Under My Skin

Six

I immediately regretted my choice of footwear.

With every click of my ridiculously narrow stiletto heel, my calves burnt like wildfire. Before tonight I would've said that Ella Harrison don't do no running, yet there I was— galloping like Seabiscuit into the night of one of the more questionable parts of Sydney.

Who are you trying to kid with these shoes? My feet throbbed, a welcome distraction from the mental beating I gave myself.

What's wrong with you? A man shows a little bit of interest and you stick to him like shit on Velcro.

I breathed in gravel and saline. The long road to my car might as well of been interstate with the pitiful amount of ground I was making up. With the grace of a constipated duck, I slowed my gallop, to a waddle and barely passed Rico's parking lot threshold.

"Ella!" Eric's voice rumbled low like thunder.

As I looked back, I was treated to the majesty of his run. I'm telling you, that shit should've been illegal! It reminded me of a gazelle— long and purposeful strides closed the gap.

I couldn't believe he ran after me. This isn't some sort of romance movie, Runaway Bride scenario. Men don't chase women ... well, women like me, at least.

"Ella, wait!" He stops just before he makes contact. "Did I do something?"

Fuck! I didn't think this through.

As I looked into his eyes I wanted to trust him. He looked genuinely concerned, hands knitted in his locks. I wished it could've been so easy for me to confide in someone.

But I couldn't.

Because I have been hurt before.

Because I'm fucked up.

"Not at all, sugar," I purred, spitting the words out between laboured breaths. "Just didn't want you to get too comfortable." The heat rose in my cheeks the further i got into the BS. Bloody Judas blood cells.

His eyebrows peaked, creating a crease between them. His eyes seemed to scan me, reading me for the phoney I was. Eric took a step back, shaking his head. "There's a saying where I come from. Would you like to hear it?"

"Sure." I wrapped my arms around my torso. Like that would help.

"Ana ugglor i mossen. It means that there's owls in the woods." He remained still.

"And what does this flora and fauna lesson have to do with our current situation?" I curled my lips up, tilting my head. Fake it til you make it.

Eric took another step towards me and held his hand out. "It means you're not telling me the whole story, Ella. Something is not quite right here."

"Are all Swedes perceptive? Or are you just too bloody perfect?"

"On the contrary, I am very flawed." His shoulder's were squared, head slightly lowered. "You'll see."

You'll see? As in, he's not done with my crazy?

"I look forward to that," I whisper, before turning on my heel and making my way down the street, toward my Uber.

"Wait! We're not done here." He takes a few strides, easily surpassing and stopping me with those stilts-for-legs.

Although I'm embarrassed to admit it, I was enjoying the tease.

"It's way too late for me to be out. I might turn into a pumpkin before too long." The little, silver car pulled up just in the nick of time, saving me from myself. "You know where I perform."

"Just let me drop you home. Please." His jaw was set, as his eyes narrowed at the pimply teen that manned my ride. "I don't trust these new apps, and I just want to make sure you get home safe."

I scoffed. "Alright, Grandpa. But I've already paid for it." I looked him up and down. "Besides, surely you're in no position to drive! You drank just as much as I did."

"I guess Swedes just hold their liquor better." He smirked, then held his hand out.

"Bullshit," I said. But he was right. It was nothing short of a Christmas miracle that I'd remained upright.

Eric rolled his eyes and opened the back door. "Miss Harrison won't be needing transportation." He ruffled through his chest pocket and pulled a freshly printed hundred. "For your trouble."

"No problem, Sir." The boy shoves the note in his console and nodded. "So you're alright, Miss."

How sweet. Not that I think he would've done much if I'd said no. "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry for the trouble."

"Have a good night."

After Eric shut the door, the Uber zipped off into the night.

We walked in silence. The city seemed to boom on compensation. Train calls chirped in the distance, informing the patrons of late-night delays. The sound of shattering glass with a few choice words slung in made my stomach flip, gripping onto Eric's inviting hand. I hope the dickheads aren't too close.

"Almost there," he cooed, walking slightly ahead of me. "And are you going to tell me what I did?"

"What makes you think it was you?"

"Your face, Ella." He fished the keys out and unlocked a silver SUV, not looking at me once. "The moment my hands got to your skirt, you yelped."

Jesus. He knows.

"I—" my throat closed up, only allowing incremental amounts of air through. My extremities twitched as ice flowed through molten veins.

Eric tightened his grip, but didn't come closer. "No more, I promise."

What?

He lead me slowly, opening the car door. He never let go.

My knees shook as I lugged myself on the passenger side. When these incidents crept up, people usually responded with one of two drastic measures. One: they backed away and distances themselves, like I had the bubonic plague, or two: smothered me with their well-intentioned, but practically crippling physical affection.

He stood beside me, holding my hand. The guy was there, but gave me space. "Let's take a minute, then I can drive you home. Yes?"

I nodded.

"Have you got work tomorrow?"

I nodded.

"No problem." He lets go of my hand, and walked to the other side of the car. He hopped in the driver's seat and held his hand out once more.

I took it.