Chapter 90: Do You Not Like Me Anymore?

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

Elvis raised an eyebrow. "Go take a shower."

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

Elvis felt overwhelmed; this was his first time seeing her drunk. Drunk Olive was enthusiastic and abrasive, a little goblin. He gently patted her bottom.

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

Elvis turned his head, avoiding her. He let go of her and went to the window, dialing a number and holding the phone to his ear. He used his left hand to unbutton his shirt. Dusk had settled; the city lights glittered below.

Olive stood behind him, looking angry. Elvis turned, their eyes met. He pointed to the bathroom.

Though angry, Olive didn't defy him. She mumbled and reluctantly entered the bathroom.

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

Elvis frowned. "I wanna ask, what's the antidote after drinking the One Night Stand?"

"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 on and hit it from the back…"

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

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

Aggrieved, she explained, "I wanted to pee, but my little penis is gone!" She mimed a boy urinating.

Elvis put his 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 forward, hand outstretched. "You must have stolen it! I want to search you."

Realizing her state, Elvis grabbed her small hand and pulled her into his embrace. "Olive, don't arouse me, please."

She landed in his arms. His chest felt like iron. Pitifully, she asked, "What are you doing? You hurt me, Mr. Augustine. Am I not beautiful?"

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

"Liar," she pouted, anger flashing across her face. "I must have become ugly. Mr. Augustine doesn't like me anymore, so he can't kiss me."

Elvis's eyes darkened. He didn't want to take advantage of her drunkenness, but she was pushing him. "You brought this upon yourself," he muttered, lowering his head and kissing her firmly.

Olive gasped, her breath stolen. Elvis wrapped his arms around her waist, stepping back and pressing her against the frosted glass door. Her head swam. She nudged him. He released her swollen lips, staring into her eyes. "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 cascaded over Olive's head. He pressed her against the wall.

Olive, weak and drenched, her wet hair clinging to her face, was slowly regaining her senses. "Elvis, what are you doing? Are you crazy? Let me go! It's so cold!" Her anger was back. Her playful tenderness had vanished.

Olive slowly recalled everything, her face burning with embarrassment.