A cup of Italian coffee

About fifteen minutes later, Chris and Elizabeth walked in together, Chris jangling his keys and Elizabeth pointing to her watch. I was just locking the cupboard with the instruments in it.

All right, I’m ready, let’s get out of here, I said as I started switching off the main lights.

Chris, being a true gentleman, has offered to give us a lift to the pizza place, but I said I’d only accept if he came too.

I liked how she went out of her way to include Chris. I’m not sure he was feeling entirely comfortable with it, though. He went a faint tinge of pink and shook his head.

Nah, I’ve got stuff to do when I get home.

What, on a Friday night? There’s no game tomorrow, I challenged. I’ll shout you a cup of Italian coffee to say thanks for everything.

But Chris remained unmovable.

Nah, maybe next time. He grinned at both of us. Besides, don’t you want some time on your own?

The comment had the desired affect. Elizabeth and I looked at each other. The telltale redness began to glow. Why did I keep doing that? It was so uncool.

Elizabeth wasn’t playing as smoothly as she had been earlier either, I noticed.

That shut you both up. Chris grinned. Come on, it’s bloody freezing in here.

Oh yeah, Chris continued, I told your mum you were heading out with Elizabeth and you’d be home late.

What was all that about brotherly love? The bastard knew giving that piece of information to Patricia Armstrong meant certain all-day harassment and interrogation for me tomorrow. But I couldn’t say any of that and he knew it.

She said to remind you that you haven’t been well and not to be home too late because you have another big night tomorrow.

He said it the way he would talk to Jess and cracked himself up. Elizabeth followed. I pegged the program at Chris’s head.

Thanks for that, you wanker.