Admit You Want Me

by Holloway, Taylor

  As Adam watched, Ward slipped an arm around my waist, pulled me close, and kissed me.

  8

  Ward

  Emma’s lips were warm, and she tasted sweet and minty like she’d been chewing gum. She folded into my arms like she’d been the missing piece all my life. I hadn’t intended to deliver much more than a peck, just to discourage her unwelcome ex, but I couldn’t resist a bit more.

  Before I considered the consequences, I was kissing her. And then I was really kissing her. Passionately, seriously, and deliberately kissing her. Properly kissing her. Like she was mine. My tongue sought hers fiercely, and I pinned her against me, gripping her narrow waist tightly enough that I could feel her heart beating against my chest. Or maybe that was my racing heart, brought to a crazed gallop by the feel of her soft body against mine.

  Someone—probably the creepy old dude that Emma had the misfortune of dating at some point—cleared his throat to our left. Distantly, I was aware of how loud it was, but I wasn’t really paying attention. All my focus was on the woman in front of me.

  I was totally overcome by her. Her little gasp when I pulled her in. The smell of her. The feel of her skin against mine. Her tongue twisted and danced against mine, seeking, probing, and exploring. I could have gone on kissing her for hours.

  When we finally broke away from each other’s embrace, more because we needed to breathe than anything else, we were alone. Creepy old dude had disappeared, likely to lick his wounds in disappointment. He was clearly barking up the wrong tree. Emma was obviously not interested in rekindling anything with him. She’d been avoiding him like a frightened rabbit while he leered at her all evening.

  Now, however, it looked like it was me she wanted to avoid. She looked around and then stared up at me in disbelief. In a fraction of a second, her disbelief melted into anger.

  “What. The. Fuck.” She hissed. “How dare you?”

  I had no good explanation for why I’d kissed her. But I wouldn’t apologize for it. It was too good of a kiss to apologize. It was worth her irritation.

  “Well, you wanted him gone, didn’t you?” I asked her, fighting back a laugh.

  “I didn’t want… that,” she stuttered. Her eyes were huge in her face, and her cheeks were flushed. She pushed her hair back from her face and glared balefully.

  “Are you sure? You didn’t seem to mind a moment ago. You were kissing me back.” The more annoyed she looked and sounded, the better I felt. Her annoyance had quickly become familiar territory for me. Safe territory.

  “I mind very much that you think that was a rescue.”

  “You don’t consider yourself to be rescued? Look, he’s nowhere to be found.” I gestured around to the now-empty patio. All the other guests had already departed when creepy dude chose to make his move on Emma. I followed him out here, suspecting trouble, and finding it. “I got rid of him.”

  Emma frowned at me like I was the one who she needed rescuing from. “That wasn’t what I thought you meant.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  She made a dismissive little noise. “I didn’t beg you to rescue me from Adam. I certainly didn’t beg you kiss me.”

  Adam. So, the creepy old dude had a name. I very much disliked Adam.

  “No. But if you keep this attitude up, I won’t kiss you again unless you beg me to.”

  Her little hands balled up into tiny, adorable fists. It was so easy to push Emma’s buttons, but that didn’t make it any less amusing. She continued to glare up at me with a furious expression on her face, perhaps too angry to speak.

  “Speechless again?” I taunted. “And I didn’t have to take my clothes off this time or anything.”

  Her voice returned enough to insult me. “You are such an asshole.” She sounded astonished at the depths of my awfulness. I couldn’t help chuckling a bit at that.

  “You might want to wash your mouth out then. You know, since you just stuck your tongue so far down my throat.” I winked at her and headed back inside, smiling.

  Part of me wondered if she would follow me in or disappear forever into the dusk, but a few minutes later, she appeared. She started making the rounds with the evening crowd, looking no worse for wear. I’d have been disappointed if she ran off, I realized, although maybe it would have been for the best. Kissing waitresses—waitresses who worked for me and who happened to be my sister’s friends—was a bad idea. A tremendously bad idea.

  Yet there I was, imagining something even worse for my human resources record than merely kissing an employee or a past hookup. Imagining it vivid, lurid, explicit detail. In fact, I’d been imagining it, on and off since Emma walked in on me in the office. When she’d looked at me with fuck-me eyes and walked toward me with that sexy sway in her step before remembering herself and fleeing.

  My fantasies about Emma were getting wildly out of hand. Before this went any further, I needed to put a stop to it. Emma might be playing hard to get now, but she’d been kissing me back like she wanted me. This was a bad situation all around. Kate wouldn’t let me fire Emma, and wouldn’t let me sleep with her, but a plan for something entirely different had begun to reveal itself to me.

  “I need two margaritas no salt,” Emma requested a few minutes into my introspection. She frowned at me no differently than she had last night.

  “Coming right up,” I replied, smiling pleasantly at her while she scowled. I had an idea of how to get Emma to spend time with me outside of the bar. The only problem was that she was going to absolutely hate it.

  “Say Emma,” when she came around to retrieve her drinks, “you know, you owe me for my valiant rescue back there.”

  Emma rolled her eyes and collected the drinks without taking my bait. “Yeah whatever.” She got her next few rounds from Willie instead of me, so it was over an hour before I got to talk to her again. I cornered her on her break.

  “Emma my dear, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

  She looked at me like she was wishing she could shoot laser beams out of her eyes. “No, no, you’re right. I am avoiding you. And don’t call me ‘dear’.”

  Emma was very honest, I was realizing. To a fault. It was a quality I liked, despite its likelihood to get her in trouble.

  “Well I can understand that, I suppose.” I watched her as she poked about on her phone and tried her best to ignore me. “I’m sure you don’t want to pay your debt.”

  That got her attention. She looked up at me in confusion. “I’m not indebted to you.”

  “Of course, you are,” I replied. “You owe me a proper thank you. I rescued you from that creepy old dude.”

  “Oh right. Sure.” She slipped her phone back into her handbag and stood up. “I’ll send you a cookie bouquet. With a little card that says, ‘thanks for sexually harassing me’.”

  Emma slipped past me in the hallway and back to the bar without a backward glance. I followed her ass with my eyes appreciatively. Well, appealing to her sense of fairness failed. I hadn’t really expected it to work anyway. Mostly, I just enjoyed teasing her. Plus, I wanted her properly worked up for phase two of my plan.

  9

  Ward

  Kate appeared just before last call to check on the main bar. “How are things?” she asked, looking around with a self-satisfied look on her face. “It looks good in here. Is everyone getting along yet?”

  Emma, who happened to be within hearing range, shook her head grumpily and made a face. She stomped off irritably.

  “What did you do?” my sister asked accusingly. I shrugged. Down the bar, Willie wiped down the bar and pretended not to notice anything, as usual. Kate’s comments weren’t for him anyway. I had yet to meet a person who Willie couldn’t get along with. Hell, it probably wasn’t even limited to humans. He could become best friends with a werewolf.

  “Well I suppose it can’t be helped,” my sister chirped. She was so happy to have help with the rush of customers that I felt guilty for not hiring anot
her waitress sooner. She gave me a peck on the cheek and skipped off again, obviously proud of her hiring decision.

  With Kate gone, it was time to put phase two of my plan into motion. The next time Emma came around, I had a question ready for her. “So, tell me, Emma, do you consider yourself to be more like the people in the bar right now, or the people at the party earlier?”

  Emma looked up at me in confusion. “What do you mean?” The look on her face was less polite than her words. It said: why are you babbling at me?

  “I mean, are you more like those elitist jerks that work at the university or are you a regular person? A fun, normal person?”

  “Are you trying to get me to admit if I’m an elitist jerk?” She rolled her eyes. “Not gonna happen.”

  “I was thinking about what you were saying before the party, about academia. About how they look down on people like me and my sister. And Willie. Do you look down on me, Emma?”

  “What do you think?” She wasn’t giving an inch. Her hand had found her hip, and she was looking at me sideways with one hand supporting a tray. She looked like a sassy, classic pinup in that pose. I had a spot on my bicep that would look great with her tattooed on it. I’d be sure she was wearing that Tinkerbell costume, too.

  I smirked at her, imaging how furious she’d be if I actually did get that ink. “I think you’re too short to look down on me without a ladder, but I’m asking you metaphorically.” I was proud of my use of the word.

  “I’m not an elitist,” she said, setting down the tray of empty drinks and soiled plates she was carrying. “And I’m not a jerk. I know a few though.” She looked at me with that one eyebrow cocked up again.

  “Hmm. I’m not so sure you are normal. I think you might be a phony elitist.”

  “I really don’t care what you think,” she replied, grabbing the water pitcher and clearly planning to get out of my presence as quickly as she could. I wasn’t about to let that happen. Particularly because I knew she had no customers left. I’d checked. I might be obnoxious, but I wasn’t irresponsible. And I wouldn’t jeopardize Emma’s tips, either.

  “Sure, sure,” I continued, “but tell me, do you think you could try doing new things without getting all judgmental?”

  “I do new things all the time.” She waved a hand rudely at me, trying to get me to shut up and leave her alone. No such luck.

  “Really? When did you last get out of your comfort zone?” I made sure to make my voice as condescending as possible, trying to get a rise out of her, and leering like it was the last time she let me get on top of her.

  “I’m not in my comfort zone right now.” She shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, unintentionally proving her point. Thankfully, I’d anticipated this response and had the comeback all lined up and ready to go.

  “That hardly counts. Nobody enjoys working. When did you last get out of your comfort zone when you weren’t getting paid?” I pressed. I drummed my fingers on the bar as I waited for her response.

  Her response only took a moment. “Easter. I had to visit my great-aunt Ethel. Her house smelled like rotten meat, cat pee, and old people. She also thinks I’m nine.”

  I smothered a smile. It seems like everyone has a great-aunt Ethel. Mine was a second cousin named Bill, and he had an animal hoarding problem rather than a memory problem, but the issue was the same. The last time Kate and I saw Bill, he’d tried to give us a pair of goats. Like we needed a goat for the bar, let alone two? I forced myself to get back on track.

  “That doesn’t count either. When did you last get out of your comfort zone when you weren’t getting paid or doing it out of familial obligation?” I looked down at her with interest.

  She stared up at me in confusion. “Why? Why are you asking me all of these questions? Am I still interviewing for the job I’ve been doing for two days now?” She sounded irritated at me, but she wasn’t storming off, either. This was my chance to spring the trap. A feeling of guilt bubbled up, and I ignored it. This was in everyone’s best interests. Especially mine, but even Emma’s. She’d see that eventually.

  “Not exactly. I just want to know if you would be willing to take a chance on something, or if you’re as locked up and blinded as those professors.”

  “Locked up? Blinded? What are you trying to say?”

  Understandable. It sounded dumb, even to my ears. And I slept through most of college on a bus from one game to the next.

  “Hmm. Ok. Hold on. Let me think of another way to say it.” I thought about how to say what I was trying to say. I’d never been great at explaining my thoughts to people. Things were just clearer in my own head. I wasn’t a poet like some people. Surprisingly, Emma waited politely while I organized my thoughts. “You know, they’re like monks or something,” I finally tried. “They’re, what’s the word for locked up monks? Cloistered. In their thinking.”

  For once, Emma looked like she was actually considering what I was saying. Her response, when it came, was unexpectedly thoughtful. “I suppose that I can understand what you mean. It’s a good analogy, actually. Like a cloistered order or something, a lot of academics do go out of their way to avoid contact with the ‘real world’. That way they can focus on their devotion. But no, I don’t think I’m like that at all. I still very much live in the real world.”

  “Are you willing to prove it?” I challenged. I raised my eyebrows at her, in unison, since that was the only thing I could do.

  “Huh?” Her little upturned nose crinkled with her confusion. It was adorable. Like a little rabbit. A very cute, and judge-y, rabbit.

  “Prove it. Come out with me tomorrow. The bar is closed. Meet me outside of the bar, like two regular people going out to spend an ordinary day. Prove you aren’t stuck up.”

  Emma’s lips parted in surprise. “Ward, are you asking me out on a date?” She looked horrified. Or shocked. Or both.

  I laughed rudely in her face and she scooted back from me. “No. Not at all. I’m performing an experiment.”

  She scowled at me. “Excuse me? An experiment? I’m an experiment?” The idea clearly didn’t appeal to her at all. Which was, after all, part of the point.

  “Yes. A very scientific experiment. You see, I want to see if you really are down-to-earth enough to work here. For science and for the sake of the bar.”

  “And if I refuse to go on your little experimental non-date?” Her tiny little fists were back, balled up at her sides in anger. She was positively quivering with it. I had a feeling that she’d just about hit peak irritation. If it didn’t happen immediately, it would happen very, very soon. She’d be storming out the door, never to return. I backpedaled a bit.

  “It’s not a date,” I repeated in a reasonable tone. “I’m just trying to determine if you’re a good fit. I take my bar, and its vibe, very seriously. This bar is my livelihood. If you won’t try new things… well then you would’ve just proved to me that you are, in fact, an elitist snob, wouldn’t you?”

  Her fists loosened in surprise. She knew she was caught. “This is manipulative, and you know it.”

  “Yeah it is. I know that. I also know you want to prove you aren’t like them.”

  She stared at me. Thinking. I could practically hear her brain working, trying to figure a way out. If there was one thing I’d realized about Emma, it was that she didn’t back down from a challenge. I saw the exact moment when she came to her decision.

  “I’m only going to meet you in a well-lit, public space. And you better not touch me again without my permission. Oh, and if I’m going to do something ‘normal’ with you, you have to do something ‘elitist’ with me. I think that’s only fair, don’t you?”

  Huh. I hadn’t been expecting that. Still… “I have no problem at all with that.”

  It was easy to agree to her terms when there was no way I’d have to go through with it.

  “Good.” she said, smiling at me like I’d just made a big mistake. “Then you’re on.”

  “It’s a date,”
I replied, “but you know, not really.”

  “Whatever Ward,” she said. Emma looked at me like I was an idiot, and then walked away without another word. Somehow, even though I’d won, my victory felt hollow.

  10

  Ward

  Part of me wondered whether Emma would really go through with it, but the address she texted me matched the one on her employee paperwork (yes, of course I checked). I looked up the apartment complex just off campus on Google Maps before heading off to meet her the next morning and found myself looking at the reviews the way I would if Kate told me she wanted to move there.

  Landlords in this area are all sleaze-bags, one review said. My apartment has more cockroaches than I thought could physically coexist with one another in four hundred square feet. It’s a Malthusian nightmare in the making.

  I didn’t know what a Malthusian nightmare was, but roaches sounded nightmarish all on their own. Austin has some of the biggest cockroaches I’ve ever seen. They can easily get four or five inches long.

  The next review was no better: My next-door neighbors are crackheads. They routinely steal my Amazon deliveries, then forget and try to sell me my own stuff. I did buy a nice bike from them that one time though. It’s a really good bike.

  Delightful.

  Either the local raccoons are having raves on the roof now or the undergrads that live next door figured out the fire escape was unlocked, complained the last review I read. If you can afford to live anywhere else I’m sure you already would. But if you have to live here, avoid the third-floor units.

  Emma’s place sounded like a dump, but the pictures actually looked ok. The location, just east of campus, was pretty prime, but bordered on a relatively nasty part of town that gentrification had somehow missed. I chalked up the bad reviews to entitled, pampered kids living off mom and dad. It wasn’t until I drove up that I truly understood how much ugliness a wide-angle lens, good lighting, and Photoshop could disguise.