“Can I get a martini?”
“Sure. What kind?”
“Surprise me.” Elle craned her neck to look around the restaurant and bar. “Is Troy in?”
“Mr. Saladino?”
Relief spread through Elle’s nerves with that simple clarification. Anyone who called him that was definitely not keeping his bed warm.
“Yeah. Mr. Saladino.”
“He’s in the kitchen. I can get him if you like.”
“I like,” Elle slurred before giggling. When she did, a small burp slipped out. “Ooh, excuse me.”
“No problem, I’ll get him in a sec.” The bartender finished mixing Elle’s drink, pouring a purple-infused martini into a glass and garnishing it with a maraschino cherry.
“Mmm.” Elle pressed the glass to her inviting lips, but was interrupted when a rough hand swiped the glass from her grip.
“I think you’re cut off. Mel, could you grab her some water?”
“Sure, Mr. Saladino.”
Elle stared, mouth agape, at Troy, who was clutching the glass protectively, covering the glass with the top of his hand, and clearly out of her reach.
Elle attempted to stand, but lost her footing slightly and bumped into the wood of the bar. “You. I was looking for you, Mr. Sal-a-dino.”
“You smell like a bottle of vodka.” Troy supported her elbow with his hand, easing her back onto her barstool. His hand lingered there until Elle, in a more-than-obvious fashion, stared down at his hand on her arm.
“I was out with Whitney.”
“I don’t know who that is.” Troy furrowed his brow.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, isn’t there, Mr. Saladino?”
“I guess so.” Troy’s voice was rough, but calm and collected despite the fact she made no qualms about her attempts to goad him. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Your bartender said it earlier. It’s cute.” She took her pinky finger and tapped the end of Troy’s nose. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a grin.
“Why are you here, Eleanor?”
Elle stood, wrinkled her nose, and placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t like when you call me that. You always call me Rigby.”
Troy looked away briefly, before making eye contact. “I was attempting to show you my serious side. Apparently, that isn’t working today.”
“Not really.” Elle giggled, then burped again. She covered her mouth up tight.
“You didn’t answer my question, by the way.”
“Oh.” Elle bit her top lip and scrunched her nose up tight. “What was that again?”
“Oh lord, you really are tanked.” Troy cleared his throat. “I asked you why you’re here.”
“I don’t know. I mean, my boyfriend, you met him way over there actually.” She pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “Well, he isn’t actually my boyfriend, but he was on some website all snuggly with the star of my show. They weren’t kissing or screwing or anything, but c’mon, it’s probably happening. I mean, it’s Gina and she does that sorta thing, and knowing her she’s doing it to get to me because of Whitney sleeping with Nolan. Can you believe that? I mean, it’s my show. And then I went out with Whitney and she went home with Mac and I just got a cab and here I am.” Her words came out in rambles, and she had no idea if he even understood half of what she said. She took a large sip of water and waited for Troy to respond. After several seconds, he finally did.
“Ah, I see.”
Troy took a large step back and his fingers pawed at the stubble on his chin. Even through her drunken haze, Elle knew what that meant. He was irritated with her. If only her brain would slow down enough for her to remember what she had just blurted out like a drunken maniac.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between us, if anything at all. And I know this is going to sound harsh, but I don’t mean it that way—”
“What do you mean? What way?” Elle interrupted.
“I’m not interested in being your second choice or your drunken booty call. I don’t want you coming here after fights with your boyfriend who’s not really your boyfriend. If you come here, do it because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Because you want me. And then, maybe there’ll be something for us to figure out.”
He placed the martini glass on the bar, far out of her reach, and walked in the other direction. Tears formed in Elle’s eyes as rejection collected in her gut. Troy’s rejection was the worst kind of rejection. She’d felt it before and the familiar sting was creeping through her body, pouring through her nervous system and paralyzing her heart.
“So that’s it? I put myself out there, and that’s all you have to say?”
“I’m not playing games with you. Not anymore. If this is your idea of putting yourself out there, then we don’t stand a chance anyway.” He hung his head and pursed his lips, rubbing the skin of his neck with his hand. “I’ll call you a cab. Go home, sleep it off. Hopefully you’ll have some clarity in the morning.”
“You’ll never forgive me, will you? This is all just . . . pointless, isn’t it?”
Troy’s chest rose and fell and Elle noticed moisture collecting in his eyes. “I don’t know. I really don’t. But this isn’t the answer and I think you know that.”
She nodded, tears streaming down her burning cheeks. “I’ll never forgive me either. I wish I could go back . . . every single day, I wish.”
Troy pulled her into his arms. Elle clutched the fabric of his polo shirt, sobbing into the tightly woven cotton. He smoothed her hair down to the tips, again and again until her breathing slowed, until her sobs lessened.
“C’mon, Rigby. I’ll take you home.”
When Elle awoke, the ceiling was spinning out of control. Her forehead and temples pounded in agony and the back of her mouth was as dry as bone. Ever so slowly, she eased herself to a seated position and recognized the clothes on her body as the ones she wore to the bar with Whitney. Her memory was fuzzy, but the note on her nightstand cleared up any uncertainty in her brain.
E–
I slept on the couch to make sure you’re okay.
Come down when you’re ready for coffee.
–T
Troy brought her home the night before. She vaguely remembered their interaction at his restaurant, and was hazy on the specifics of their conversation. She could only hope she didn’t embarrass herself terribly. There was only one way to find out.
After stopping in her bathroom to down two ibuprofen and a large glass of water, Elle washed her face, brushed her teeth, changed into fresh clothes, and walked downstairs. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she could smell coffee brewing and could hear the familiar tunes of the Beatles.
This, despite her hangover, was how Elle had always imagined waking up with Troy. Coffee and the Beatles. She couldn’t think of a better way to start the day. She took a deep breath before walking into her kitchen.