Blitzing Emily

by Julie Brannagh

  “Let me guess. The other half wants to know what you’re doing,” Tom teased.

  “She’s saying goodnight.” Brandon took a long swallow of the pint of Mac and Jack’s Amber Ale another server had set down in front of him.

  “She’s checking to see if you’re with someone else,” Zach said.

  “Maybe your woman is jealous and suspicious. Emily’s not that type,” Damian said. Damian had a bit of a crush on Brandon’s fiancée, it seemed.

  “Oh, yes, she is. You just haven’t seen it yet,” Zach informed the entire table.

  Brandon responded by draining his pint glass. Maybe it was best if he called a cab and went home. He didn’t want to spend the next half hour impressing on Zach why it wasn’t a good idea to say anything remotely critical of Emily, or any other young woman of his acquaintance, in his presence. He really wanted some of those chili fries, but Damian would eat his order. He pulled thirty dollars out of his wallet, slipping the bills under the empty pint glass.

  He checked his phone to see another “xxx ooo” message from Emily, and hit the “stored contacts” icon to find a number for a cab. A commotion at the front door of the bar made him look up from his phone’s screen. His stomach lurched.

  Anastasia and two of her model friends were cantering toward their table. She wouldn’t be caught dead in this place while they were dating. What the hell was she doing here now? She flipped a curtain of long, straight hair over a bony shoulder. The oversized sweater she wore slid off the opposite shoulder. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the other side of the sweater showed signs of sliding right off, too. Half an inch more, and she’d give a whole new meaning to the words “wardrobe malfunction.” The two women she was with wore dresses that left even less to the imagination, and impossibly high heels.

  “Well, look who’s here,” she purred. “Just the man I wanted to talk with.” She pulled out the chair on Brandon’s right and sank into it. She was glancing around the table already. She clearly wanted a cigarette, and there were no ashtrays available.

  “Smoking’s not allowed here, Anastasia,” he said. “Maybe you should leave.”

  “They won’t care.” She pulled out a lighter, laid it on the table in front of her, and reached into her bag once more. Brandon grabbed the lighter off the table.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me. You’re not doing this,” he said.

  She tossed her head. “Where’s your fiancée?”

  “Why should you care? You and I aren’t together anymore.”

  Her smile was feline. It matched the exaggerated cat-eye black eyeliner she wore. She tossed a box of Marlboro Reds onto the table in front of them. “I need my lighter.”

  He sat forward in his chair. “What is it that you want from me?”

  “You must miss me.” She shook a cigarette out of the pack and slid it between her fingers. “I know I miss you. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere quieter.” He knew what she meant by “somewhere quieter”—her bedroom. He wasn’t interested. He wondered why he never noticed how cold her eyes were the entire time they were together. She gave him what he was sure she thought was a sultry glance.

  He felt like he was observing the entire scene from somewhere overhead—Anastasia’s belief she could seduce him with nothing more than a glance, and his realization that he couldn’t believe she’d ever lured him into her spider web in the first place.

  The guys pretended not to notice what was going on at their end of the table. Zach and one of Anastasia’s model friends went so far as to grab a two-top a short distance away. In other words, they expected trouble.

  “Maybe I need to remind you what you said about me on that entertainment TV show.” His voice dropped. “I’m not interested. Take your friends and get the hell out.”

  She let out a sigh of faux distress. “You can’t believe I really meant that.” She rolled the unlit cigarette between her fingers again. “They wanted a good quote. You know how amazing it was with us.” She leaned closer. He almost choked on the wave of stale smoke, too much perfume, and evidence of her preferred method of weight loss—vomiting—hitting his nostrils. “Remember the entire day in bed?”

  Oh, he did. He wondered what he could shower with to scrub the images off his brain pan, too. He couldn’t believe he spent any time at all with her now. Supermodel or not, she didn’t do a thing for him. She reached out and plucked the lighter out of his fist. “You have to know there isn’t a guy in this place that would turn me down, Brandon.”

  The server arrived with a platter of food, noted the cigarette and lighter in Anastasia’s hand, and snapped, “There’s no smoking here. You’ll have to leave.”

  It happened so fast he had no time to evade her. Anastasia leaned forward, wrapped one arm around his neck, and kissed him. She made it good, too—she writhed against him like a snake, she tried to stick her tongue in his mouth, she did everything but give him a lap dance. He pushed her away.

  He sprang to his feet. “Get out,” he said in a low voice.

  She grabbed her handbag off the table. “You still want me. Your little friend does, that’s for sure,” she taunted.

  Their eyes met. Her smug expression told him she believed she’d won. Count to ten, he told himself. Don’t do anything you’ll regret later. He felt the phone in his pocket vibrate again. Emily. He’d never wanted to wipe his mouth off after one of her kisses, or scrub till every trace of her was off his skin and out of his life. But he did now.

  “You know where to find me,” Anastasia said as she walked away.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  A FEW DAYS later Emily was home again in Seattle after five weeks of performing in Chicago, but Brandon was in Los Angeles filming a commercial for Gatorade. He’d be back tomorrow. She missed him like she would an appendage. She was excited to see him again, but apprehensive. Between his absence and her nerves about continuing a fake engagement that was starting to mean a little too much, she wondered how she would broach the fact the thirty days they agreed on had come and gone while she was out of town.

  She heard a knock at her front door, threw on a robe, and hurried downstairs to discover a courier waiting on her front porch.

  “Good morning, Miss Hamilton. This is for you.” The guy handed her a small Tiffany’s carrier bag and proffered a clipboard and pen. “Please sign by your name.”

  “Certainly. Thank you so much.”

  He reclaimed his clipboard, touched his cap, and got back into his vehicle. She shut her front door, reaching into the little bag. She pulled out a sturdy, cream-colored note card, recognizing Brandon’s dark, heavy handwriting.

  It read, They match your ring. Happy engagement, sugar. – B

  She pulled out another small blue box tied with a white satin ribbon and flipped it open to find diamond stud earrings the size of peas. She hugged the little box to herself. If he kept it up she’d need a security guard.

  Her phone chirped. A text had arrived. She grabbed the phone out of her robe pocket. Speak of the devil: It was Brandon.

  Let’s have coffee tomorrow morning at the shop across from Marina Park in Kirkland. We need to talk.

  There wasn’t an adult on the planet that failed to understand the significance of the phrase, “We need to talk.” After all, most adults have used it at one time or another to rid themselves of a relationship that wasn’t working out.

  He wasn’t dumping her, was he? She felt cold shivers race up her spine.

  Maybe he wanted to break things off in a public place so she wouldn’t cause a scene. He’d shown no indication that he was getting ready to break up with her before now. Hopefully, the diamond earrings weren’t a really expensive kiss-off gift.

  SHORTLY AFTER NINE AM the next morning Emily walked into the coffee shop and spotted Brandon sitting at a table in the back. He saw her, too, and stood up. As she got closer, she noticed that his curls were still damp from the shower he must have taken after his workout. He wore an LSU t-shirt, Levis,
running shoes, and a huge smile.

  “Sugar,” he breathed into her ear, and kissed her cheek. “I missed you. I like the new earrings.”

  “I missed you, too.” She reached up to touch one earlobe. “I love them. Thank you again. I can’t believe you did this.”

  He stroked her cheek with one big hand. “It’s my pleasure.”

  Emily took a deep breath. If she was confused before, she was now wondering if she needed some type of Brandon translator. He was acting like everything was fine, so why had he used the phrase “we need to talk”? Relax, she told herself.

  “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

  “Tea would be great.”

  “Coming right up.” He moved around her and went to the counter to order.

  She had butterflies in her stomach. The blood bubbled through her veins like the finest champagne. She felt lightheaded, excited, beyond happy. She heard Brandon’s laughter as he spoke to one of the baristas. He returned to his chair just moments later.

  “Look what I have,” he said, nodding at the plate he carried. He’d not only brought the tea she asked for, but he’d brought baked goods.

  “Chocolate cake and diamonds? A girl could get used to this,” she said.

  “I have to keep you sweet.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Here.” He sliced off a bite with his fork and slipped it between her lips. The cake, with the tiniest hint of mint, was delicious. He leaned over the table. “You know I have to kiss you now.”

  Listening to him speak was causing a fairly embarrassing reaction, along with the barest brush of his lips on the back of her hand. Her poor nipples could’ve cut glass. She squirmed on the chair, but it had nothing to do with nerves.

  “In front of all these people?” she said. Then again, she really didn’t care about them right now. She couldn’t concentrate on anything or anyone but him.

  “Of course, I am.” He moved closer. “Would you like me to?”

  Someone obviously turned up the heat in the shop. They were lost in their own world.

  Emily fed him a forkful of cake. A bit of frosting clung to the corner of his mouth. She wiped it off with her fingertip. He caught her hand in his and licked her finger. His eyes met hers.

  “Let’s not waste it.”

  She forgot to breathe.

  “Excuse me,” Emily heard an excited female voice say. “Aren’t you Brandon McKenna?”

  Two young women in their twenties stood beside their table. Both were focused on Brandon. They didn’t acknowledge her.

  “I am,” Brandon said.

  “Oh, my God,” the young woman said. Her pale blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail. She wore a skin-tight t-shirt and low-slung jeans. “I am such a Sharks fan. It’s so exciting to meet you!” She was bouncing on the balls of her feet. She thrust out her hand to him and said breathlessly, “I’m Kris. Could I have your autograph?” She began rooting through her purse for a pen.

  “Sure.” He smiled. “By the way, this is Emily, my fiancée.”

  The friend rolled her eyes. Kris handed Brandon a ballpoint pen. To Emily’s amazement, she pulled up her t-shirt, leaned over, and grinned.

  “Right here.”

  She wanted him to sign her breast, in a crowded coffee shop, in front of Emily.

  Brandon averted his eyes from Kris’s perky assets. “I’m happy to sign a piece of paper for you, but I won’t sign that.” He gave her a look Emily hadn’t seen anywhere but in the game film they watched, quickly scribbled his signature on an unused napkin on the table, and said, “It was—nice—to meet you. Thanks for your support.”

  Kris wasn’t getting the hint. She whipped out her cell phone.

  “Let’s pose for a picture,” she said.

  She tried to install herself on his lap while pushing her cell phone into her friend’s outstretched hand. He managed to shove his chair back before she succeeded. She grabbed the side of the table so she wouldn’t fall.

  “Sugar, it’s time for us to leave.” He picked up their coffee cups and moved around the two women to take her arm.

  “I’ll get more cake to go if you’d like,” he said in a low voice.

  “You’re an asshole,” Kris hissed. “You—you screwed my friend, but you won’t let me sit on your lap?”

  Emily opened her mouth to respond, but he pulled her away. “Keep moving,” he said.

  She knew from the blank expression in Brandon’s eyes (and the flush that was slowly spreading up his neck) that he was much angrier than he appeared on the surface. He stopped at the counter for a moment, said something to the barista, and swept Emily out the front door.

  “Let’s walk.” He handed Emily’s cup to her, slid an arm around her waist, and they hurried across the street to Marina Park. “We’ll go back for cake later.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  “Do that young woman’s parents know she’s—Okay. I realize I’m a bit old-fashioned, but . . .” Emily’s voice trailed off. He was walking so fast Emily ran to keep up with him. She reached out for the waistband of his jeans and panted, “Wait a second.”

  He tugged her over to a bench. They sat in silence for a while, watching children run and play along the sandy beach.

  “So, I hate to even bring it up,” she said.

  “I wasn’t involved with her.” His voice was tense. “I prefer women, not little girls.” He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “People approach me. Most of the time, they’re nice. They want an autograph or they want to talk a little. That stuff?” His eyes hardened again. “That hasn’t been happening as much lately, but I’ll never get used to it.” He thought for a moment. “Do you get people coming up to you?”

  “It’s usually an arranged thing after a performance or at a benefit. I haven’t had anyone who’s wanted me to autograph their breast, though.”

  He gave a low chuckle, and seemed to relax a little. “I’ll let you sign mine.” His arm slid around Emily’s shoulders again. “She was rude to you, too.”

  “Listen, bruiser, that was the least of it, wasn’t it? I’m fine,” she said.

  “Yes, you are.” His fingertips stroked her upper arm.

  Emily’s face was hot. She knew she was blushing.

  “The kids are cute,” he mused.

  They watched a toddler in a hot pink cotton romper and pink Nikes lurch through the sand. Her blonde pigtails bounced with every step, and her eyes were cobalt blue marbles in a rounded baby face. She chanted, “Mama Mama,” as she moved.

  “She’s sweet, isn’t she?” Emily commented.

  A woman Emily believed was the little girl’s mother hurried after her with a jacket, a bucket, and a small shovel. Princess must have been digging in the sand.

  “You want one of those?” Brandon asked, inclining his head toward the little girl.

  “Maybe. Someday.”

  The little girl plopped down on a well-padded rump. She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, and her mother swept her up in her arms. “We have to go, Kate,” she said.

  Kate’s response was to screw up her little face. A couple of fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Kate’s mama put her down on the path in front of them, and Kate lurched toward Brandon at surprising speed.

  She hurled herself onto his thigh, regarded him with wide eyes, and said, “Da.”

  He laughed, and gently stroked her cheek. “Hello, Kate. I’m Brandon.”

  She scrambled into his lap, sat up, and grinned.

  “Katie, that’s not okay. We need to go.”

  Two more big tears rolled down Kate’s cheeks. “Da,” she insisted.

  “No, honey, Dada’s at work. We’ll see him later.” The woman hurried toward Brandon with outstretched hands and an apologetic smile.

  “I should be so lucky,” he told Kate’s mama. “She’s beautiful.”

  “How old is she?” Emily asked Kate’s mother. Kate crawled into Emily’s lap.

 
“She’s fourteen months old,” her mother said. “She’s fast.”

  “I’ve heard about that,” Emily said. Emily gestured toward Kate, who leaned back against her chest. “Is this okay?”

  “Sure,” her mother said.

  Kate smelled like baby shampoo and laundry soap, overlaid with a sweet, clean scent. Her cotton romper was soft against Emily’s fingertips. Kate reached out for Brandon again. Emily relished the sweet weight for a moment, and then handed Kate to him.

  “She’s in love with you already,” Emily said.

  “I have that effect on women,” he deadpanned. “Katie, you’ve stolen my heart. What will I do?” He pressed a kiss onto her cheek. Kate let out a baby laugh and captured his face in her hands. She put her little mouth on his chin. To her surprise, Emily choked up.

  “She’s giving kisses,” Emily managed to say.

  “You’ll have one of your own someday,” Kate’s mother assured her.

  Emily had heard that many times before, but she always dismissed it as something that happened to other people, not her. Today, Kate’s mother’s words pierced her heart.

  “I have to get Kate to a doctor’s appointment,” Kate’s mother said, “or we’d love to stay.”

  Brandon carefully transferred Kate back to her mother. “Bye, sweetheart. Maybe we can play at the park another day,” he said.

  “Are you here often?” Kate’s mother asked.

  He glanced over at Emily. “Not usually, but I see that’s going to change.”

  Emily held out her hand. “I’m Emily. This is Brandon.”

  “I’m Brianna. Maybe we’ll see you around.”

  With a wave, Brianna and Kate hurried up the path to the parking lot. Brandon pulled Emily a little closer as they continued watching other children play in the sand.

  “What do you think our baby would look like?”

  “Hmm? What are you talking about?”

  Emily was a million miles away. Actually, she imagined a small, soft bundle in her arms and the look on Brandon’s face when he saw her for the first time. Amy was always the one who longed for a home and a family. Suddenly, Emily knew why. She couldn’t rock a career to sleep at night, or watch it play in the sand.