“Sorry,” Dani whispered, shaking her shoe vigorously in an effort to get rid of the gum.
Emma scanned the players on the field, unable to tell any of them apart since they all wore the same uniforms and helmets. But she knew how to find Cole. He was number 25 -- she’d memorized it when the team’s photo was in the newspaper.
She spotted him just as he was taking his helmet off to tip a water thermos over his mouth. He let the water splash over his face and into his hair, drops flying as he shook his head.
“He needs a haircut,” Dani whispered. Emma gave her a look.
“I like his hair,” she said.
“Long hair on boys is girly,” Dani argued.
“Not on him. And it’s not even that long. It’s not like he could put it in a ponytail or anything.”
Emma’s attention went back to the field as a coach blew his whistle and the players ran to huddle around him. She couldn’t see Cole anymore, so her gaze drifted to the other side of the field, where cheerleaders were practicing. Layla was there, her dark curly ponytail bouncing as she went through the steps of a cheer.
Layla broke away from the group, running to gain speed for a back flip. Her body gracefully arched again and again, and the other cheerleaders clapped and yelled out how many times she had flipped. After number seven, Layla stopped, laughing as she ran back to the group.
Layla had attracted the attention of several football players, including number 25, to Emma’s dismay. Emma sighed, wondering how she could be related by blood to anyone who could do seven back flips.
I wish I was her. I can’t even do a cartwheel.
“Did you see that?” Dani whispered with excitement.
“No … what?” Emma said, following her friend’s gaze.
“Cole just caught the ball right before it hit the ground. He fell and rolled a couple of times, but he kept it!”
Another player had stretched a hand down to help Cole up, and Emma sighed as he pulled his helmet off, shaking his hair away from his face.
“He’s so cute,” Emma said softly. “Isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Dani agreed. “But it smells like stale popcorn down here and it’s hot, can we go?”
“Yeah … I guess,” Emma said wistfully.
“You see him all the time, he lives across the street from you,” Dani said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go to the library.”
Emma followed Dani away from the crack of light in the bleachers, wishing she could stay. She did get glances of Cole when he was coming and going from his house, but this was the only time she got to look at him without worrying he’d notice her staring. Or worse, that Layla would.
Now
Emma knew it was no accident that Layla dangled her long, bare legs over the side of her barstool that faced a nearby table of attractive men in suits. She had an internal radar that allowed her to attract men without conscious thought.
“It might not have been so bad if he was saying, ‘Great job on that brief, sugar’,” Layla said thoughtfully. “I actually find ‘Bring me some coffee, sugar’ to be impressively insulting. He has an assistant for that kind of thing. I didn’t work my ass off in law school to fetch anyone’s coffee.”
“Maybe he was saying he wanted sugar in the coffee,” Emma offered. Layla rolled her eyes.
“No. When I asked if he wanted anything in it, he said he wanted it black.”
“Well, there’s your mistake. Next time he asks you to get his coffee, fuck it up. Take a really long time, make sure the coffee’s cold and spill it all over him. He won’t ask you after that.”
It was the perfect opportunity to bring up her own coffee mishap with Cole, but something made her remain silent.
Layla casually made eye contact with one of the suits, and Emma glanced at her phone, her heart skipping a beat when she read the waiting message.
Hey, it’s Cole. Are you free for dinner Friday night? It was great seeing you today.
She grinned, unable to contain her happiness. Just as she was about to tell Layla, Emma turned and reached for her drink instead.
“What? You were about to say something,” Layla said.
“Nope. Just got a text from a cute guy at my office is all.”
“Good. You’ve been celibate for months now. You’re making me look like a whore.”
“You’d look like a whore with or without me,” Emma said sweetly. Layla extended her middle finger as she finished her drink.
“I might be using my key to your apartment over lunch soon,” Layla said.
“You want to have lunch at my dumpy apartment?”
“No, I want to fuck Chad at your apartment. It’s closer to my office than mine is.”
“Chad who?”
“I don’t even know his last name, and I like it that way. He’s the one from that band I saw with Court a few weeks ago. He’s really, really hot.”
“Are you putting your Layla Carson-Marlowe plans on hold?” Emma asked wryly.
“No. What’s wrong with having a little fun in the meantime?”
“That’s a little creepy, Layla. I could go home and lay down in God knows what after you rendezvous with some stranger at my apartment, and not even know it.”
“We won’t use your bed, we’ll use the couch.”
“Oh, good, because I don’t mind having a strange man’s semen on my couch.”
“Lighten up, Em. It’s for a good cause. You know how bitchy I get when I’m not getting laid.”
“Seriously, Layla, don’t be a slut.”
“Did you just call me a slut?”
“No, I said not to be one, which is different than saying you are one. You say you want to get married, and you aren’t going to fuck your way to a good husband.”
“Oh, I hold out on the ones who are marriage material,” Layla said. “Chad’s strictly for sex. Are you jealous because you aren’t getting any?”
Emma rolled her eyes, pushing her plate aside as she finished eating.
“I’m happy with my life the way it is. I don’t need a man taking up the time I want to spend painting and reading and doing whatever else I want.”
“You certainly ran through plenty of men in Paris.” Layla gestured to the server for another round of drinks. Emma smiled at the memory of her time abroad, where she’d discovered that she was more than just Layla’s shy, awkward little sister.
“That was different. I’m feeling settled now,” Emma said.
“You haven’t met any men you’re interested in here? Other than the office guy who just texted you?”
This is my opening. This is when I tell her I had lunch with Cole Marlowe earlier. I can tell her right now.
“Nope.” Emma shrugged, her heart picking up speed as she lied. Layla was the one person she was always completely open with. But something was making her hold back. She felt a stab of guilt at knowing she didn’t want Layla to go after him. Cole had never looked at Emma, actually looked and seen her, before their recent run-in. It had been an innocent lunch anyway. And dinner Friday … that would be innocent, too.
The mention of the text she’d gotten made Emma grab her phone and write back.
Sure, call me. Great to see you, too.
The casual tone of her message belied the way she felt about seeing him again. Cole and I are just old acquaintances, nothing more. We’ll hang out and that’s it. So why don’t I want Layla to know?
She realized with another flare of guilt that it was because Layla would manage to insert herself and join them for dinner, and she would command Cole’s attention. Emma had spent years longing for his attention, and even if it was just over a casual dinner, she wanted to feel those blue-gray eyes seeing her – really seeing her, again.
“I’m picking you up for dinner at Mom and Dad’s Sunday, right?” Layla asked.
“Yeah. Remind me to give back that jacket I borrowed from you.”
“I’m going out with Kim and Lane Friday night, want to come?”
“No, I�
�m planning to paint,” Emma said, the stab of another lie making her look away from her sister. “And if you use my apartment for your hook-up, will you please leave me a note so I can avoid sitting in any wet spots you leave behind?”
“At least someone will be leaving wet spots on your couch.”
Chapter 3
Emma was taken aback when she walked into the restaurant Cole had texted her the address to. It was an upscale steakhouse, and her jeans, sleeveless shirt and scarf suddenly felt too casual. She chanced a look at her watch to see if she could hurry home and change without being too late. But it was 8:00, their meeting time, and it would take her at least half an hour. She sighed, grateful she had at least opted for heels over flip-flops.
She was led to the back of the restaurant, where Cole was already waiting at a small table for two, and Emma breathlessly took in the sight of him. He wore a black suit, with the jacket slung over the back of his chair and his tie loosened. A candle on the table flickered its soft light onto the handsome face she had fantasized about as a teen. She had ached for Cole Marlowe to notice her.
His chest was broader and his shoulders wider than they were then. He was an older, hotter version of the teenage Cole she had adored, which made her exhale deeply with anticipation.
He looked up and noticed her, and his smile spread all the way to his eyes.
“Em,” he said warmly, jumping up from his chair to pull hers out. She was about to sit down when he gave her a quick, soft kiss on the cheek. She’d always thought “weak in the knees” was just an adage until his lips touched her skin.
Keep it together, girl. You are a strong, confident woman who doesn’t melt into a puddle over any man.
“I’m underdressed,” she announced, looking down at her jeans self-consciously. Cole shook his head and waved off her concern.
“You look great. I’d be wearing jeans but I didn’t get out of the office in time to go home and change.”
She wanted to keep standing next to him, where she could pick up just a hint of his cologne, but she realized that would get awkward, so she took the seat across from his at the table, and he followed.
“What kind of work do you do at your firm?” she asked, trying to focus on something – anything – besides his lips.
“Boring business stuff. I’m working with one of the partners on a big case now. It’s mostly just research with the occasional court appearance. What do you do at Wright?”
“I create graphics for brochures, make logos … nothing too exciting, but I like it. It’s another side of art.”
“How has the rest of your week been?” he asked, sipping from the bottle of beer the waitress had delivered. Emma imagined tasting it on his mouth and had to look away so she could concentrate on the conversation.
“Um, pretty routine. Drinks with Layla the other night, working on a logo for work and painting.”
The server approached, and as Emma breathed in the scent of a sizzling steak passing by on a tray, she realized she was famished.
“I’m starved,” Cole said, as though reading her mind. “I worked through lunch today. You want an appetizer?”
“Sure, sounds good.”
There was a glint of admiration in Cole’s eyes as they ordered, and Emma looked at him expectantly.
“I like that you ordered steak and potatoes,” he said. “I hate it when women order salads.”
“I’m not really a salad girl, that’s my sister,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Cole watched her intently, and she wondered what he was thinking. Was he trying to figure out how to bring up Layla? She’d just given him a perfect opportunity.
Could he be thinking about me? No, that’s just wishful thinking. He’s an attorney, I doubt he’s into artists. His eyes are so much bluer than I remember. God, he’s sexy …
“Do you see your parents much?” she asked, clearing her throat – and her mind – as she reached for a piece of bread.
“Since I moved back a few months ago, I see them a lot more. They invited me to dinner at your parents’ house a few weeks ago, but I had some friends from college in town that weekend, so I missed it. It was nice to see them last weekend.”
“I remember you guys coming for dinners after you moved in,” she said, smiling. “I was always a nervous wreck the entire time.”
“Why?”
Emma glared at him for a second, as if it was obvious, but he continued to look dumbfounded.
“You know, I always envied the way Layla would flirt with you at those dinners. I was the picture of awkward adolescence, and she just… glowed. All the time. She hopes you’ll come back over for dinner soon, you know.”
Cole sighed and looked away.
“You guys have a lot in common,” she said.
Cole shrugged noncommittally, but Emma persisted.
“You guys dated back then, in high school.”
“We went out a few times and I took her to prom my senior year because Jess and I broke up the week before it, but that’s it.”
It had been more than that, Emma knew, but she dropped the subject.
“Well, you never even knew I was alive,” she said.
“I was three years older than you, and when I did try to talk to you, I think I scared you.”
She laughed and covered her face with her hand as it heated with embarrassment.
“You never scared me, Cole. I just had a hard-core crush on you.”
“On me?” He was taken aback. “I had no idea! Is that really true?”
“Oh, God. It was bad.”
Cole laughed, the blue in his eyes brightening.
“I’m honored, Em. I never would’ve guessed.”
“Yeah,” she said, looking down at the wood table top and running her finger along the line of it. Though everyone who had known her growing up called her ‘Em’, there was something about hearing it from a grown-up, sexy Cole Marlowe that felt intimate.
A reprieve from her embarrassment came in the form of a platter the server whisked onto the table, which was filled with an assortment of foods. While they ate, Cole asked Emma questions about her art, a subject that always made her feel happy and self-assured.
“I juried for a show opening at a new downtown gallery next weekend,” she said, her voice rising with excitement. “I can’t wait to go see it.”
“I’d love to see it, too. Maybe we could go together?”
Emma froze, her heart wanting to ask him to repeat himself.
Close your mouth, idiot.
“Um … sure, it would be nice to have someone to go with.”
She’d been planning to attend with her friends Shawn and Lily, but they would understand. They were married, and always encouraged her to date more. Neither of them knew what a jungle it was out there.
“Great,” he said. “Did you try the calamari?”
“No, is it good?”
“You’ve got to try it. I ate tons of seafood when I went to school in Boston, and it’s hard to find good seafood here.”
“I make the best pan-seared salmon,” Emma said.
“Maybe you’ll make it for me sometime.”
She smiled nervously at the thought of Cole Marlowe in her perennially disorganized apartment.
“Sure. I learned a lot about cooking in Paris.”
“I rarely get a home-cooked meal anymore. It’s always Chinese takeout or sandwiches.”
The conversation continued to flow easily, and Emma found herself wishing this was a date. She knew it was easy with Cole because they already knew each other. Neither of them was trying to figure out if the other was a closet maniac. But still, it didn’t feel like catching up with an old friend. Cole’s eyes never left her, and the charge of electricity between them didn’t fade.
But it’s not a date. We’re just hanging out. It’s probably just enough to make me start dreaming about him at night, like I did back in high school.
Then -- 10 years earlier
Emma glanced down th
e hall nervously before darting into Layla’s bedroom. Her racing pulse was a constant reminder that her sister would kill her if she got caught. She scanned the clothes hanging in the closet, not seeing what she wanted.
Please, Lord, help me find it, she prayed silently. Justin Timberlake grinned at her from a poster on the wall, and she sighed, exasperated. Clothes, shoes, assorted school supplies and hair accessories littered the bed and floor. How did Layla find anything in this mess?
She sorted through the shorts and t-shirts on the floor, grinning as she saw the bright pink item she was searching for. Clutching the treasure, she ran from Layla’s room to her own, slamming the door closed behind her.
Smiling victoriously, she held up the halter top. Layla would never even know. She would wear it while her sister was at cheerleading practice, and then she would return it to its spot on the floor.
After slipping into the shirt, she wrinkled her nose with disappointment as she surveyed her reflection in a mirror. Her hands pressed against the two spots where breasts should have been by now. She was 14, for crying out loud. When Layla wore this shirt, there were two distinct, rounded swells that Emma envied. She also didn’t have the smooth, tanned shoulders that her sister did, or arms toned to perfection from hours of cheerleading.
But still, she thought, squaring her shoulders, this shirt is sexy. Which means if I wear it, I’m sexy. The thought lifted her spirits, and she went into the bathroom to steal some of Layla’s eye shadow, blush and lipstick. Her mother wouldn’t let Emma wear makeup until she started high school, which was only two weeks away.
She studied the frosty pink shade of her lips as she worked on her hair. She liked it so much she added another thick layer, making it look even brighter.
By the time she finished, Emma didn’t recognize herself. Mission accomplished. With her bare shoulders, bright makeup and thick, frizzy side ponytail, she felt like the headline in the fashion magazine that had inspired her look: Flirty fun in the sun!
Emma Carson had never been flirty before. Now that she was, Cole Marlowe was bound to take notice. The hum of the lawn mower’s engine reminded her that he was in her back yard now. She’d wanted to hug her father when he hired Cole to mow again this summer. Now that he was 17, he wasn’t home much, and this guaranteed she’d see him once a week all summer.
Now and Then Page 3