Lost and Found: Book One of the Emi Lost & Found Series

by Lori L. Otto

  I sit down next to Sam as she immediately takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tightly. “So, Colin–”

  “Anna, I’m sorry,” Emi cuts me off. “I must be having an allergic reaction to some of the food,” she explains to her brother’s date as she scratches her neck close to the spot I had pointed out to the entire table.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Anna says. “I hope you’re okay.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine. Probably some herb or something,” she mumbles. “But listen, I’ll get your number from Chris. Maybe we can meet for drinks one night this week?”

  “That’d be great,” Anna says.

  “Colin,” Emi taps her boyfriend on the shoulder as he chews on an appetizer. “Nate was nice enough to offer to drop me off on his way home,” she lies to him, “but I was hoping you could take me. I know it’s out of your way.”

  “No, it’s fine, babe. Sure. We just ordered, though. Can we wait and have them box it up?”

  “Colin, I think we need to go now,” she says, her voice urgent. She watches me out of the corner of her eye to make sure I don’t say any more.

  “I could bring your food by,” I offer her, glaring.

  “No thank you. We’ll find something at home.”

  “I was looking forward to the lobster,” Colin explains, still seated and completely unconcerned with Emi’s fake illness.

  Emi bites her bottom lip to keep from saying more.

  “You should take her now,” I tell him, just wanting him out of my eyesight for good. “Plus, maybe it’s not a food allergy. Maybe those splotches on her neck are contagious.”

  “Nate,” she warns.

  “Wouldn’t want them to spread, that’s all I’m saying.” I stare at Colin as I say this, hoping he understands that I know that they’re bruises.

  He stands up abruptly and throws his napkin on his plate.

  “Goodnight, Emi,” Sam calls after my friend. Emi turns around to acknowledge her. “I hope you get better soon. Let us know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” Emi says, her smile forced.

  Chris finally speaks up after they leave. “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he says, addressing his girlfriend. “I’ve never known her to have any food allergies, though. I’ll check on her later.”

  “So, Nate, tell me about your artwork,” Anna says, continuing our dinner as if nothing has happened. She takes a sip of her wine and smiles at me and Sam across the table. I can tell she’s going to be good for Chris.

  The rest of the evening was just tense between Chris and me. Anna and Sam talked a lot, although the only thing the two found in common was their interest in fashion. Chris would feign interest in their discussion, but shot me glares from across the table constantly.

  As we left, he muttered one comment to me. “That’s how you fix things?” All the way home, I’ve been going over the fight with Emi in my head. What did he expect me to do? She’s stubborn and wasn’t interested in talking anything out. She’s the one who chose to leave.

  She chose to leave with that prick that apparently held her in some way that left obvious bruises around her neck. It makes me sick just thinking about it. Should I be worried about her now? I am. I wish I could call her.

  My anger has returned by the time Sam and I get home, although I’m trying my best to hide it from my girlfriend.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Samantha asks when we get back to my apartment.

  “Of course,” I tell her, taking her jacket from her and kissing the back of her neck, in the same spot I saw the second bruise on Emi. I can’t keep dwelling on this.

  “I know you said you and Emi never had a relationship… ”

  I don’t really want to talk about her now. “Mmm-hmm… ” I tell her with my lips still pressed against her skin. I let my hands travel down her body to her waist and unbuckle the tiny belt. As I take it off of her, I spin her around and pull her into my chest. “What’s your question?” I lean down to kiss her willing lips. When we pull away, I gaze into her eyes, trying to communicate my intentions to her.

  She shakes her head slightly. “When you look at me like that, I forget everything.”

  “Good,” I respond, kissing her again. Her hands find my hair while mine pull her skirt up. I trace the lace of her thong as she hums quietly in my mouth. I kiss her ears next, and hear her whisper the question in mine.

  “Did she ever want a relationship?”

  “No,” I answer quickly, unfastening her skirt.

  “She seemed jealous of me.” Her fingers fight with the buttons of my shirt. I pull back again to help her, to gaze into her eyes some more.

  “No,” I tell her again, pulling the skirt down her legs. She steps out of it as she pushes the shirt from my shoulders and pulls it from my arms. Her lips crash into mine once again while she busies her hands, removing my pants. We part only long enough for me to pull her shirt over her head.

  She tries to talk to me as I continue to kiss her.

  “Did you ever want a relationship with her?”

  “Are we really still talking about this?” I ask her. “No, absolutely not. And the only thing I want right now is you, now.”

  “Okay,” she breathes, moving her lips to my jaw, then to my chest, stomach. She kneels down in front of me, taking my boxers into her hands quickly and yanking them to the ground. A moan escapes my throat as I feel her lips around me.

  “Oh, god, Sam,” I say quickly, surprised by her actions. She’s never done this before… never even hinted that it was something she would or could do.

  And fuck, can she do it well…

  I stop her momentarily and angle her head to me.

  “Am I doing it right?”

  “Very right,” I tell her. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you, too,” she tells me, kissing the inside of my thigh. “Just tell me before… you know… ”

  “Okay,” I smile at her, putting my hands in her hair and guiding her back to me. I’ve been deprived of this pleasure for so long that I’ve forgotten just how much I’ve missed it. It’s easy for me to get lost in it, in her, in my own gratification. My head in a fog, I’m only mindful enough to warn her as I get close.

  She backs off gently, taking my hand in hers and walking slowly– too slowly for my taste– to the bed. I rush past her, lying down on the comforter, not bothering with pulling the sheets down. She climbs on top of me quickly, her hands pressed hard into my chest. I watch the rise and fall of her body, her breasts as I grip her hips tightly, guiding her motions. I take her quickly and fully, unable to contain myself any longer.

  “Sam,” I begin to warn her, but the sounds of her orgasm and the feel of her around me push me completely over the edge. We come together, and she soon collapses to my chest, kissing it reverently.

  I pick her head up to look at her pretty, smiling face. I can’t help but kiss her again, over and over.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “You’re welcome,” she answers.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “Cosmo.”

  “Well, thank him, whoever he is,” I joke with her. She playfully slaps my chest as I take her in my arms and hold her closely to my chest. As I stroke her blonde hair and listen to her ideas for redecorating the guest room, I finally allow my conscience to acknowledge the one thing I didn’t do tonight. I wonder if she knows. I wonder if I should say something. I wonder if it matters anyway.

  I decide it doesn’t, eventually dozing off as her soft voice lulls me to sleep.

  ~ * ~

  As I amble to Emi’s apartment, taking my time, planning my words, I think over the past two and a half weeks.

  I hadn’t spoken to Emi since then– well, since the morning after the disastrous triple-date. While Sam was showering that Saturday, I had called my friend’s apartment to make sure she was okay. I had woken up that morning from a nightmare. In my dream, Colin had beat her to within an inch of her life.

 
“What?” she had answered her phone curtly.

  “Hi.”

  “Did you need something?” she asked.

  “I dreamed he hurt you. I was just checking to make sure you were okay,” I explain, a little put off by her attitude. I really didn’t feel like she had any reason to be mad at me.

  “Did you tell Chris?” she deflected my concern.

  “No. Maybe I should have.”

  “Thanks,” she says, her response still terse.

  “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Nate,” she scoffed at me.

  “Is he there?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Well, it will help me gauge the honesty of your answer.”

  “No, he’s not here.”

  “So you’re sure you’re okay.”

  “Stop acting like you care about me,” she had said, a comment that caught me off guard.

  “Emi,” I had sighed into the phone. “What are you talking about? Of course I care about you. What’s with you?”

  “Just… ” she had begun, but never finished. “I need some time to think about things, okay? Things are kind of messed up right now.” As if I didn’t know that already.

  “Alright, Emi. That’s fine. But I want you to know I care and I’m here for you. And I will worry about you as long as I know you’re still seeing him. He’s bad news.”

  “You don’t know him.” And then she had hung up on me. I had tried to call her twice since then, but she refused to answer or return my voicemails.

  I’m sure she’ll be surprised to see me today, but I have no one else to go to, and I have to talk to her. I have to get someone else’s perspective. Sam didn’t understand my need to go see her in particular, but my girlfriend trusted me anyway. My girlfriend. What have I gotten myself into?

  I notify Emi of my presence with my usual knock. She answers quickly.

  “Hey. What are you doing here?” I can’t read her demeanor today.

  “We need to talk, Emi.”

  She nods her head, opening the door for me to enter her apartment. I wave quietly to Teresa.

  “Do I need the earplugs?” her roommate asks. Emi looks at me expectantly, and I shrug my shoulders, forcing a smile. “You know, on second thought… ” Teresa gathers up some papers from her bed and picks up her laptop. “I think I’ll go get some coffee.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her.

  “No problem.” She closes the door quietly, leaving Emi and me alone in their silent apartment.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  I exhale heavily and laugh, knowing all too well that nothing I’m about to tell her is funny by any means. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Go ahead.” We both take a seat on her bed. I immediately take my head into my hands and begin tugging at my hair. “Must be bad,” she says. “An apology shouldn’t stress you–”

  “Sam’s preg–” I interrupt her quickly. I have to clear my throat to get the rest of the word out. “Sorry. Pregnant.” I process her words and realize she was expecting an apology. Maybe I should have started with that, but the news I was bringing her would have overshadowed anything else anyway.

  I stay still, waiting for Emi to say something. A full minute passes before I look up to see her staring at the wall across the room. Her jaw is taught and I’m pretty sure she’s holding her breath.

  “Say something.”

  “Okay,” she says, short.

  “Okay? That’s all you’re gonna say? Okay?”

  “What the fuck am I supposed to say, Nate? Should I be congratulating you? Did you want me to start planning her shower? What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. What are you thinking?” I ask her.

  “I’m thinking you’re an idiot–”

  “I know,” I tell her before she can even finish.

  “You’re sure?” she asks, still unable to look in my direction.

  “She took a test at home this morning. She said it’s positive.”

  “She said, or it was?”

  “I didn’t see it… but it was. She wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

  “If I were you, I’d want to see proof.” Just like that, she has me questioning Samantha, even though she’s never given me reason to doubt her.

  “We’ll take another test. But it could have happened–”

  “How?” she interrupts. “How could it have happened?”

  “How do you think?” I ask her. “We weren’t careful.” I remember back to that night. I remember how angry I was at Emi. I remember that I wanted to do anything, everything to keep myself from thinking about her. I allowed myself to get completely wrapped up in Samantha.

  Emi gets up hurriedly and walks to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine from the metal rack above her sink. After pouring herself a glass, she takes a seat on a barstool, her back to me.

  I walk over to her and put my hand on her shoulder. “Emi, please talk to me.”

  She shrugs away, picking up her wine and walking back over to the window. “I can’t even begin to figure out what to say to you. Really, idiot is the only word that comes to mind. Fucking idiot.”

  “Emi, be fair. It was an accident.”

  “Pretty big one, though, Nate, don’t you think?”

  “Of course.” I swallow hard, wondering if this conversation would have gone any better had we been on better terms in the first place.

  “Well, I guess that’s it,” she says plainly. Even with her back to me, even though she’s trying to hide her emotions from me, I can tell she’s crying.

  “What’s it?” I again approach her from behind and try to comfort her, finding her reaction odd. Shouldn’t this be the other way around?

  “I hope you love her, Nate.” She flinches when I touch her arm. “Get your hands off me.”

  “What is your problem, Emi?”

  “My problem?” she asks, agitated and wiping tears away. “I don’t have a problem. This is all your problem. I’m washing my hands of this.”

  “Emi, come on. You’re my best friend, I need you.”

  “You’ve got Sam now.”

  “I need her, too. But I can’t do this without you.”

  She scoffs at me. “Well, why didn’t you consult me before? I would have told you not to get her pregnant. But I thought you probably had that under control. You managed not to get any of the other ones pregnant. I just assumed you had the safe sex thing figured out by now.”

  “Okay, I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Step one,” she says harshly. “Go to the drug store and buy another test. Or better yet, take her to a doctor.”

  “I will–”

  “Step two, decide if you love her.” I expect her rant to continue to step three, but when it doesn’t, I look over to her. She’s staring at me now, the tears gone, her face hard and uncaring. “Do you?”

  I glare back at her with measured restraint. “I could.”

  “That’s great, Nate. It’s the vow all women want to hear. I could love you. You’ve kind of forced my hand, Sam,” she says, mocking my voice, “but yeah, I think I could love you.”

  “Will you just stop with the fucking sarcasm, Em?” She’s really trying my patience.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot more to contribute to this conversation, Nate. I could go back to calling you a fucking idiot, if you’d like–”

  “Not particularly, no. It’s not helpful at all.”

  “What kind of help can I give? I sold the time machine last week. And I used up my last genie wish to get these new shoes.”

  “Talk me through this. I’m not looking for a miracle. Just a little compassion or understanding or something.”

  “Well, I don’t understand how you got yourself into this situation.”

  “It wasn’t planned.”

  “I never thought it w
as. I know you’re smarter than that. I doubt she is,” she mumbles as an afterthought. “How is she handling the news?”

  “Better than I expected.”

  “Let me guess, she’s ring shopping now, right?”

  I look away, knowing she can read me.

  “She’s talking about getting married, isn’t she?”

  “She had talked about it before, so what?”

  “What?” she laughs. “When?”

  “A month ago, I don’t know. I told her I wasn’t ready.”

  “She brought it up, though?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how did this conception happen?”

  “What?”

  “How did it come about that you were completely irresponsible and got her pregnant? Especially knowing that she’s hearing wedding bells in the distance.” Well, Emi, I was pissed at you for defending that Neanderthal you’re sleeping with, and I had to get that frustration out somehow. The aggressive way I approached Sam that night was fueled by those feelings. Of course I can’t tell her this.

  “I’m not– I don’t–”

  “Who was the irresponsible one?”

  “No one. No one is at fault. We both were.” I think back to that night, remembering how Samantha had turned the tables on me and had taken charge. It was such a turn on. There wasn’t an ounce of rational thinking happening in my mind once that happened– not that there was a whole lot to start with, anyway.

  “Did she know at the time the risk she was taking? I guess she’s not on the pill?”

  “No.”

  “No to which question?”

  “No, she’s not on the pill.”

  “And you knew that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she knew you weren’t wearing a condom?”

  “Of course she knew.”

  “Well why didn’t you take action? And pull out?”

  My face gets hot, having never really discussed such things with her. “I don’t want to talk about the mechanics of my sex life with you.”

  “Grow the fuck up, Nate.”