“So make it work for you.” Rowen shrugs. “Take her to dinner and try to talk some sense into her. That way the two of you can dive into where things went wrong. She can’t be that insane. She’s just hurt. She’s an artist. They’re the ultra-moody type. If she’s as spoiled as you say, she’ll get you to do her bidding anyway. Give her one meal and get it all out. The longer you avoid her, the more you’re putting her off.”
As much as I’d like to refute it, I know he’s right. “Maybe I will, but I think I owe Ember something first.” My heart riots in my chest as if it were readying to blow out like a bad tire. The meal comes and goes without any more talk about love, about Ember, about Scarlett and that cry of desperation.
I head home to an empty dark house and lie in bed wondering what it might feel like to fill this place up with someone who knows how to put a smile on my face, who happens to put one on my daughter’s face, too. I would love to have Ember here beside me night after night. I’d love to have her in my life in a solid way, not as a nanny or someone who fulfills my sexual desires on a few random nights, something more. And as much as I want to believe I don’t know what that looks like, I do. I had a ghost of an idea with Scarlett, even though that turned into a hellish roller coaster that I wanted out of before she ever began looking sideways herself. I had it with Trish, but that was entirely something else. The bottom line is that I was never in love with either of them. I was in lust, then I was quickly out of it. With Trish, it took an entire legal team to loosen me from those matrimonial shackles. With Scarlett, it might just take the same minus the matrimony. What if I go all in with Ember and it fizzles out? What if I lose interest? What if she loses interest? I’m not sure which would be worse.
I love Chelle. There isn’t any refuting that. But that isn’t romantic love. It’s blood. It’s a God-given, God-breathed bond that’s inextricable. But with Ember, there’s an underlying fear of losing her before I ever really make her mine. An entire earthquake of damning emotions runs through me, eliciting a riot of worry, a wall of concern long enough to circle the earth. I haven’t felt so deeply terrified about losing someone since—
A fist knots up in my throat as I reach over and pick up that bear my sister loved so much.
I fight the tears off as best as I can. I don’t want them. I’m sick of being massacred by the pain. She’s free of her pain, and I’m still hostage to it. But I’d gladly take the brunt end of the deal for her. Hell, I do it every day. But what I can’t live with is losing Ember. I can’t have her running around this planet without me—not while I still have a fighting chance with her. No matter what it takes, no matter how hard it is to push that boulder out of my throat, I need to tell her how I feel.
And I will.
When the time is right.
Now to get rid of Scarlett.
Damning Dossier
Ember
He didn’t say it back?” Sophie twirls her coffee cup around and around as both she and Violet examine me with a not-so-veiled look of pity.
“He didn’t have to. It wasn’t mandatory,” I practically spit it out while trying to control my breathing. “I’ll admit, it would have been nice, but the fact I took off like the building was on fire didn’t afford him the chance. And we’re not really big on texting or calling, so there’s that.” God, it sounded so lame coming from me. I can only imagine how it feels to have heard it. “Look, I don’t need for him to say it. The point is, I said it. That’s a big deal for me. I don’t toss the L word around that easily, you know. I maybe say it once a year to my mother, and I doubt my brother or my sister have ever heard it.” True. I had a cat once when I was twelve that I said it all the time to, and he took off one day and never came back. I was pretty sure even at that young age I knew it was doomed to be a pattern for me. “I mean, did Rowen or Lane say it back immediately or vice versa?”
They both offer up reluctant nods.
“Fine.” I sag in my seat a moment. “Anyway, it’s extraordinary circumstances with us. The world wants to hear me tell Lenard I love him. Heck, I bet a part of Dexter wishes the same. But not all of Dexter.” I bite down hard on my lip because, to be honest, I have no clue what Dexter wants. “All I know is that he’s got my heart, one hundred percent of it, and if I never hear those words from him, I’ll be—”
“Hurt,” Violet finishes for me, and I can’t help but close my eyes in defeat because she’s right.
“I’ll be devastated is what I’ll be. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Sophie reaches over and clasps her hand over mine. “You were thinking that his psycho ex is back in town, and you just witnessed her digging her forked tongue into his mouth. You wanted to let him know he has more than a shot with you. I get it. And—I think you did the right thing. At least this way he has all the information to make the right decision.”
Violet groans as if she were about to be sick. She gives a quick glance around before leaning in. “And what about that psycho ex? You think there’s something left between them?”
“No way. Dexter shared that video with me and he looked sick to his stomach. Trust me, it’s all a cry of desperation on her part.”
Sophie nods in agreement. “Her next album is due out in July, and I heard preorders are at an all-time low. She has a full tour coming up and they can’t sell seats, even though they’ve slashed prices in half. She’s desperate on more than one front. I think we’re witnessing an implosion.”
Violet huffs, “It’s a publicity stunt. It’s clear she’s desperate.”
“Or, she’s got more than one screw loose. I don’t know”—I scan the ceiling as I rethink her performance on that video—“she was pretty wrecked. She wanted him back, or at least she did in the moment. I bet she was high.”
“Or drunk,” Sophie offers.
“Both,” Vi agrees. “Promise me if you see her coming you’ll go the other way. If that tantrum she threw didn’t land her what she wanted, who knows what she’ll do next.”
“The only thing she wants to do is Dexter, and there’s no way that’s happening. That boy is mine.” I lift my latte and let out a wicked cackle. “He’ll say those three little words to me before the end of next week. Get your wallets ready, girls. I’m looking forward to having my java hand-delivered twice a day. It’s going to be a beautiful, beautiful thing.” I knock back my coffee and shoot up a little prayer, just hoping that I’m right. Why did Scarlett Stafford have to come back and complicate things when I was so close to the finish line?
Regardless, I’d trade all the free coffee in the world just to hear Dexter say those three little words to me.
I would have sworn on my life he was feeling them, too.
* * *
Date five. Date five! I’m so close to the finish line I can hardly stand it. Date five takes place on a balmy Wednesday afternoon post classes and pre-finals. I won’t lie. I will be thrilled to be done with both. This farce I’m playing out with the TSE feels like some arduous lesson on method acting. I can no more pretend to be remotely interested in Lenard than I can in advanced calculus. No matter how hard Lenard might get for me, I will never want to do him. So, it seems they’ve got that in common, too.
It’s late afternoon, and soon Dexter will have to leave to pick up Chelle. A part of me still thought he might show. He hasn’t missed a single taping yet, and for him to miss this one, on the heels of my verbal diarrhea, it would most definitely signal a red flag. Sure, others might have been put off by the fact three full days have traveled by without a word, but I know that we’re different. I’m not freaked out by the turn of a couple of calendar pages in the least. When it’s right, he’ll say it. And it is right. What Dexter and I share is something unique to the two of us. It’s as if we’re two sides of the same coin. We’ve gone down a path of pain and are just now coming up for air—with each other. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that infamous bike ride that introduced us to one another was fate.
Fate. Destiny. My mind can�
��t stop spinning with how silly that all would have sounded to me just a few short months ago. I sit through hair and makeup, do a wardrobe change into a bikini—two-piece—and yes, I agreed to this skin baring ensemble—and get mic’d up with something that looks like a necklace made of cables. I’m sure this will be a hot commodity some day in the future, but for now it looks as if I’ve lassoed myself with a copper wire.
Seth leads me out of the tent as we head toward the pool at the lower level of Paradise Falls. I’ve loved Paradise Falls for as long as I can remember. It was the subject of many romantic fantasies once I grew to be a horny teenager, and I’ll admit to having one or two recently with Dexter as my muse.
I do a quick scan of the area, but Mr. Houston is persona non-grata. He showed up last Wednesday, stayed the whole time, too. But a kid's schedule can change on a dime. Trish may have needed him to pick up Chelle a little early. It’s hardly anything to panic about.
My heart lets out a death rattle as if maybe it is.
“So, here’s the deal.” Seth pinches a tight smile before it dissolves to nothing. “You’ve got this date—good choice by the way.” I nod, appreciating his approval. It was ladies’ choice this go-around. “And one final date coming up next week. I think we can all say we’re thankful for that kiss last week. The test audience has fallen hard for the two of you. They’re calling you the dark horse of the series.” He winces because I think we both know it’s not true. “I think if you wanted to do some more of that, it would be a good thing. If not, no pressure. We can always go with the angle that the two of you are taking things slow. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I let out an enormous breath it feels as if I’ve been holding for the last five weeks. “I’ll see if the mood strikes.” It won’t, but poor Seth doesn’t need to stress about it just yet. “And I definitely like the slow road angle. I think everyone should see that love comes in different paces for different people.”
“I’m going to quote you on that.”
“I have no doubt about it. Hey, where’s Dexter?” I pretend to crane my neck as if I have a sudden urgency to ask him a question. I do, but I wouldn’t dare ask it.
“He’ll be here. He said he had to take care of something first. And according to social media, there’s been a sighting of Scarlett and Dex this afternoon. I think her fans are relieved he’s finally taking her up on her plea. That was pretty desperate, but it looks like it worked.”
“What? There’s no way.”
“Why not?” He inches his head back as Petra joins us. “Isn’t that right?” He dots her cheek with a kiss. “Dex and Scarlett are getting back together.”
“They had better.” She averts her eyes. “I think our leader should have a love life himself.” She cackles my way as if expecting me to agree. “I mean, it’s obvious she’s mad about him.”
“Or just mad.” I shrug. “As defined by the DSM-5.” I know my way around a psychology book or two.
“Crazy or not, rumor has it she’ll be coming to Leland next fall.”
I suck in a quick breath. Crap. There will no escaping her. “Looks like Leland’s collective IQ just got a little lower.”
They share a dark laugh on Scary Scarlett’s behalf, and before I can get another dig in, I spot Dexter speaking with some of the crew.
“I’ll be right back.” I traipse across the dirt path, kicking up a plume of dust with the kitten heels I’ve donned. It’s safe to say I didn’t have Lenard in mind when I picked out this cherry red teeny-weeny bikini and the little white fluff puffs I’ve slid my feet into. Nope. This is one hundred percent Dexter bait. I’ve got a week to wrangle those three little words from him and, by God, I’m going to do it. And as much as I need it to be genuine, I’d take an I love you for delivering a garlic pizza with anchovies if that’s what it took. He might cost me my ego, but he’s not costing me my lattes.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?”
He turns, and his eyes flash wide like frying pans before he takes a few steps out by the trailer with me. Dexter doesn’t breathe a word in my presence, just bears hard into me with those beautiful marbled eyes, and I melt like winter snow at his hot feet.
“Um”—I clear my throat, offering him one last opportunity, and the silence between us grows unbearably deafening—“I just want you to know that I’m not looking for an organ donor. I don’t need your heart.” My own heart wallops its way out of my chest and into my throat.
A slow smile builds on his lips, and he takes me by the hand into the makeshift office, closing the door behind him. It’s dim inside, not a soul in sight, but then I can’t seem to take my eyes off his to confirm that.
Dexter lands his mouth soft over mine and blesses me with a kiss that says so much more than words can ever convey—soft and easy, taking his time with me as if we had all night. He pulls back, and I’d bet my life that there is moisture in his eyes.
A horn sounds outside, signifying a callout for everyone to get in their places.
“We’ll talk,” he whispers, his thumbs rubbing small circles over my cheeks.
I bite down on a smile I’m not sure I can hide and skip right back out of that tiny tin box and straight for the man I will never have feelings for. Lenard and I have a blast swimming and splashing in the base of the falls. We race one another to the edge and back, I climb on his shoulders as he runs us through the curtain of water, and we lounge on the mossy rocks as the late afternoon sun warms our dewy skin as if we were at summer camp. In all it’s a perfect day. He’s just not the perfect boy for me. By the time they call it a wrap, Dexter is nowhere to be found, but I’m not worried. Dexter said we’ll talk, and I know that running from me will be impossible to do for the next few days.
* * *
Friday night finds me twiddling my thumbs in my dorm room. It turns out, Chelle is recovering from a sore throat and has opted to stay with her mother through the rest of the week. I’m severely bummed that Chelle isn’t feeling up to her cheerful self. And I’m extremely bummed that this gives Dexter an added layer of invisibility in my life. I’m starting to feel an awful lot like Scarlett. Not having Dexter in my life is starting to weigh heavy on my psyche. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. Why would he avoid me? So I do what every red-blooded American woman would do. I text him and demand to know what the hell his problem is. Not really. More like…
Hey, Dex! It’s Ember. Remember me? Look. It’s clear I freaked you out. But I don’t want there to be weirdness between us.
Delete, delete, delete.
I try again. Hey, what’s up? You hungry? I’m buying if you want to join me!
Delete.
Once again. Look, you said we’d talk. Either you’re a man of your word or you’re not a man.
That’s the one I send—the one that quasi-emasculates him. I can’t help it. It’s my way.
My phone lights up as he texts right back. That I did. I have a working dinner tonight. How about my place ten o’clock?
I’ll be there. I text right back, somewhat regretful that I didn’t make him stew for a couple of days the way he did me.
He texts again. I am a man of my word. And tonight, I’m hoping you’ll appreciate everything I have to say.
My mouth falls open at the thought of what it might be. This is it! He’s going to say he loves me. I can feel it.
Dexter Houston loves me.
A rush so powerful hits me it feels like the most addicting, beautiful drug has just been infused straight into my heart.
This feeling right here is what the rest of the world must feel.
This is it.
This is love.
About seven thirty, there’s a knock on my door, and as much as I shout for Taylor’s tramps to hit the road, they don’t seem to get the picture. My fornicating roomie is off scouting the fraternities on this fine evening, and I’m about to rip whoever is on the other end of that booty call a new one, and trust me—they won’t derive nearly as much pleasure from it
as I will.
I swing open the door, only to have Sophie and Vi staring back at me, pale, slack-jawed and, dare I say, petrified?
“What’s up, chicas?” I nod them in, but they remain frozen under the doorframe as if someone stopped time. “Okay, you’re starting to freak me out. Spill it or I’m going for the big guns—texting Rowen and Lane.”
“No!” they shout in unison, both fumbling for my phone as I carefully ease it back into my pocket.
Sophie looks to Vi and shrugs. “We sort of have a surprise for you.”
“Yes.” Vi nods to her, uncertain. “You might say you’re about to get kidnapped.”
Sophie looks to my feet. “She’s got shoes. Grab that jacket off her bed and let’s get out of here.”
Vi does as she’s told—grabbing Taylor’s two hundred fifty dollar buttery black leather jacket, and since I’m being held captive against my will, I don’t bother correcting them. Instead, I slip it on as they speed me along to Sophie’s old Honda, Gertrude, and Vi shoves me in the back, all but strapping me in as we take off in a fury.
“Hey, this is fun!” I kick the ceiling as I struggle to right myself and get my belt on. “What the hell are you girls on? I hate to break it to you, but I’m not rushing any sororities.” I bubble out a laugh, but neither of them reciprocates. Nary a cackle, a witty comeback, or a grunt is to be heard. Instead, Sophie runs stale yellow lights, glides by stop signs as if they were suddenly optional, and breezes us off to the ritzy end of town where the residential tracks fade into a distant memory and a series of strip malls take over. She pulls into the Pinewood Steakhouse and lands us in a parking spot outside of the valet fun zone.
“Um, wow, thanks, guys. I guess steak it is. In the future, you might want to note I’m basically a pescatarian. But in a pinch, a nice big, fat, juicy cut that still has a little moo in it will do. And by the way—I don’t have my purse, so if someone wants to spot me a twenty...”
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