himself another shot. “Debated between a business degree and an economics degree, but went for the pure economics as opposed to the BCom.”

  “So what…brought you here after only three years?”

  “Played a really kick butt season with the hockey team, we had a CIAU championship and a scout came to visit me. He said you’re burning yourself out here, not doing what you could be.” He shook his head at the memory and drank the shot he’d poured. The tequila burned his throat, but he took a breath and held on before continuing. “Over a really good shawarma sandwich at this awesome hole-in-the-wall on Crescent, he told me that if I wanted to be an economist, that was great, but if I wanted to play hockey, now was the ti
me.”

  “And the rest is history?”

  He nodded, smiling. “Yeah. It is.”

  *****

  One hour turned to two, shots were drank, both his and hers, before Chris dragged her to another place he knew to get some food. “You’re gonna love this,” he’d told her, excitement in his eyes. “Something about this food soaks up the alcohol the best.”

  She nodded, let it happen, even as her heels languished in a bag in favor of the boots she’d bought on the street. They walked through the cobblestone streets of the village, to a place that had a blue flag with tons of fleur de lis hanging down from a dowel above the front door. She’d seen British places, French places, even drank at the Scottish bar on 46th street, but never saw anything like ‘La Poutinerie’.

  “What is this?”

  He grinned, and reached to lift her jaw closed. “This,” he said, “is where you can find the best smoked meat in the city. One of the guys on one of the other local teams missed it so much he stole his grandmother’s recipe and threw his lot in with someone who knew the business.”

  “That’s so cool,” she said, as he shouldered open the door.

  “Emerson!” An older man grinned in his direction. “I thought you did the books….”

  This place too? How many more people would say that?

  He shrugged in her direction. “The business guy got too involved in other things, and…well.”

  “A guy from Western Canada couldn’t resist the siren call of a Quebecker in trouble.” Then the older man turned to Melanie. “So you’re with him tonight?”

  He smiled, putting his arm around her. She was glad; it felt comfortable. “Yeah. We’re enjoying the city on a beautiful night.”

  “Well,” the older man replied, and if Mel listened closely, she could hear hint of a French accent in his voice. “Come sit down, there’s a table. The usual?”

  He nodded. “You want the best smoked meat this side of the Canadian border, and to share a poutine?”

  Melanie nodded back. She’d had a vague memory of something that might have been called ‘poutine’ from her brief stay in Montreal, but she’d been too chicken to try it then. Tonight, however, was supposed to be fun, so she’d let the chips—or fries in this case—fall as they would. “Yes. Whatever it is, it sounds great.”

  He grinned and guided her to a table, pulled out the chair and gestured. “Mademoiselle?”

  “Oh,” she batted her eyelashes, playing along in the moment as she sat down in her chair. Simpering was not her style, but she could try. “You are too kind, monsieur.”

  He laughed; she liked the sound. Maybe it was the time she was spending with him, but he was really starting to grow on her. But she had to know. “You can’t not do the economics too?”

  He blushed. For the first time that night, he blushed. “Yeah.” He looked down then back up at her, a shyness that he hadn’t shown before all over his face. “I can’t help myself. And I enjoy it…helping people. I have the training, well, not really, but I have the aptitude.” He stopped and looked at her “You don’t think that’s crazy. And I can’t believe I told you.”

  She shook her head. “I think that’s awesome. It’s amazing. And I’m glad you told me.”

  He almost shuddered. “I don’t tell people. I don’t…this isn’t…what I show anybody.” Then he closed up, turned away before looking back at her. As she was about to yell in protest, he took her hand and squeezed it, showing no signs of letting go. It was comfortable, and she liked it.

  That same feeling warmed her stomach with the arrival of the food. Plates filled high with sandwiches, and an amazing smell that came from a dish their waiter put at the center of the table.

  “Bon appétit.”

  “Merci bien, Martin.”

  His French accent was amazing, and his eyes twinkled as the older man slapped him on the shoulder. “Un petit chou?”

  “Cauliflower?” Mel found herself interjecting. “Um…”

  “The crazy Quebeckers,” Chris replied, embarrassment coloring his cheeks again. “They use the term ‘little cauliflower’ to mean ‘significant other.’”

  “Aaaah.” She nodded, then looked down at her fingers. Significant other? Him? Yet? Um. Not really.

  “Sorry you asked?”

  The surprise, and maybe hurt, in his eyes was shocking. She hadn’t expected her reaction to being called his girlfriend only hours after meeting him, to mean that much. “No,” she replied. “Not really. Just, well. Yeah.” Because really? This was too fast. Whether it was the alcohol, the companionship, the lust she felt deep down at the pit of her stomach, or the fact that he understood her? She didn’t care. It was moving too quickly for her tastes.

  *****

  Chris could do this. He was surprised how easily he could be calm with her. Yeah, it would be difficult, but fuck, he hadn’t…this hadn’t happened to him in ages. He hadn’t found someone who made him feel like this in a very long time. And she looked bright, happy, gorgeous.

  Nervous. Even as they brought the poutine and the plates piled high with smoked meat sandwiches, he could see the fear in her expression. “Hey,” he said, putting his hand out to cover hers. “It’s just a snack. We’re fine. Right?”

  She nodded, and he could see her shoulders relax. “Right. Sorry.” And then she looked at him, as if she could see right through him. “You really don’t bring people here.”

  He shook his head. He had to be honest. “No, not really. I mean they’re public places and people go. But not with me. They’re my places. People who I trust own them. Which means, you know, for five minutes I can relax.” He took a bite of his sandwich and enjoyed the taste of the meat and the bread on his tongue, then swallowed. “I hope you’ve been able to as well.”

  She suddenly covered her mouth; she’d taken a bite of the poutine and the cheese was dangling from her lips. He wanted to use his tongue to take it off, but he didn’t think she’d react well. Instead, he smiled, let her eat and concentrated on his own food.

  But his fascination with the cheese dangling from her lips continued, and so he resorted to taking a long swallow of the glass of ice water Martin had put on the table for him. No luck.

  “This,” she interjected, as he took a bite of his sandwich, “is so good. Oh my god.”

  He smiled around his sandwich. “Glad you like it. One of my favorite things.”

  “Tequila shots and hockey on ice, cheese fries with gravy and smoked meat on rye.”

  “Saskatchewan winters that melt into spring,” he sang, happily yet badly. “These are a few of my favorite things.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “This is awesome.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “This is pretty great.”

  And it really was. Through the ride in the hired car she called because he’d driven them down and afterwards, as they walked, hands entwined, in the cool night air to her apartment.

  “You know,” she said as they headed into the building, “I had a good time.”

  He nodded. “I did too.” And then he looked at her. “I want to do it again.” His heart stopped beating in the moments he waited for the answer. He hoped, didn’t want to push, just hoped. Wished. Maybe…

  “Me too,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

  He grinned and put his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t move away, didn’t stiffen. “A kiss?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  His lips touched hers and, all of a sudden, it went from soft and sweet to boiling in sixty seconds. Her tongue met his. She opened to him. He lost all control, taking her in, hands down her back, hers up his. The sudden feeling, the sudden need burst through his brain. All sense of propriety was gone, all sense of time was gone, all sense of who he was supposed to be flew out the window. There was only her, her lips on his, and the fact he didn’t want the moment to end. Ever.

  But it did. She pulled back, leaving him wanting…something. He closed his eyes, trying to bring him
self back from oblivion. But the expression on her face when she broke the kiss, however, brought him back down to earth really quickly. He didn’t know what he’d do if she denied the way it felt.

  *****

  Melanie was incredulous, surprised. Like this wasn’t serious, couldn’t be serious with a man like him. And yet… Her heart was pounding against her chest, and she felt lost now that she’d broken the kiss. “This isn’t real,” she said, trying to make sense of the situation.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Imaginary. A moment out of time. Take your pick…”

  His words were dripping with sarcasm and she bristled. “This doesn’t happen to me,” she responded, the words stark against the moment. “It doesn’t,” she insisted.

  “No. Only in those bodice rippers you write.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. And I’m sure you prefer to spend your time fucking some puck bunny…who just happens to be somebody else’s sloppy seconds.”

  “Jeez.” He stopped, his eyes wide, his hands dropping from her shoulders. “I was just kidding.”

  She glared at him. “Well, so was I.”

  “You didn’t have to be so nasty about it. You know better.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And so should you. If you don’t want stupid stereotypical bullshit thrown at you, don’t throw it at me.”

  He didn’t step away, didn’t hide behind the ‘it’s not the same.’ Simply nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice solemn, his eyes not meeting hers. “No excuse would make that make sense.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll take that. Because, well…” She trailed off because the intensity of his gaze almost knocked her over.

  “Yeah,” he said, filling in the silent space with words. “Because this is real.”

  She grinned back at him, even as she noticed that the first few rays of sun were coming through the lobby window. “It’s also getting real late.”