Drunk Dimples Done

The elevator doors slide open and I half carry a stumbling Harry towards them. His arm is slung around my shoulder and he is supporting most of his weight by himself but something tells me that he is purposely leaning on me just to mess around. We step onto the elevator together which shifts a bit under our feet with the new weight added. I push him to the back, up against the wall so that he can lean on his own. There is someone already on the elevator—a woman in her late thirties/early forties. She looks at us, the new intruders on the elevator with her, and a look of shock crosses her features for a second. I’m sure she registers who he is, but she doesn’t say anything. Her mouth closes again and watches the shit-show that is Harry.

Harry spots one of our friends inside the hotel lobby. His face lights up and begins to form the words of greeting—trying to get them to join us on the elevator but no. I am done for tonight and so is he. He pushes off the wall but I place my hand firmly on his abdomen and press him back to his position.

“Heeey…” His head swivels down to look at me. He tries to get out more complaint but he spots my face. He has the wits about him to see that I am not a happy camper. I glower back up at him, my lips in a hard line. His face slowly cracks into a half smile. He can’t help but do this. Whenever I’m mad or annoyed at him, he is the type to try to make me laugh because he knows he can—especially when he is drunk but I’m not.

“Let’s get upstairs,” is all I say as the doors close behind us. Harry and I continue to stare each other down— one smiling, one unsmiling. The woman on the elevator with us breaks the tension by clearing her throat and saying, “Um, what floor?”

I don’t want to intentionally come off as a bitch to a complete stranger so I drop my angry mask and turn my dazzling, movie star smile towards her

“12, please.” I say. She nods and presses the button. My eyes return to the front of the elevator doors, hoping that this will be a silent elevator ride. I was wrong.

“So what’s life like up on 16?” Harry says.

What the fuck? What is he talking about?

I turn to give him an odd expression, but I follow his gaze. He is staring at the back of the woman’s head.

“What do you mean?” I snap at him. His glassy eyes fall on me and he nods to the woman who is still oblivious.

“Hey.” He tries to touch her back. I catch his hand before he can violate her personal space. “I mean, what’s it like up on floor 16?” I give him a warning look. His half smile just turns into a full-on grin.

The stranger finally registers that he is talking to her. “Oh” she says and she half turns to us. “It’s fine, I guess.” She’s uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable. We’re all just in one uncomfortable little upwards moving room—all except Harry of course. Is this elevator going slower than normal? I just hope he doesn’t ask another stupid question.

She awkwardly turns back to the front. Once again, I know what he is going to do. It’s like I can see his mind. There’s the question, right there on his lips. His stupid, lovable, pink, plump lips that I fell in love with. I hated them now.