Reviews for Elle Keaton

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Charley raises an eyebrow. “So, coffee guy…”“His name is Arnie.”

“Coffee guy to me, until he decides to learn my name.”

“I like him, Charley.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know a little. He’s maybe a year or so younger than me, he graduated from a high school in north Seattle, and he has a degree in data science.” I can online stalk as well as anyone.

And, even though it was ages ago, I remember what it was like to be with Arnie, how good he felt in my arms, and how horribly disappointed I was when the police arrived and broke up the party. My one and only rebellious act; I’d been grounded for an entire year.

“First of all, I don’t want to know how you found that out—but still, second of all, you don’t really know him.”

I sigh but nod, because it’s true. “But I want to get to know him.” How do I get to know someone who seems to hate me? And who my dad is certain to despise.

As if reading my mind, Charley says, “Your dad will hate him. I suppose there’s not a better reason to date the guy.”

Andrew will hate Arnie. And he won’t be polite about it. If the two ever meet, my dad will take one look at Arnie and immediately know how much he makes, where he buys his clothing, how much he has in savings—and that information will leave Andrew cold. As he puts it, he doesn’t mind much that I’m gay, but I should date in my socio-economic zone.

I glance across the table. Charley is watching me closely. I sigh again. “Maybe if I manage to date Arnie, my dad will get so angry he fires me and forgets I exist?” I hadn’t considered that angle before. It was a possibility.

“There’s always hope. Have you come up with a strategy?”

“Not anything more than to keep going into the Buzz when he’s working until he gives me some sort of sign—or gets a restraining order.”

“Hmm.” Charley sips at his drink while he considers my problem.

While Charley plots, our food arrives. We eat silently, both lost in thought. This is one of the things I appreciate most about Charley: he never cares that I’m not super chatty and don’t always have something to say. We’re very opposite personalities, but we mesh. I only wish we were remotely attracted to each other; it would solve a lot of my troubles. My dad may not approve of Charley on a personal level, but his family has even more money than ours.

“Okay,” Charley says. “I’ll drop by the Buzz a couple more times with you, mostly so I can rile him up—it’s fun.” He laughs. “And then I think you need to fly on your own. See if you can catch him coming in for his shift, or even better, getting off work. Then just talk to him. Don’t let yourself get in your own way.”

“I’m really bad at talking,” I remind him.

“But you’re not,” Charley says. “You just need to break the ice.”

Somehow, I think Charley’s idea of breaking the ice is different from mine.