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And the flirting! I used to think Eli flirted because I was in hissafecategory. But it feels very different now. This doesn’t feel like general friendly flirting. Starting sometime last night, his flirting switched gears. It feels real. Arrow-sharp, aimed right at me with a precise eye and steady hand.
His previous flirting was like child’s play. Junior level. Now, I’m getting his A-game, and he’s playing to win. I can’t even begin to keep up. The number of things that have changed in the last twelve hours is dizzying.
Guess I better get used to all of this. Eli showing up out of the blue. Holding my hand. Nicknames. Flirting with me. Even if it’s for show.
Which it is, right? A show?
The realization immediately pops the bubbles of happiness fizzing up inside me. Then he smiles at me again, sending a whole new wave of effervescence through me.
Oh, who cares why. Eli is here and smiling at me, and I’m going to just bask in it.
No, I decide.Basking is not enough.
I’m going to be like Roscoe, the toothless dog with the nasty attitude who, just today, saw a sunny patch of grass and went for it. He dove and rolled and shimmied on his back, tongue hanging out with the pure enjoyment of the moment.
Only when Roscoe finally got back on his feet and shook off did I realize he’d been rolling on a dead bird. (What is it about dogs wanting to roll on dead things?)
This comparison is officially crowned the very worst of all the analogies I haveeverthought up. It might even be the worst in the world, the most horrifically terrible analogy ever imagined.
Still—despite the dead bird and the fact that in this comparison, I’m the toothless dog rolling on it—I want to relish every moment with Eli with that level of enjoyment.
Dog on a dead bird enjoyment.
“Bailey?”
Eli’s voice startles me, and I realize my derailed thought train has left me standing here for an uncomfortable stretch of time. My cheeks burn, but he only looks amused.
I clear my throat. “Officially, you have to go through training. It’s minimal. But I might not have enough time today.”
“So,” Eli starts, a smile lifting one side of his mouth before moving to the other, “I’ll have to come back and see you again, then.”
“You will.”
If possible, Eli’s smile grows wider as he leans even further over the reception counter. If possible, my brain just exploded, leaving only a cloud of pink dust and tiny pieces of heart-shaped glitter.
“Do I get to be trained by you?”
“I usually handle that part, yes.”
“Then Idefinitelyneed training,” he says. “Lots of it. And Leelee?”
“Yes?”
If Eli leaned any farther over the reception counter, he’d fall in a heap at my feet. “I am averyslow learner.”
Volunteer training is the last topic I thought could make me twitterpated, but my heart is absolutely doing some twittering and pating. It feels about ready to leap out of my chest and straight into Eli’s arms.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” I tell him.
“I’ll happily prove myself to you.”
The way he says it, voice gravelly and firm, it sounds like a promise for something greater, something I really, really want.
Even though at face value, he’s promising to show me how slow he is at learning.
I shake my head, biting back a smile. “You’re kind of ridiculous. You know that?”
His smile doesn’t dim in the slightest. I think it actually jumps up in kilowatt usage. “Thank you.”
