by Messe, Ellie
My adrenaline is racing from when I thought he was going to mug me; I can feel my knees wobble with each step. No matter, the streets get busier in a couple of blocks- a small scream escapes my lips when a loud clatter rings out from the alley to my right.
I spin to face my certain death when a cat scrambles across my feet; its panicked claws tearing across exposed skin as it tries escaping the aluminum lid that’s still spinning on its side.
“Logan!” I turn, hoping he’s still on the street somewhere.
Rubbing my forehead, I try to steady my breathing as his hooded frame turns around, “Sure.”
I hike my shoulders up in a nonchalant shrug even though my nerves are shot, my skin is clammy, and my pulse beats frantically against my neck.
“Yeah?” He doesn’t move towards me, so I walk briskly back in his direction.
“Yeah, why not?”
The corner of his mouth tips up, “Where to?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thanks to the cat who clawed my feet to shit I’m able to focus on the sting of my flesh rather than the uncomfortable silence of the diner.
A plump woman in a red apron ushers us to an empty booth before scurrying off the way we came. Logan stands while I slide into the worn leather bench before taking a seat on the opposite side.
Scooping the menu off the rack, I flip it open ready to order everything in sight.
“What does one order from an establishment such as this?”
I don’t raise my head from the menu as I answer. “Food.”
“Very good.” He chuckles, plucking a menu for himself. “Anything you recommend?”
“Never been here before.”
Our waitress returns, running her hands over the pockets of her apron before grabbing her pad.
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the double diner burger with everything, loaded french fries, a chocolate shake and a coke, please.”
She nods, turning to Logan who’s busy staring at me, a small smile begins to form on his lips, “I’ll have the same.”
Turning on her heels, she quietly retreats as I take his menu and place is back on the rack.
“That’s a lot of food.”
“With any luck it will be.”
My fingers tap against the sticky surface of the table while my eyes wander around the bare establishment. Everything is themed to have that 1950’s feel with large classic car prints, checkered flooring, and red upholstery. They even have one of those countertop jukeboxes on the counter of the wrap around bar.
“You look festive tonight.”
I don’t know why I glance down at my dress; I know what I’m wearing. Still, my eyes travel over the rhinestone bodice and flowing skirt. Raising my head I offer a tight-lipped smile; I look like a joke. “It was Amy’s idea. They were offering free drinks at one of the bars to anyone who dressed up. I’m surprised you noticed her in that mask.”
He chuckles lightly, “Well when she came barreling into the men’s restroom with her date, I have to admit it took me a moment to place her.”
I hide my snort under my palm, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“It was quite comical, actually. I’ve never been witness to something like that before.”
“Hang out with her long enough; nothing will surprise you,” I say, pulling back to give the waitress room to set our drinks down.
Placing my straw into my shake, I take a long pull.
“Your order will be up shortly.”
“Thank you.” Logan smiles, delicately unwrapping his straw.
“You look out of place,” I observe.
“How so?”
“Well, the way you’re sitting for one, all straight-backed and constipated.” He cracks a smile, letting his shoulders sag half an inch, “And you’re undressing your straw like you plan on keeping the wrapper.”
“And how does one properly unwrap a plastic straw?”
Collecting my secondary straw, I pinch the center and pull, separating the paper in two before dunking it into my cola. “Like that.”
His smile grows, “I hadn’t realized there was proper straw etiquette. You have my sincerest apologies.”
I bow my head, “Apology accepted.”
He chuckles, and I loathe the fact I enjoy the deep tone of it so much. Perhaps Amy's right, maybe I've just been in a man-hating mood, Logan’s not so bad.
“So, what are you doing out in East Village?”
“What if I live here?”
“We both know you don’t. If you did, you’d know how to open a straw. I’d guess you live in the Upper East Side.”
He smiles with amusement, “You’re not wrong.”
“I know.” That’s where all the rich people live, “So what pulled you to East Village not one but two weekends in a row?”
“I enjoy the nightlife here; it’s an entirely different world from what I’m used to.”
“Champagne and tuxedos get boring for you?”
“Bourbon is more my style.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s real rough living on the top of the world like that.” I smile to let him know I’m only kidding.
“Well, the air is thinner up there.” He shrugs which seems so out of place with his rich-bitch haircut and a well-trimmed beard. “Sometimes it’s nice to slip down here and fill my lungs.”
“Playboy millionaire who enjoys speed dating and bar hopping.” I quirk an eyebrow, “I smell rebellion against the family business. Do you enjoy crashing your car and tabloid scandals?”
“Only on Sundays.”
I laugh, “Sundays are when I like to get blind drunk and beat Amy.”
“Ah, see.” He points at me, “We all have our outlets.”
My smile remains in place as the waitress sets our plates down. It smells divine. You know when you’re about to eat a damn good burger when grease visibly seeps out of your patty.
“Are you going to be able to finish that?”
“Yup.” Spinning my plate in a circle, I admire the feast I’m about to consume as I speak, “Might even eat yours if you take too long.”
He chuckles like I’m kidding. With a shrug, I pick up my enormous burger, taking a very impolite bite. Oh, this is heaven! I’m still chewing when I force another massive bite, finding room for two fries while I’m at it.
I nearly spit across the table when an involuntary laugh takes ahold of me. Logan is perched in front of me, cutting his burger into pieces with utensils looking like the Queen of England.
“What the hell are you doing?” I say around my mouthful. “It’s a burger, not some fancy steak, pick it up and eat it.”
Washing the half-chewed food down with my coke, I continue to stare in disbelief.
“I have facial hair.” He says by way of explanation.
I laugh, “And?”
“Do you know how hard it is to wash the grease out? I have no plans of smelling like a slaughterhouse for the duration of my evening.”
I chuckle again, shoving my face into my food. I have no such reservations. If I smell like a slaughterhouse, I’ll just remember how amazing this food was.
Cleaning my plate in record time, I set it on the edge of the table to be picked up, drawing the remains of my shake in front of me while Logan continues with his half-eaten plate.
“Were we racing?” He asks, eyeing my plate.
“Nope.” Reaching forward, I steal one of his fries and dunk it into my shake.
He chuckles, pushing his plate forward, “I’m impressed.”
“You should see me at a buffet, now that’s impressive.”
“You’re telling me you’re capable of eating more?”
“I could finish your plate and still have room for pie.” Oh, pie.
Grabbing the menu, I flip it over to the dessert section.
“I know grown men who can’t eat that much.”
“And that’s why I’m your most impressive friend.” Blueberry or Cherry, they both sound di
vine.
“Oh, so we’re friends now?”
“Sure.” Raising my hand, I grab our waitress’ attention.
“I thought I was, ‘that arrogant guy.’”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been upgraded. Can I get a slice of blueberry pie?” I ask the waitress who nods and disappears.
“What instigated the promotion?”
“I find you amusing.”
“How so?”
“You cut your burger into little bite-sized pieces,” I shrug.
He laughs outright, “What will it take to get a second date?”
“A first would be helpful.”
He smiles, and I catch my mistake. That was meant to imply we weren’t on a date, not an invitation to ask. “Go to dinner with me.”
“No, thank you.”
He deflates lightheartedly, “Why not?”
“Because I’m spoken for.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.” I jut out my chin.
“You forget we met at a speed dating event.”
“I was dragged there by Amy.”
“Where was this significant other tonight?”
Probably six inches deep in little Miss Author. “We’re..”
“Lies aren’t kind.”
“I never lie,” I state in defense.
“Everyone lies.”
“Not me. I simply reword things to be less harsh, but I never lie.”
He squares his shoulders in challenge, “Are you currently in a relationship?”
“Yes and no, it’s difficult to answer that.”
“Explain it then.”
“We never formally broke up.”
“Ah.” He purses his lips to cover his smile. “So he walked out.”
“No.” I glare, “I was the one who left.”
He holds his reply until the waitress drops the plate in front of me.
“If you were the one to leave, I’m confused how you would still be in a relationship.”
“Cole made a mistake. I’m waiting for him to come to his senses and apologize.”
“What was the mistake?”
“None of your business.”
“Dodging and lying go hand in hand you know.”
“I’m not dodging. His discretions aren’t up for public conversation.”
“Are you suggesting we move this to a less public area?” He asks with a wolfish grin. “Say, my place?”
“Absolutely not,” I answer in horror.
“I hear revenge is sweet.” He quips, wiping the table with his napkin.
“Revenge is poison.”
He shrugs, “Merely making a suggestion.”
“I won’t throw away a five-year relationship just to get even.”
“So he cheated.” It’s not a question.
“What makes you think that?”
“Your choice of words. You said to get even, not revenge.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Was it because you’re boring?”
Defensive anger builds in my stomach, “I’m not boring.”
“If you aren’t, why was he looking?”
“He wasn’t ‘looking,’ it just happened.”
He laughs as my anger starts to boil over, “Honey, that’s always the excuse.”
“How would you know?” I seethe, standing up.
Thankfully my anger is enough to numb the scorching pain of my thighs. Fairly certain I left a layer of skin back on the booth seat. God, I hate dresses.
Marching up to the counter, I wave a twenty at the waitress and lay it on the bar counter before storming out of the restaurant.
The chill of the night assaults my face as I exit, stepping off the ledge I try to put as much distance between me and that asshole as I can before the bell above the door sounds.
“What if I could help you get him back?”
My stride falters at his words.
Slowly I turn to face him, “And why would you do that?”
“You said it yourself; we’re friends.”
I scoff, “Friends don’t ask what you did to cause someone else to cheat.”
He closes the gap between us as he speaks, “Everything I’ve heard leads me to believe he isn’t worth the time, with that being said, I’m still willing to help you get him back.”
“And how would you be able to do that?”
“Simple, I teach you how to master the art of dating.”
“The art of dating? Yeah right, that’s not even a thing.”
“The art of dating is where you trick someone into dating you without them knowing. You dangle something they can’t have right in front of their face and watch as they fall unknowingly into your web.”
“And how do you plan on dangling me in front of his face? He knows he can have me.”
“Which is why we take you off the market, make him question it.”
“What, like a pretend relationship?”
“No, that would be lying. The art is to manipulate the situation, make him perceive an innocent event into something much bigger. Allow his mind to become his enemy.”
“He knows me too well; he’d never believe I’d move on.”
“That’s why we’re going to remake you.”
My head automatically pulls back, “Remake me?”
He nods once, “I’m going to make you the ultimate prize. He’ll be crawling back on his hands and knees before your birthday.”
“You’re going to accomplish this before May?”
“Before my birthday.” He smiles, easing some of my tension.
“He’ll never buy it. You haven’t seen the girl he’s with.”
“No, but I’ve seen you.”
I roll my eyes, “He’ll never go for it.”
“A bet then?”
“No way. I’m not betting my relationship.”
“Just hear me out.” He groans like I’m the most difficult person he’s ever talked to.”If he isn’t crawling back by Thanksgiving, you have to go on a date with me.”
“I’m not betting.”
“When he comes crawling back, all you have to do is buy me dinner.”
“I’m. Not. Betting.”
“Wuss.” He smiles.
“I am not a wuss.”
“Sure about that? You’re kind of acting like one, big time.”
“Logan.”
“Prove you’re not a wuss, then. Accept the bet.”
I growl, looking down the street, catching the attention of a cab. I hate being challenged, “Fine. Whatever, deal.”
A triumphant smile seals the deal, “May I see your phone?”
“Why?”
“To exchange phone numbers.”
Slowly, I offer my phone forward.
After he enters his information he accesses the dial pad, a moment later an audible vibration escapes his pocket.
“Well, Miss Anderson. It was a pleasure.”
“You remember my last name?”
The corner of his lip raises once again, “You remembered mine. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Wait,” I freeze, clasping the chilly yellow door handle, “Do you want to share a cab?”
“That won’t be necessary.” As if on cue, a shiny black car approaches the curb. “Goodnight, Devina.”
I give him a tight-lipped smile before climbing into the cab feeling like this could go really well or very, very poorly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thankfully, I arrived home before Amy and was able to avoid her onslaught of questions by pretending to be asleep when she came stumbling in. Also thankful when she spent all of yesterday nursing her hangover, and had very little to say other than an occasional grunt or vow to never drink again.
As I conclude another chapter of the manuscript I’m editing, I say a silent prayer that she stays asleep until the last available moment before rushing to get ready for work. I don’t think she’d judge me necessarily, but I do believe she’ll blow this arrangement with L
ogan entirely out of proportion, and I don’t need any more reason to back down.
I’ve been debating canceling on and off since I received his text this morning instructing me to arrive at an attached address today at one. It’s nearing half past eleven, and I still haven’t made up my mind.
If he can do what he claims, then I win. But, if he doesn’t, I look like a stage five clinger who can’t take a hint that her ex-boyfriend doesn’t want her. That or he could be some murderer, and this whole thing could turn Hannibal Lecter real fast. Speaking of that, I need to pick up lotion today.
Pulling a notebook off the coffee table, I rip a piece of paper out and quickly jot down some things we need.
“Hey.” I jump at Amy’s gravelly voice.
“Gah, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” She smiles, scrubbing the side of her head with her acrylic nails.
“I’m going to run to the store and pick some stuff up. Need anything?”
“A higher alcohol tolerance. I still feel like shit.”
“Alright, but only if it’s on clearance.”
She smiles, turning on the coffee machine. “I’m going to go take a shower, you gonna be here when I get out?”
“Probably not. I’m going to finish this chapter and head out.”
“Alright. I’ll text you if I think of anything.”
“Have a good day at work, dear.” I smile.
“Bite me.”
I smile at my lap while folding my shopping list.
I debate finishing my current chapter like I planned but find my stomach in knots. Some fresh air will help, I’m sure.
Collecting my coat from the dining room chair, I check to make sure I have my keys before exiting into the hall. I miss the elevator at my old apartment, and the telecom to let people in. Granted, I never really used it other than takeout, but the idea of it is still cool. When I first moved in, I remember Amy and I took turns riding the elevator to buzz each other in like we were twelve. Funny how such irrelevant things stay with you the longest.
Crossing the street, I count my blessings that I’m not run over by a car or bicyclist on my way down to the corner store. I take my time walking up and down each isle to avoid bumping into Amy. I recall Logan saying dodging and lying went hand in hand and hate that I feel like he might be right. If I tell Amy and decide not to go, then I’ll never hear the end of it, on that same note if I tell her and go then she’ll be blowing up my phone the entire time and grill me when I get home. I’d rather decide with a clear head and then fill her in after the fact. It’s perfect logic, but I still feel like the world’s worst best friend.