by Caitlyn Blue
“Let’s see.” Brynn snatches my phone before I can move. “Why is he sending you a naked picture of himself?”
“What?” I grab the phone back and see that it’s a text from my mother. “You really are mean,” I tell her, replying to my mom that I would be in before noon. Once that is sent, I notice a new text that I missed.
Had fun tonight. Let’s have dinner this week. Let me know what night is good for you.
I don’t even hesitate.
Wednesday or Thursday would work.
And with the push of a button, all my good intentions fly out the window.
6
Zach
I’ve glanced at the clock a dozen times in the last hour, but it’s still no closer to six when I’m going to leave to pick up Emma for our dinner date. At four I give up and head to the gym in my building for a quick workout. There’s not much more than a few treadmills and some free weights, but it comes in handy when I want to squeeze in some exercise.
My phone rings as I’m close to the end of a thirty-minute run and I’m surprised to see Riley’s face lighting up the screen. Paul’s sister has been working for a fashion designer in Paris for the last five years. Although she’s two years older, we go back as far as Paul and I do, and we both make an effort to keep in touch fairly regularly.
I answer the call. “How’s Paris?”
“It sucks.”
Expecting to hear her going on about the city’s beauty and that the cherry trees are in bloom, I’m caught off guard by her sharp tone.
“You okay?”
“Not really.” Her voice catches and it’s strange to hear her sounding so lost. “I quit.”
“What happened?” The last I heard she was up for a promotion.
“Pierre’s nephew got the position I was up for.” Pierre Rochas is Riley’s boss at the design house and hasn’t always been her biggest fan. “He has half the experience I do.”
“But why quit?”
“I might have sabotaged the little shit and Pierre may have gotten wind of it.” She pauses to take a shaky breath. “He threatened to fire me so I quit.”
There’s something more to the story that she’s holding back. I can hear it in her voice. Riley is a drama tornado, wreaking havoc wherever she goes. Sometimes the problems she creates are accidental. Other times her deliberate actions cause the damage. Usually the repercussions slide off her Teflon hide. Once in a while, however, something she says or does blows up in her face. This is one of those times.
“What are you going to do?”
“Come home.”
“For a visit?”
“For good.” Defeat resonates through her declaration. “I just don’t think I’m cut out to be a designer.”
That’s not the answer I expect. Riley is a fighter. She lives for fashion, and being a designer in Paris is her dream.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and look for another job?”
“I don’t have the money to stay, and I don’t know how long it will take to find something or if I can get hired by anyone else. Pierre said he’s going to spread the word about me. It’s possible no other design firm will take me on.”
Damn. That’s tough. She must’ve done a pretty thorough job of messing with the nephew. I remember when she got the job in Paris. She was the happiest I’d ever seen her. But then she discovered out just how cutthroat the business is and over the past few years, the joy seems to have drained out of her.
“What can I do to help?”
“Can you send me enough for a plane ticket back to Chicago? I don’t want to ask Paul. He’ll just pester me with a lot of questions and I can’t bear for him to know what happened.”
Although Paul has covered for his sister on a lot of occasions, he’s often the first one to come down on her for her antics. Well, her poor judgment be damned. Riley sounds pretty low at the moment and very much in need of a friend.
“Let me know what flight you’re looking at and I’ll make the arrangements.”
“You’re the best. I’ll pay you back once I get my last paycheck. I just really need to come home.” The last word quavers, and although I’ve heard Riley fake all sorts of different emotions, this time I can tell she’s really hurting.
“Of course.”
Once she sends me the specifics about her flight, I head back to my condo to shower and get ready for my date with Emma.
Half an hour later, I’m in my car and making the trek north to Cedar Park for the third time in less than a week. I don’t think I’ve visited my old stomping grounds three times in the last six months. Since my mom moved to Milwaukee, the only reason to venture north is when Paul has time to hang out and that isn’t happening much in the months leading up to the wedding.
I like living just north of the Loop in River North. The district is full of renovated warehouses and dormant factories that have drawn artists and entrepreneurs to the densely populated area. Teeming with galleries, restaurants, upscale wine bars and nightclubs, it’s alive and happening all the time. Cedar Park is a community for people that want to settle down and have kids. That is so far from where I’m at it’s almost laughable. Yet here I am, heading back there once again.
It’s Emma who draws me. I’m compelled by a craving to get her alone again and hear her moan the way she did outside Gillies. I can’t get the sound out of my head. It was so sexy. Half protest, half longing as if she’s resisting what she wants. That she has to fight at all intrigues me. She wants me, but she doesn’t. Fuck, it’s hot.
I’m less conflicted. I want her. There’s no doubt in my mind. She intrigues me in a way no other woman has in a long time. I want to taste every inch of her and make her pant and writhe and come hard.
When it comes to women, I don’t usually have to work so hard. Why bother to chase when there are so many ready to fall into my arms? Usually I lure them in with my charm and woo them out of their clothes. After I get what we both want, I’m on my way.
But in Emma’s case, I’m ready to pursue. Hell, I’m eager. I see us spending many hours together between now and the wedding, and I intend to pass as much of that time as I can with both of us naked.
Her family’s antique store on Main Street is a cluttered, claustrophobic sort of place. I prefer to be surrounded by as little stuff as possible. Clutter disrupts my energy. I couldn’t think straight in such a chaotic mess. The instant I step into the store, I’m bombarded by a hundred different energies. The place smells like dust, mildew, and old people. I resist the urge to turn tail and run, but it’s not easy.
I wind my way toward the counter near the back, wondering how much merchandise gets stolen each year. It amazes me how many people actually buy this old junk. A table beside the door contains a bowl filled with old motel keys, stacks of faded books, and collectible plates. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a bucket of creepy baby doll heads, arms, and legs. Shuddering, I sidestep and almost bump into a shelf cluttered with dusty plastic scales, old cameras, flat irons, empty root beer bottles, and hunks of coral. I’m shocked that they sell anything. It’s all just junk. Other people’s cast-off trash. What’s the appeal?
Emma’s mom stands before the cash register, ringing up a customer. As soon as she finishes, I wander up. “Hey, Mrs. C,” I say when she glances in my direction.
“Zach.” Her eyes widen in surprise and pleasure. She’s one of my favorite people. I spent a lot of time at her house during high school and she always made me feel like one of her own. “How nice to see you.”
Even after Julie and I broke up, she never held it against me the way Emma did. I like to think she noticed the way Paul looked at Julie and suspected, as I did, that if I continued dating the woman he loved, our friendship might not last. I reasoned that even if Julie never reciprocated Paul’s feelings, at least he’d get his shot with her once I stepped out of the picture.
And I’d been right. When she broke things off, believing I’d cheated on her, Paul got his chance to rid
e in on his white horse and become her prince charming.
“What brings you by?” she asks.
“I’m here to take Emma out to dinner.”
“How nice. Emma, honey. Zach is here,” Mrs. C calls loudly. “How are your parents doing?” Her volume lowers back to a conversational level for the last part.
“Not bad. Dad is living in Tennessee.” With my stepmom, her two kids, and my half-brother. Halfway through my junior year of high school I started noticing tension brewing between my parents. By the time I started senior year, they fought all the time and shortly after Christmas, my dad moved out.
“And your mom?”
“Adjusting to life in Milwaukee.” With her fiancé, an old high school boyfriend she reconnected with three years ago. They did the long distance thing for a couple years before he asked her to marry him.
“I’m sure it was hard leaving all her friends and family.”
“For a while Ted was worried she wouldn’t.”
My mom grew up in the Cedar Park neighborhood, and when she got married, she and my dad bought a house a couple miles from my grandparents. Dad was born and raised in Tennessee. He came to Chicago for college, met my mother, got a job here and stayed. When he and Mom split, he transferred to Memphis.
Mrs. C gives me a sympathetic head tilt. “It must be lonely for you with both of your parents gone.”
I shrug. “I keep pretty busy with work, and Mom’s just a couple hours away. I drive up to Milwaukee whenever I can.”
A flicker of movement to my left warns me Emma is approaching. Almost immediately my senses go on full alert. Her scent reaches me first, a subtle blend of vanilla and lavender. The anxiety I didn’t even realize I was feeling fades away. In its place rushes the strangest craving. My gaze falls to her lips and I remember how soft they felt beneath mine. I could’ve spent the entire night kissing her, as well as other things.
“You’re an hour early.” It’s not a friendly greeting.
“Emma Callahan,” her mother exclaims, outraged. “That is not how I raised you.”
Emma shoots her mother a frown before assembling her features into something resembling politeness. “Zach, you’re an hour early and that’s just plain rude.” Her customer service manner and tone of voice is at odds with her words and I can’t help but laugh. “And I thought we agreed to meet at the restaurant.”
“I couldn’t wait to see you.” That’s only half the truth. I did leave early for just that reason, but also, traffic was lighter than I expected. “And I thought it would be better if I picked you up.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet.” But she doesn’t look as if she believes a word I say.
“Emma, you didn’t mention that you and Zach are seeing each other.” Mrs. C looks quite pleased by this.
“We’re not. Julie and Paul want to do a combined bachelor/bachelorette party,” Emma explains without taking her eyes off me. “We’re getting together to plan it.”
“That sounds like fun.” But whether Mrs. C means the party or us getting together, it’s open for interpretation.
“It’s a terrible idea,” Emma continues.
“Actually, I changed my mind.”
Emma slices a look my way. “I thought we agreed to come up with bad ideas to convince them to do separate parties.”
“When I mentioned to Paul what we’d come up, he shot me down. But he still insists on combining the events. And then I hit upon a great idea.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m listening.”
“It’s something nontraditional.”
“Julie’s not going to go for that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I can be very persuasive.”
“You don’t say.”
She’s trying to stab at my ego with her dry tone, but I remember how her lips yielded when I kissed her. And that desperate sounding moan…
“Very persuasive,” I repeat with deliberate emphasis. “You’ll see.”
“What if I don’t want to see?”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“What’s your idea?” Mrs. C asks, breaking into our staring contest. She sounds a little breathless.
Both of us turn to her in surprise. Mrs. C’s eyes are bright and curious as she glances from Emma to me, and then back to Emma. Her daughter’s cheeks turn pink as she notices her mother’s interest.
“I was thinking,” I say, drawing out the moment, enjoying being the focus of their attention, “that we should get out of town for a long bachelor/bachelorette weekend.”
Both Emma and her mother speak at once.
“That’s a great idea.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
I glance from one to the other, undaunted by Emma’s scowl. “What’s the matter?” I say to her. “Are you afraid to get away and have some fun?” I let the “with me” go unspoken.
“I’ve already run the idea past Paul and Julie. They’re on board.” I’ve well and truly bested her. “We just need to come up with a few options for the destination.”
And the best part about this is, once we do the initial planning, the rest of the party will happen organically. That should leave Emma with very little to do once we arrive. I will just have to do my best to keep her mind off organized activities and on me. The thought makes me grin.
“So what do you say?” I ask.
“Sounds like it’s already a plan.”
Her disappointment delivers a hard blow to my gut. She’s got it in her head that she should be in charge. Don’t get me wrong, I love it when a woman takes the initiative, but this is something I want us to work on together.
“It’s going to be great fun,” I assure her. “You’ll see.”
7
Emma
Over dinner we don’t end up talking about the combined bachelor/bachelorette party. Before leaving the store, Zach followed me downstairs to see the work I’d been doing in an effort to expand the retail space. My vision for the store is far less cluttered than its current state. When my great aunt died, we discovered all the furniture and miscellaneous inventory she’d been collecting on the sly. For the last two years, our shop has been packed to the point where it’s difficult for most people to have an enjoyable shopping experience.
He keeps me talking about the furniture I’ve refurbished and how I’d like to draw a more upscale clientele who can afford a higher price point. Sell less for more. He asks pointed, perceptive questions. It’s flattering to have his complete, undivided attention. A girl could get used to it. And yet, in the back of my mind, I can’t help but remember that this is how he operates. He’ll flatter me until I hop into bed with him and then he’ll move on to his next conquest.
He’s a fling kind of guy. I’m a forever kind of girl. I’ve never jumped into bed assuming the relationship has a predetermined expiration date. He dates a lot of women and probably sleeps with most of them.
But as he drives me home, I can’t stop thinking about his lips. How soft and firm they are. That night in Gillies’s lot, he kissed me with the slightest hint of tongue. Enough to awaken a cloud of butterflies in my stomach, and far too little to satisfy ten years of curiosity and longing.
That kiss was everything I expected and so much more. I’m pretty sure he knows that I want another kiss. Maybe dozens more. Which is the exact opposite of what I should be thinking. The night Julie came home after Zach popped her cherry, I soaked my pillow in tears and swore I was done with him. No matter how much I wanted Zach, after a lifetime of hand-me-downs from my sister, I promised myself no more.
If only I hadn’t brought him home after speech class. Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy. It’s my fault Julie and Zach got together in the first place. I think back to when I first met him. I’d been fourteen and a freshman. We were both taking a public speaking elective open to any grade level.
While I wasn’t exactly an introvert, I wasn’t one of the most outgoing members of the my class either. I chose the elective
in order to push past the limits of my awkwardness. We had to write speeches on all sorts of different topics and then present them to the class who would then critique and give us feedback. Zach was a rock star. Look what he does for a living. Every time he stood up in front of the class, we were mesmerized. His easy confidence, and let’s face it, unadulterated gorgeousness, made my mouth dry up like the Sahara.
For one of the assignments we had to pair up. This time, instead of choosing our own partners, Mr. Stewart decided to shake things up and had us draw names. I ended up working with Zach. At twenty-four, I’m no longer a tongue-tied idiot around attractive men. I’ve learned to hold my own no matter how uncomfortable I am in a situation. Ten years ago, however, I could barely speak to Zach.
He’d turned sixteen over the summer and had his license. I couldn’t believe my luck when he offered to drive me home after school so we could work on our presentation. I’m pretty sure no other freshman girl had taken a ride in Zach’s car. Gloating the entire way home, it never once occurred to me that when a soccer star was introduced to the co-captain of the dance squad for the first time, he’d forget all about his awkward freshman speech partner.
“What are you thinking about?” Zach asks me as we turn onto the street where I live.
“The first time you brought me home.”
I’m pretty sure the only thing he’s going to remember about that day is meeting Julie.
“Our speech presentation,” he says, and with those three words I’m a teenager with a massive crush once more.
“It was the day you first met Julie.” The day my future happiness began to unravel. Only I didn’t realize that for a couple weeks.
“Was it?”
How is it possible that he doesn’t remember such a momentous event? It stands out for me as a pivotal moment in my life. I’d never considered Julie a rival before. She was popular, athletic, and possessed the sort of self-confidence that went hand-in-hand with being successful and admired. I couldn’t compete.