Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 6

I quietly slink out of the bathroom and up to the bar to pay my tab. I manage to flag down the bartender and gesture the signing of a check with a thumbs-up when I see that he's got it.

"Cutting out early?" It's freaking Mark again. I quietly pray to the California God - the Universe - to please give me a fucking break.

"Like a bat out of hell."

"Didn't you just finish a double?" He looks me up and down. "There's no way you're not a lightweight."

"I feel fine," I snap. My go-to with guys that I like is to be meaner than a stepped-on rattlesnake. It's worked out well for me so far.

Not.

The bartender sets the check and a pen in front of me.

"Eight bucks?" I say out loud, astounded. "That's like, free."

Mark laughs and the bartender is puzzled by my reverse sticker shock. I quickly add a tip and sign the check. I shove my wallet back into my purse and dig for my keys, bumping into dudes that smell like beer and farts while I beeline for the door.

I push through the door and into a wall of water.

The rain. Oh, how I miss the rain.

Within seconds I am soaked to the bone. Ohio weather is my absolute favorite. I miss the seasons with the summer storms and winter snow, the fall chill and the spring flowers. Transitions that punctuate the passing of time.

There are so many things I love about LA, but our "75 and sunny" rep is highly overstated. Our seasons are smog, fire, wind and fire, and winter months when locals wear parkas and tourists wear tank tops. The ocean is too cold to swim in and there's too much irony to being located next to the largest body of water in the world and also in a perpetual water crisis.

I shiver and wrap my arms around myself. It's October and the rain is freezing. I feel a hand snatch keys out of mine and I look up to see Mark jingling them at me.

I frown. "What are you doing?"

"I don't think you should drive home yet," he says.

I roll my eyes. "I had one drink!" Even as I say it, I can feel the slight buzzing behind my eyes. Double rum on an empty stomach is catching up to me fast.

He arches a single eyebrow.

"Fine," I say, shrugging my defeat. "But I'm not going back in there."

He grins and motions for me to follow him to the parking lot. He pulls a key fob out of his pocket and nearby car lights blink. He drives a Honda Accord because of course he does.

"Number one car in America," I snark as I get into the car.

"Gets me from point A to point B," he responds. It's a dad answer, and all I can think is that he needs to get the fuck out of Ohio. Ohio pushes out dorky dads faster than the Kardashians push out babies.

"What qualifies you as DD?" I ask him, suddenly aware that he was just in a bar with high school classmates, too.

"Half a beer," he says. He starts the car and pulls out of the parking space. Raindrops hit the windshield in a perfect rhythm that makes my eyes lull. Best sound ever.

"Are you a serial killer?" I ask suddenly. My brain is starting to heat up. Fucking rum. "Is a jogger going to find my body in the woods behind Keller Park two weeks from now?"

He shoots me the side-eye. "That's vivid."

"As a kid, did you ever melt roadkill flesh in vats of acid in your basement so you could keep the bones?"