by Nina Bocci
“What else is going on besides work, the campaign, and trying not to murder you-know-who?” Henry asked around a mouthful of pizza. “Anything exciting with your life?”
I thought about that for a minute. Was there anything exciting? Nothing that I could think of to share with them. Best friends or not, I wasn’t about to let them know that I was contemplating driving two hours into New York or Philadelphia just to find someone for a one-night stand—because I couldn’t possibly sleep with someone with no strings attached around here. Even if I went to the next county, people would still recognize me. I had been thinking about it for a while. The stress, the long hours, the exhaustion. Maybe if I just let off a little steam, I’d feel better. Rejuvenated.
“Maybe I need a date,” I said as the waitress brought us our food.
They both smiled, and Nick rubbed his hands together. “Can we fix you up?”
“Not you,” Henry said sharply. “It’ll be like that time you tried fixing her up with the married guy.” He expertly dodged the flying chicken wing that Nick launched in his direction.
“That was an accident, Henry,” Nick said as Henry composed himself. “You’re so judgmental. This is why you’re single.”
Henry shrugged. Single or not, he didn’t care about his relationship status. He’d told me once he was like a sexual camel—he was okay to go without sex for a while. He had a totally different view about relationships than his friends did.
“I need someone normal,” I stated, and bit down on pizza crust.
“Since when?” they both asked, and immediately punched each other in the arm. “Jinx!”
“My God, I’m dealing with twelve-year-olds.”
“You love it,” Henry said, and he was right. I did.
“Someone without baggage. Attractive, fit, and not married.”
“You really just need to get laid,” Nick said, sliding a basket of chicken wings my way as if the greasy goodness would help my situation.
“Seriously, Nick, is that all you think about?” the waitress chimed in as she walked over with another basket of wings.
“Yes,” Nick, Henry, and I said in unison.
She tutted, depositing the basket on the empty space at the table. Cooper wasn’t the only one in town with a colorful past.
“I need a distraction, so maybe you’re right,” I agreed once she left.
“Distraction from what? It seems to me like you need less stuff on your plate, not more, Emma,” Henry said sagely. “Including one-night stands. Is Cooper bothering you? Or the campaign?”
“Whitney’s coming to talk tomorrow,” I explained, loving that they both froze with chicken wings in their hands, stunned. “I’ve managed to avoid her thus far. I think we’re both trying to ignore that the other exists. Sound familiar?”
After a few seconds, they shook their heads and glanced at each other. “Say what, now?” Nick asked, pulling his chair closer. Henry did the same, and they clapped their hands on my shoulders, leaning in and creating a quiet zone walled off from the rest of the restaurant.
“There better not be wing sauce on my shirt, and you heard me,” I whispered, feeling the annoyance bubbling up again.
“Whose brilliant idea was this?” Nick asked before draining the rest of his beer. “Not yours, I’m assuming. Why are you talking to her? Didn’t that end . . . badly last time?”
“I called her, so I guess I invited the riot.”
“You got balls, Ems.”
Henry tapped his ear, pretending to adjust the hearing aid wire that disappeared inside. “I must have misheard. Whitney is coming to talk to you tomorrow? And you invited her to. On purpose?” He had that thoughtful look in his eyes. The one he got when he was thinking too hard.
Nick whistled, leaning back in his chair. “Balls of steel.”
“Emma, why?” Henry asked. Pushing his seat back, he wiped his hands and took another sip of his beer.
“It’s time to bury the hatchet.”
“Let’s not aim for her back, though, okay?” Nick offered, trying to come off as funny. “Why does she hate you so much, anyway?”
I swallowed. That was the question of the decade.
“No idea,” I said. At my words, Henry set the mug down and tipped his head to one side. They didn’t know the truth about what had happened between Whitney and me. At least, I’d never told them. But I’m sure it wasn’t hard to figure out what our issues were.
“Do you want us to come with you? As a sign of solidarity?” Henry offered.
“Or two people to be witnesses that it was self-defense if you kill her with your pinky?” Nick joked.
“I’m good, but thanks.”
Smiling, I took another piece of pizza.
“Offer stands,” Henry said. “How are you going to do this?” He took my hand in his. He didn’t care that it was greasy from the pizza or that my nails were chewed down to the quick.
Easy question, impossible to answer. “Eh, it’ll be fine,” I lied. Judging by his face, my answer was unconvincing. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, and to do that I have to deal with her face-to-face at some point. It’s not like we’ll be in communication forever. It’s just until this damn election is over.”
I hoped so, anyway. The prospect of Whitney staying permanently was something that I’d definitely considered. I never had known what was going on between them, but I assumed it had never gone anywhere because of his lack of commitment. And to be honest, I’d always avoided any conversation about Whitney. But the fact that they’d stayed in touch this whole time meant that there must have been something meaningful between them. And that something always had the chance of rekindling.
“You’re a better person than I am,” Nick said, interjecting into my thoughts. “No way would I be able to deal with someone I had that sort of history with.” He waved the server over for another beer. “That would be like me working on a huge project with Penny’s husband.”
Penelope Manning was Nick’s ex-girlfriend and possibly the love of his life. He rarely mentioned her anymore, so for him to bring her up now, it must have been serious.
“Nick, the difference is that you and Penny were together when she, you know—” I paused because I hated bringing up Penny cheating on him with her future husband. “That was different from me and Cooper. We weren’t a couple when he hooked up with Whitney. We weren’t anything but friends.”
They didn’t think I’d caught it, but I had—the subtle glance between Nick and Henry. I ignored it and continued. “Let’s focus on getting me a date. How about that guy?” I pointed to the good-looking guy I’d noticed the second he walked into the bar.
The place was getting crowded, making it hard to see him, but from my vantage point he looked good in a dark pair of jeans and a fitted cream-colored sweater that stretched across his broad back. “Well dressed, I like it,” I mumbled.
I squinted my eyes. Damn my lack of vision. The handful of guys surrounding him at the bar also made it difficult to see him. I could tell that he was talking to the waitress, and he kept his head down, likely looking at the menu. “Looks like a take-out order,” I said, craning my neck over the crowd.
“I think you should go talk to him,” Nick suggested, elbowing Henry, who chimed in with an enthusiastic nod.
Nick stretched his arms up and laughed. “He’s probably your type. Look at him. Ivy League.”
I slid a look at Nick. “How can you possibly know that from here? Besides, looks aren’t half as important as personality. He could be an egomaniac or married.”
“I find it interesting that you lump those two together,” Henry said with a laugh. “I agree with Nick, though. He’s totally your type.”
“You two are like the twins from The Shining. Creepy yet perceptive.” I tossed the napkin down on the table and stood. “You know what? Screw it, why not. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Brushing off my pants, I took a second to make sure my white blouse was st
ill tucked beneath my wide black leather belt before pulling my hair from the ponytail I’d worn all day. Normally I wasn’t someone who put much effort into talking to a stranger. Ha. I wasn’t someone who talked to a stranger, period. But I decided to embrace the sexy walk that many women had mastered and go introduce myself to the guy. What did I have to lose?
Maybe it was the beer emboldening me or Nick and Henry’s encouragement, but I started over to talk to Mr. Sexy Stranger. “Go get ’em, Emma!” Nick snickered. I ignored him. I was on a mission.
As I wove my way between the people at the bar, the closer I got to the guy, the more intrigued I became. I noticed that his hat had the UPenn logo on it. It was faded and tattered, but it was definitely it. So he was Ivy League.
“Hey, there,” I said, forced to talk to the man’s back because he was so squeezed in between two other people at the bar. “I’m Emma. I was just wondering if I could buy you a drink?” Not my best line, but did I even have lines?
Not really, but I was going for it.
His posture stiffened slightly. “They’ve got a great local beer here,” I continued, not knowing if he could even hear me over the noise.
It wasn’t until I tapped him to get his attention that I realized my embarrassing mistake.
His back muscles seized up under my touch. It was as if my hand were electrified—I couldn’t move it from the softness of his sweater.
EMMA THOUGHT: Make a LASIK eye appointment stat.
As he turned, I tried to find an escape route, but it was too late. I had nowhere to go but forward, because of course, at that moment, more patrons crushed toward the bar to get another round.
His hand reached out to touch my elbow, pulling me toward him. It was my turn to stiffen. He leaned down to whisper in my ear, “You want to buy me a beer, do you?”
I would never live this down.
“Hey, Cooper.”
I didn’t say another word—instead I shoved my way through the crowd, ignoring the loud complaints from everyone I pushed through. When I arrived back at the table, red-faced, heart thundering, and keenly aware that Cooper was hot on my heels, I punched Nick in the arm. At least, I thought it was his arm. I would never be able to trust my vision again.
“You ass!” I sneered under my breath. “You knew I couldn’t tell that it was him. I’ll never forgive you!”
He snickered, elbowing Henry, who at least had the appearance of being remorseful for sending me to the wolves.
“Look who I ran into at the bar,” I said through gritted teeth, refusing to look over my shoulder at Cooper. Why was he standing so close? He had to know it was an accident—I wasn’t actually attracted to him. If he had been a stranger and my eyes had been fully functioning, I’m sure I would have stopped my attempt to pick him up.
I turned slightly to glare at Cooper, mindful of the fact that he was standing directly behind me. My body felt like a live wire, knowing he was just within reach. And my ears were hot. What an odd part of my body to feel warm. In fact . . . my whole body was starting to feel hot. “Why is it so damn warm in here?” I asked, fanning myself.
“It’s not,” Cooper said, leaning down again. His lips brushed the shell of my now possibly on-fire ear and I jumped, bumping into our table and sloshing beer over the mugs. I had to get out of there. I was mortified and hot and bothered, and a myriad of other feelings were climbing up my throat and choking me from the inside out.
I slapped my hand down on my leg and laughed. “I can’t believe I forgot about this thing I have to do. So, uh, I gotta go.”
This. Thing.
I held a master’s degree, for pity’s sake, and I’d actually said “this thing” as if I couldn’t think of something a thousand times more believable.
“Oh, really?” Nick chimed in, and I could tell he was fighting back a smile. “I thought you wanted to chat with the bar hottie? Isn’t that what you said? I’d like to— Henry, what was it?”
EMMA THOUGHT: Kick Nick’s ass after LASIK.
“I don’t remember, Nicholas. I think Emma was just confused.” Henry stood, coming around the table to give me a hug. “It’s not a big deal, don’t leave,” he whispered, giving me a second squeeze.
I couldn’t explain to them how embarrassed I was or how genuinely perplexed I was at how I was feeling. Cooper had . . . turned me on? I needed to leave. Now.
“I’ve got stuff to take care of. I’ll see you guys later. Cooper, you can have my seat.”
Without turning around again, I made my way to the front door.
22
* * *
UNKNOWN NUMBER: When and where are you meeting me?
The text came through just as I was biting down on my salad. I knew I had to eat before meeting her. Plus, I didn’t trust myself with silverware around her. I missed the lettuce and hit my tongue instead. The phone was sitting next to my plate, staring up at me like a land mine. I took a chapter out of Nick’s playbook and responded.
ME: New phone, who dis?
Juvenile? Yes, but I didn’t care. It was something to throw her off her game. I needed to have the upper hand with Whitney. If I gave an inch, she would walk all over me. Plus, she was meeting me. This is my town, honey.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Cute. I charge by the hour.
“I’ve heard,” I said to my empty office. It was nearly five o’clock and the whole building was deserted, most headed over to the high school to watch the school’s theater group, the Primary Players, performing Les Misérables. I was torn over where to meet with her. We could have met anywhere. But everywhere seemed to have disadvantages.
Here at the office?
No witnesses, though maybe that’s a good thing.
One of the pubs?
Beer and hard liquor didn’t seem like the wisest of moves.
Notte’s?
I paused on that one. Might be good to be in a place that means something to me, I thought. A place I’d had a hand in creating would give me a sense of control. Plus I could lord its success over her as proof of how good Cooper and I were together.
How well we worked together.
ME: You can meet me at 6PM / Bella Notte. It’s by the river.
“Don’t fall in” was what I wanted to end with, but I kept it civil. For now, at least. Checking my makeup, I added a little more concealer under my eyes to try to cover the violet shadows that seemed as dark as an eggplant under the harsh office lighting.
After getting home from the pub the other night, which had taken a lot of effort on my part since I couldn’t see anything, I worked for a bit, updating Cooper’s campaign Facebook page with photos of the setup for the upcoming election-night party. People loved seeing the inside of Campbell Manor, and judging by the number of “Wow!” reactions to the posts, it was a smart move. It wasn’t just the photos of the interior that generated a heavy social media response. The highest number of post engagements and impressions were thanks to a candid shot of Cooper and Whitney together. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and he was placing a light kiss on her forehead.
They looked happy, content, and very much a couple.
That was what I’d wanted to happen. What should have made things easier, and yet . . . I thought about what had happened with him at the bar.
Shaking my head, I rubbed the center of my chest to rid it of the odd ache that was blooming there. I must be coming down with something. My brain was fuzzy, too. I just wasn’t feeling myself.
The next few weeks were going to be intense with a bunch of last-minute events, all of which would lead up to the party on election night.
Cooper—I hoped, at least—wouldn’t be able to screw things up in the next couple weeks.
If he did, I would kill him myself.
I rode my bike slowly out to Notte’s, wanting to enjoy the last of the good fall weather. The last time I’d taken my bike here hadn’t exactly gone as planned, and in a lot of ways, I credited that night with the current path I was on.
Pulling
into the parking lot at one minute before six, I wasn’t surprised to see that Whitney’s car wasn’t there yet. I had been going to try to be fashionably late, but I wasn’t wired that way. It would have made me crazy.
I went inside after leaving my bike at the side of the restaurant. There was wine inside, and wine was needed.
I ordered a glass of Valpolicella and then sat and waited, wine in shaky hand. This time I was prepared for the wait, and I opened the book I’d brought with me to pass the time. When Whitney arrived, I wanted to seem aloof—like I was enjoying my time sitting alone. Again I hoped to have the upper hand.
Silly Emma.
At 6:29, Whitney Andrews breezed into the building, turning heads and dropping jaws. She strutted in with sky-high black Louboutin heels, an indecently tight gray pencil skirt that my mother would have loved, and a stunning pewter-colored bell-sleeved sweater that looked like it was sewn to her shapely figure.
Glancing down at myself, I realized too late that I probably should have gone home to change out of my navy ankle pants, pointed polka-dot flats, and cardigan sweater.
Before she even sat down, Whitney called to the server who was standing at the bar to bring her a double gin and tonic.
“Emma, you look well,” she said by way of a greeting, looking down her patrician nose at me. Her icy blond hair was pulled back in a low chignon, and she wore delicate pearl earrings.
“Are you sure you want to drink something that strong? Aren’t you driving home?” I asked, thinking how wrecked I’d be if I had that much alcohol in my system.
“Aw, concerned for my well-being?” she mocked.
“Not especially.”
Whitney tossed her head back and barked out a laugh. She leaned an elbow casually on the table and swirled the red plastic stirrer in her glass with her other hand. “Sharp-tongued Emma is out tonight. I wondered which of your personalities would make an appearance.”
“Funny, I just assumed bitchy Whitney would be showing up.”