Chapter 90: Do You Not Like Me Anymore?

Olive flipped a coin and handed it to Elvis. "Hey, Mr. Augustine," she said, "this is a tip for you tonight."

Elvis raised an eyebrow. "Go take a shower," he replied.

Olive bit her lip and glared. "I want to have a bath with you."

Elvis looked at her and repeated, "Go wash yourself."

Olive, unhappy, angrily stamped her feet. "Why don't you want to bathe with me?"

Elvis felt overwhelmed. This was the first time he'd seen her drunk, and the intoxicated Olive was enthusiastic and forceful, like a mischievous goblin. He gently patted her behind.

Excited, Olive tiptoed and whispered, "I need a kiss."

Elvis turned his head to avoid her. He let go of her and walked to the window. He held his phone, dialed a number, and put it to his ear. With his left hand, he unbuttoned his shirt.

Dusk had settled. From the window, the entire city glittered. Olive stood behind him, looking angry.

Elvis turned, their eyes met. He pointed to the bathroom, indicating she should go in. Though angry, Olive didn't dare disobey him. She mumbled and reluctantly entered the bathroom.

Harry's voice sounded through the phone. "Hello, bro, why are you calling?"

Elvis frowned. "I want to ask, what's the antidote for that 'one-night-stand' drink?"

"Bro, what are you doing? What antidote? You're the antidote!"

"Or, is Olive that ugly without a mask? Even if she is, just go for it from behind…"

Before Harry finished, a loud scream erupted from the bathroom. Elvis crossed his arms, cursing inwardly. She was truly annoying. He hung up, threw the phone on the sofa, and went into the bathroom.

Olive stood by the toilet, her face covered, screaming. "What's the matter? Stop screaming," Elvis asked.

With an aggrieved expression, she explained, "I wanted to pee, but my little penis is gone!" She then mimed a boy urinating.

Elvis put a hand to his forehead, speechless.

"Why is it gone? Did someone steal it? Who stole it? Was it you?" Olive's eyes darted suspiciously around him. She rushed toward him, hand outstretched. "You must have stolen it! I want to search you!"

Realizing what she was doing, Elvis quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her into his embrace. "Olive, don't arouse me, please."

She was in his arms, his chest strong as iron. Pitifully, she asked, "What are you doing? You hurt me, Mr. Augustine. Am I not beautiful?"

Elvis stared at her exquisitely crafted features. "You're beautiful," he replied hoarsely.

"Liar," she pouted, her face angry. "I must be ugly. Mr. Augustine doesn't like me anymore, so he won't kiss me."

Elvis's eyes darkened. He didn't want to take advantage of her drunkenness, but she was pushing him to his limit.

"You brought this on yourself," he said, lowering his head and kissing her firmly.

Olive felt her breath stolen. Elvis wrapped his arms around her waist, stepped back, and pressed her against the frosted glass door. Her head swam. She nudged him. He released her swollen lips, stared into her eyes, and asked, "What's wrong?"

"I haven't found my belongings yet. Give it to me, I think you stole it," she insisted.

Feeling her hands on his body, he turned on the shower. Cold water poured over Olive's head. He pressed her against the wall.

Olive was weak, soaked, her wet hair clinging to her face. Her senses were returning. "Elvis, what are you doing? Are you crazy? Let me go! It's so cold!" Her anger returned, replacing her earlier tenderness and playfulness.

Olive slowly recalled what happened, her face burning with embarrassment.