Hidden Agenda

by Bethany Jadin

  “He is.”

  Emma’s eyes drift down, and I can tell something else is weighing on her mind. Finally, she asks, “Do you ever feel confused?”

  “About what?”

  She lifts a hand to my shoulder, letting her fingers trail down my arm, her gaze following her hand as she talks. “It just seems like having feelings for more than one person at a time would be very confusing.”

  “I suppose it takes some figuring out,” I admit.

  “It’s never happened to you?”

  I stare into those beautiful eyes of hers for a long while. “I don’t think so.” I can’t remember feeling the way I do about Emma with anyone, let alone two people.

  “You’ve not felt pulled in more than one direction before? You know, to have feel—” she stops abruptly and shakes her head. “Never mind, it’s a crazy idea, anyway.”

  I lift her chin. “I know what you meant. And it’s not a crazy idea.” I’d have to be made of the same stone as the sculpture in front of us not to feel the change in the air since Emma moved into the building with us. I don’t know what that means yet, but it both excites and scares me in a way I can’t let go. I want a chance to find out why Emma feels like a missing piece of the puzzle I’ve had jumbled up inside of me for so long.

  “Isn’t it, though? It certainly sounds crazy.”

  “Gunner taught me not to let others put labels and limits on my sexuality, and I think that same sentiment goes for other areas, too. Just be honest with yourself.”

  “I wish it was that simple.”

  “Why not? Fuck it — be who you are, even if that means you like waking up with three guys, one of Santa’s elves, and a bearded woman in your bed.”

  A smile crosses her lips. “That might be a little far.”

  “Just a little?” I purse my lips and raise an eyebrow, stroking my chin. “Interesting.”

  She laughs, but her cheeks turn a hue of pink. “I mean, I don’t care what people do in their bedrooms. It’s no one else’s business.”

  “But?”

  Emma’s blush deepens, and she’s fidgeting now. I take her other hand in mine to ground her. It seems to do the trick. “Bringing more than one person into the mix... it would change things. Stuff wouldn’t be the same.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Like that... connection you build with someone when it’s just you and them. True intimacy with that one special person.”

  Oh, the things I’d love to show this woman. “Now who’s putting walls around sexuality?”

  I bring her fingers to my lips and kiss them, keeping my eyes on her. I see the doubt in her expression, the confusion... and the longing, mirroring my own. “You may be surprised how intimate things can be between three people.”

  “Oh?” Emma runs her tongue over her lips and swallows, her eyes fixed on me. The wild glimmer is there, dancing in her expression. She’s more adventurous than she gives herself credit for. She just needs a safe place to set that desire free... someone to set fire to that smoldering curiosity of hers.

  I nod slowly, drinking her in. “If they’re the right people.”

  The weight of the unspoken things hanging in the air between us is more than I can bear. I’ve tried to hold her at a distance, to let her in slowly, for her own sake. But every little taste of her just leaves me wanting more. I want to be the one to stoke that spark I see in her. I want to be there when she experiences how good it can be.

  Emma wets her lips once again, and I step closer, ready to kiss that beautiful mouth. But she averts her eyes downward at the sound of a chime coming from her pants.

  “Sorry,” she says, looking disappointed at the interruption. “I have it set to only alert me if it’s important, so I should check.”

  I step back a pace as she digs her phone out of her pocket. Her countenance falls as she scans a text message. I don’t like the looks of that frown settling onto her lips. “What is it?”

  Emma blinks, scrolls up and reads again. “It’s Zoey. She’s at the store, asking what kind of ice cream I want.”

  “I take it that’s not a good thing?”

  Emma shakes her head. “No, not good. Ice cream is crisis mode.” She taps a message to Zoey and awaits a reply. “It looks like her identity was stolen.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  Another chime comes in, and she scans the new text. She lets out a frustrated breath. “It sounds like they got her good — opened a bunch of credit cards in her name and maxed them all out.”

  I want to be furious. I want to tell her I’ll hunt down whoever the callous bastard is. But all I feel is the shame of the dark paths I’ve traveled, the weight of it sinking into the pit of my stomach like a sharp stone.

  She stuffs her phone back in her pocket. “I gotta go. She’s asking if vodka goes better with cookie dough or butter pecan.”

  “It’s actually fudge ripple. I might know from experience.”

  Emma gives me a sad smile. “Thanks for bringing me here, Jax. Your work is amazing. But Zoey needs a friend right now.” She gives a sweeping look around the studio before turning to me, a coy look on her face, biting her bottom lip. “I hope I can come back up here with you some time.”

  “Absolutely.” I’m already missing her.

  She lets me walk her to the door, and I watch her disappear into the elevator. As the doors slide shut and cuts her off from view, I’m filled with regret for the things I’ve done in the past and the things I’m too full of shit to say to her now.

  My feet carry me on autopilot back to my studio, but I stop at the doorway. It doesn’t hold much appeal now. Without Emma’s warmth, it feels empty.

  I head to the kitchen. There’s no ice cream in my freezer, but there damn sure is plenty of vodka in the liquor cabinet.

  10

  Emma

  The kitchen has exploded.

  But it always does when Zoey and I are cooking together. Well, together might not be the right word. She helped me unpack the cabinets and refrigerator and gather the pans, but it didn’t take her long to down a healthy portion of wine and sit at the raised bar counter with cookie dough ice cream.

  “Vodka takes on the flavor of whatever you put in it,” she says, a spoon of ice cream waving through the air, drips of cream hitting the counter.

  “I’m not putting vodka in Pad Thai.”

  “The noodles’ll soak it up.”

  I give her a playful hell no look, and she smiles while sucking on the oversized spoon. She’s trying to be brave, but the prestigious amounts of alcohol and sweets she’s already been through tonight have betrayed her. In the space of twenty-four hours, someone in Estonia managed to rack up a six-figure debt on credit cards and internet loans in her name. I spent the morning sitting at the computer with her, and the scam is pretty fucking solid. It’s going to take eons to iron out this mess, and she’ll have credit issues and debt collectors hounding her for ages.

  Zoey reaches for the near empty chardonnay. “How about wine? People cook with wine all the time.”

  “I’m not sure how well that will go with peanut curry. I’m trying not to make a mess of dinner this time.”

  She scoffs. “Are you telling me you don’t want to experiment? You? Am I the only one who remembers the sardines and fruitcake situation?”

  “I think you just proved my point.”

  She gives me a pleading look, and I relent. “Fine. White wine peanut curry, it is.”

  I take the wine from my slightly intoxicated roommate and add the rest of the bottle — about half a cup. Unlike Zoey, I’m not in the mood to drink, and I can’t dispel my forebodings. “This doesn’t strike me as a coincidence. First my bank account gets wiped out, now this?”

  She scowls, examining her ice cream bowl and the empty wine glass. “Callie and Cora were right. Shit happens. Shit happens all the time. Stupid shit. Do we have more wine?”

  “You picked up five bottles. And our freezer is overflowing with ice cream cartons.”
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  “I couldn’t decide.”

  I move to the built-in wine rack, selecting the first two my hands fall on. “Cabernet or Moscato?”

  “I’ll stay with the white.”

  Searching a couple utensil drawers, I finally find the wine key. “I’m serious. I need to contact a few friends. Maybe they can look into this more. Figure out who’s doing this bullshit to us. Not sure it’ll do any good, but I can’t stand just doing nothing when this stuff keeps happening.”

  Zoey sweeps her fingers through her hair, huffing out a breath. “I’m trying to get drunk, here, and you aren’t being any fun.”

  I yank the cork out and reach for her glass. “Sorry. I’ll put copious amounts of vodka in the next batch, promise.”

  “Nope, you’re fretting too much. I’m calling the boys.”

  Goosebumps run over the back of my neck. “What? No! You can’t call the guys.”

  “Can’t? Oh, too late.” Zoey gives me another big smile, and I’m about to wrestle her for the phone, when she says, “Jude? Hi! Are you busy?” She waits for a moment, that smile only getting toothier. “Wonderful. Emma’s cooking… No, everything’s fine, she’s just being no fun…” I give her my best death-while-you-sleep squint, but she shrugs it off. “Gunner’s there! Great. Tell him Emma has so much food, I don’t think he can eat it all… Awesome! See you soon.”

  “You. Did. Not.”

  “I did.” My treacherous roommate reaches for the softening container of ice cream, pushes the scoop aside, and dips her spoon right into it, content as a kitten.

  “Zoey! I’m not in the mood to entertain a bunch of people.”

  She shakes her head, unconvinced. “I need some entertainment. And you — you need to smile. The guys make you smile.”

  “But I’ve never cooked Thai food before. I just put wine in it for godssake! It’s going to be inedible.”

  “That last batch with rum tasted fine to me.”

  “Of course, it did. You’re half drunk.”

  She shrugs innocently, licking the spoon clean. “I love this. Cookie dough in ice cream — it’s perfect.”

  The ding for the apartment door sounds, and I’m in near panic mode. “Holy fuck, that was fast.”

  Zoey practically skips away to the door as I go into a flurry of straightening my clothes, tidying my mess, and making sure the sauce doesn’t burn.

  “Is that peanut butter?” Gunner is the first into the apartment and has already procured a fork from the drawer. “Oh my God, that smells amazing.”

  “No! It’s not safe, don’t—” I gasp as he digs into the batch I used orange habaneros in. I didn’t have any Thai chilis on hand, which would have made the dish plenty spicy. But the habaneros pushed the dish into a level of hot Zoey deemed ‘nuclear meltdown’. The only reason it isn’t already in the trash is because I wanted it to cool off first.

  Gunner grunts, and his knees bend, then he tucks in for more.

  I wince in horror. “How are you eating that?” Just smelling the steam coming off it as it finished cooking made my nose burn.

  Jude and Jax each grab a fork and dig in, and I’m so shell shocked that I just watch. Their reactions are identical. The eyes wide first, then the nostrils. They both swallow then cough before taking in deep breaths of air, mouths open in a pant.

  “No one was supposed to eat that.” I move to take the dish away and put it in the trash, but Gunner furls his eyebrows at me, and I swear a little growl comes out of him.

  Jax is already digging in my fridge and pulls out the gallon of milk. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as he upends it, taking massive gulps before handing it to his twin.

  Daniel leans over batch number two and inhales deeply. “Is there rum in this?”

  I’m pretty sure I’m the color of crimson. “Yes.”

  Trigg lays a hand at the small of my back, the near presence of his body giving me an added layer of heat. “It really does smell good,” he whispers into my ear before leaning over the stove and asking in a louder voice, “What’s in here?”

  “Pad Thai peanut curry.” My voice is the equivalent of two inches high.

  “Pad Thai? I love Pad Thai. And peanut butter.” Gunner is shifting foot to foot.

  Trigg laughs. “She said peanut, not peanut butter.”

  “What’s the difference?” Gunner leans over my shoulder. “It smells great. Is it done yet?”

  “No,” I lie. The sauce has reached the perfect consistency, but I haven’t even had a chance to taste it since I added the chardonnay. “Anyway, you probably shouldn’t eat it. There’s white wine in it.”

  “What’s wrong with wine in peanut curry?” Zoey asks.

  “Yeah,” Gunner agrees. “What’s wrong with that? Sounds good to me.”

  Jude hands the milk back to Jax, who goes to town on it again. Between my shattered nerves over Zoey’s stolen identity and the stimulating presence of the guys, I’m either on the verge of tears or laughter — maybe both.

  Gunner pulls a stool up next to Zoey, and she offers him some ice cream. He takes a spoonful, giving her a thumbs up, then pulls the ceramic bowl holding the spicy batch closer.

  Trigg stoops down to the pan on the stove and scoops a couple noodles from the pan between his fingers, blowing on them to cool them off.

  “Really, you don’t have to eat that. I wasn’t ready for anyone to taste it, except for tipsy Ice Cream McGee over there,” I say, jerking my thumb at Zoey.

  He puts the noodles in his mouth anyway, his eyebrows raising as he chews. “Red wine might go better, but you have something there.”

  “Really?” I shake my head in disbelief, I reach into the pan to grab a few noodles, myself. I suck them into my mouth, blushing as one of them whips across my cheek. Trigg smiles as I chew. “Okay, so they aren’t terrible,” I admit.

  At the bar counter, Zoey is pointing to each of the four batches I’ve made so far, explaining the ingredients, and even Jax has given up the milk to wander over and sample a little taste of each dish.

  Jude takes a deep breath after a big swallow from the carton of milk. “Do you have any chopsticks, Emma?”

  “Oh. Yes.” The question throws me for a minute. My kitchen has been invaded by five gorgeous men, and I don’t even know what the hell’s going on anymore.

  I point to the drawer that has the ones Zoey and I save from our Chinese takeout. Jude takes another swig of milk while retrieving them. “You should see this guy with chopsticks. Kills it.”

  Jude passes them over the counter to Gunner, who takes them with an excited, “Dude, yes.”

  He pinches a huge pile of the habanero Pad Thai between the chop sticks and dips low to shovel it in. I steeple my fingers, covering my lips and nose. I don’t have enough milk. There is not enough milk in the world.

  Gunner practically melts into the stool. He grunts, his eyes roll back, and I’m sure he’s about to pass out. “Whew, that’s strong.”

  He gets another serving ready on his chopsticks, but I reach out, touching his hand. “No. You really shouldn’t.”

  He looks confused. “What? This is so good!”

  Jax pauses in his tasting of the other dishes. “Isn’t that the spicy one?”

  “Hell, yes. My eyes are sweating.” He points a chopstick at me. “But goddamn, this woman can cook. Mmmm,” he says, digging into the noodles again.

  Zoey glances up at Gunner’s face and bursts into laughter.

  Gunner’s enthusiastic smile is infectious, but he’s blinking furiously, and tears streak his cheeks.

  Daniel slaps the big guy on the back. “Gunner, my man... you’re crying.”

  “I know! It’s awesome; I love spicy food.” He pauses to wipe his face with the back of his hand before scooping another big bite.

  His face looks like it’s glowing from a fire within, and he leans back on his stool, panting through a mouthful of noodles, as if he’s holding lava in his mouth.

  That does it. My body finally catc
hes up — or maybe it’s my brain — either way, I laugh. Not any laugh. My belly clenches, and I bend over in a fit of giggles at Gunner’s expression. I look up at Zoey, and she’s right there with me, laughing and patting the back of the big man with tears streaming down his cheeks as he goes for another mouthful.

  Okay. Maybe she was right. The guys do make me smile. And maybe I do need this right now. They’re certainly hitting the spot tonight.

  11

  Gunner

  Okay, so the spice is a bit strong, but Emma keeps insisting on how these are only experimental dishes. Motherfucker, if this is how the woman experiments with food, I may be in love. Dish after dish, Zoey has prodded me along, insisting there was no way I could eat it all, and I was determined to prove her wrong. But, after Daniel had returned from the second trip up to his penthouse for more wine and liquor, I was done.

  I lay my chopsticks down in defeat, and Jude scoops everything up right away, triggering the rest of the guys to go into clean-up mode. Emma insists on doing something, too, and sets about wiping down the induction stovetop. But I’m in a little bit of a Thai noodle comma, and Zoey insists I sit by her and help finish off the bottle of Moscato as the others straighten up the kitchen. Don’t mind if I do.

  She leans in for a confidential whisper. “Thank you.”

  “For eating everything in sight?”

  Zoey smiles. “Yes. And for being yourself. I needed a good laugh. And Emma needs you, too.”

  My gut tightens, and not because of the hot peppers. I keep my voice low to match hers, watching as Jude gets some hot, sudsy water going and Daniel finds spots for items in the fridge. “Are you two okay? I know I had my head in a bowl most of the time, but I can tell there’s something going on.”

  She sighs, leaning back, and I take the opportunity to refill both our wine glasses. “Things are just a little bit of a mess,” she says. She glances at me and must see worry creased into my brow, because she quickly adds, “Nothing to do with you guys. We just needed a good distraction tonight.”