.hook, line
damage control. that’s what she calls it. a safety net, if you will. it’s the least she could do after spending half of the night in someone else’s bed-- a third party all together. a bed that elodie can’t consider a usual scene for her (at least, that bed in particular.)
it’s easy to slip into night owls, the bar bustling even so close to closing. there’s no way he would see her, not right away at least, and probably not when she tucks herself into the bar.
this isn’t something unfamiliar. she’s been known to watch, to stalk, almost prey on the poor girl of the night who is a little too friendly to her boyfriend. her lovely boyfriend that she completely understands she has no right to, or shouldn’t at least.
but then again, elodie has always understood she was the very definition of a hypocrite.
with her chin pillowed in her palm, she watches, expression carefully blank as some girl with such a lowcut shirt smiles at dom, laughs a little louder than elodie thinks is necessary and completely misses the icy glare she’s getting. poor girl.
elodie waits, rather patiently all things considered, until the girl has gotten what she’s asked for, probably something fruity and disgusting, before she’s standing, waving a hand in the air with the clear intention to garner attention. her eyes are carefully trained on the girl. “dom!” loud and insistent over the music. “dom, baby!”
@msudom
