Exposed: Book One of The Love Seekers Series

by Vickers, Maria

  “Not really. How is your little project with Emma going?” She asked offhandedly.

  “It’s okay.” I didn’t want to discuss Emma with her at all, not after it blew up in my face the last time. Erring on the side of caution, I chose to give the shortest possible answer to all questions. Even if it never got back to her, because the last thing I wanted to do was to lose Emma’s trust in me again. Too many men have failed her or fallen short of the mark, and I didn’t want to become one more notch on that list.

  “Okay? That’s all I get?” I heard the snickers she tried to muffle, and I pulled my hair in frustration.

  Emma and I got along great, but there were times when I felt out of my league trying to coach a girl—not that I would ever admit that even upon pain of death—when having a girl’s opinion might help. “Not much to tell. We talk and that’s about it.” Or all I was willing to share with her.

  “She told me she’s going to the barbecue on Saturday.”

  “Good. I kind of thought she would come up with some sort of excuse to back out of going.” Relief flooded me at hearing Emma would indeed go to the party I basically ordered her to attend.

  “Truth?”

  That made me scared. Mel sometimes said things that didn’t always help the situation, and she had been known to make it worse sometimes. “What?” I had to ask.

  I thought my best friend would remain serious, but her solemn tone of voice changed when she said, “I think she was looking for me to tell her she didn’t have to go.” She howled with laughter. “I told her I couldn’t wait to hang out with her at the party, and that if she wanted a ride, Luke and I would drive her.”

  “Thanks.” Truth was, I didn’t trust Emma not to bail on the party, ergo with Mel as my backup, I knew she’d have no choice but to show up.

  “You’re making her go.”

  “I’m not making her do anything, but she needs to start putting herself out there.” The heart of the matter when it came to Emma. She needed to learn to open up.

  What I didn’t say, what I feared was if Emma kept to herself and refused to meet new people, if she ran scared, she would eventually never leave her house again except when absolutely necessary. I worried she would break off ties to her friends and family, and become the dreaded cat lady of the neighborhood. I don’t care if she had dogs now, or if it’s like she told me last night and she was allergic to cats. She would become that person. I forbade her from doing that. If me coercing her to go to a party where I knew she would know at least a couple of people prevented that image from coming to life, then so be it.

  “And you’re not forcing her?” Mel challenged.

  “I’m not there to make sure she does or doesn’t get her butt to the party,” I retorted, my ego firmly in place.

  “But I am?” She hinted, as if she believed she was an intricate part of my plan. I hated to let her down and tell her my plans did not include her.

  “You are, but this has to be all her.”

  “Wait a second. What?”

  “You heard me. Look, I know you’re there, and that you’d make sure she gets there. I also know you support her 100%, but this has to be her, or in the future, she may have to be forced into doing anything and everything. And let’s be real, if the only thing she experiences is us coercing her that would take all the fun out of it. I hated playing baseball as a kid because my parents forced me to do it. I wanted to play football, but they thought it was too dangerous. In high school I played football and was happy as a clam.”

  “Good point.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You really are trying to help her, aren’t you?” she muttered. She sounded as if she had come to some sort of epiphany. Knowing she didn’t trust me when it came to Emma, hurt.

  “What the hell did you think was happening?” I hissed. Pressing my fingers down one at a time, I felt my knuckles pop.

  “Honestly?”

  “Now I don’t know if I want to know.”

  “I thought you were trying to arrange a hookup for one of your friends or for yourself when you took leave again.”

  “Ouch. Glad to know you have all that confidence and trust in me. I already told you that would never happen because first, she’s your friend, and second, she’s not my type. That’s like trying to look at you in a sexual way. Bleh. NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN,” I stressed. The sooner I got off of this call, the better for my sanity.

  Sucking in her breath as if I hit her, she finally relented, “I got it.”

  Absolute silence stretched between us. I didn’t even hear her breath. After allowing it to linger for a minute or two, I made my request. “Do me a favor and watch her.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Thanks.” I knew she meant what she said, and I did too. We both wanted Emma to feel comfortable and safe.

  If she was curious about my request or had an opinion, she kept it to herself, which made me once again grateful to her for her discreteness…for the moment. Considering this was Mel, it would be short–lived.

  “You’ll ask for leave?” She switched back to our initial conversation.

  “I’ll ask, but I’m not making promises.”

  “Whatever. If your ass doesn’t get it, I’ll come out West and kick your butt.”

  Chuckling at her harmless threat, I teased her. “Awe, do you miss me that much?”

  “Nope. Not really. I’m just tired of dealing with your crybaby sister.”

  “I’ll do what I can, and that’s all I can do, but even if I get it, you know how my parents are with…” I trailed off, suddenly unsure of what I wanted to say.

  “I know they are, but this isn’t for them. It’s for Rayne.

  I pretended to pout. “Which is the only reason I’m doing this.”

  “I know.” Her snickering turned to a snort.

  “That’s lovely. I can’t believe Luke loves a pig.”

  “Oink oink.”

  “Very classy. Your grandmother would probably have a cow if she heard that.”

  “Probably,” Mel readily agreed as she laughed.

  “Okay. Look, I’ll talk to you later, and I promise to call Rayne tomorrow since I’m not sure what time I’m getting home tonight?”

  “Big date?” She couldn’t hide it, I heard her increased curiosity over the phone.

  I smirked, “Something like that.”

  “I got it. Have fun playing the whore and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I knew she wasn’t serious with her insults, but sometimes…I mean I was no virgin by any stretch of the imagination—lost it at 14 to a girl who was 16—but I also didn’t sleep with every girl I came into contact with. I might have slept with maybe 50%, except lately. I’d felt the itch for sex, but hadn’t managed to follow through. Frustrations put me on edge, and I found myself desperate to find someone…anyone. Today’s date, I met at the grocery store the day before, and I figured she had to be better than stinky feet. “Please let it be better than stinky feet,” I prayed.

  ***

  I parked in the well–lit parking lot of the hole in the wall Italian restaurant she recommended. If I hadn’t pull the address up on GPS, I would’ve completely missed it. The restaurant sign had several letters burned out, and therefore the name read ALF instead of ALFONSO’S. It sat situated between a dry cleaner and an insurance office. The strip center appeared small and unassuming, but standing in front of a glass door that had a potted tree on either side of it, my date, Shelly (or was it Shelby?) waited for me.

  My eyes skimmed my dashboard and found my clock. I arrived ten minutes early, and she got there even earlier than I had. Punctual. I liked that in a girl. Thoughts of another girl crept to the forefront, sneaking in like a ninja. Emma and I never really had a set time we talked. It usually happened when we both wound up online at the same time, however, there were rare occasions that we would set a time. She always pinged me five minutes early on the dot. Either she was anxious to talk, or all of her clocks needed to
be set to the correct time.

  No. Now was not the time to think about Emma, or anyone else for that matter. I had a date waiting for me, and Shelby (or was it Shelly, Cindy, Shandy?) deserved my attention.

  “Hi, were you waiting long?” I asked, giving her my best smile. Taking in a long deep breath when I reached her side, I exhaled slowly. She smelled good. No rotting corpses or fishy cat food. So far, so good.

  “Not at all. I work next door at the insurance office and just got off about five minutes ago. My boss was in a hurry to close up shop, so I got the boot out the door.” She giggled and it sounded melodious and pretty. Not beautiful, but pretty.

  Emma’s laugh sounded like a loud seal, and yet, it didn’t annoy me. It probably should have though, but maybe the free flowing beer and bad karaoke singing made me deaf that night. So different from my date, whatever her name was. Another arrow of guilt hit me, and I pushed it away. I had no reason to feel guilty about going out with anyone.

  Pushing all thoughts of anyone or anything else away, I chuckled and pulled open the door for the only person who mattered for the moment. “That’s convenient.”

  “It is.”

  “Hey, Dana,” the hostess greeted my date. Dana? I’d been way off the mark.

  “Hi, Penny.” Dana gave the hostess a large smile and then asked, “Can we have a table toward the back?”

  “Sure. I got the perfect one for you two.” Penny gave us both a conspiratorial wink and lead the way to a corner booth in the back where no one else had been seated. It was still early on a Wednesday night, so half the restaurant sat empty, but the hostess still sat us as far away from anyone as possible.

  After Penny left us alone, I asked, “Are you a regular?”

  Her sing song laugh filled the air again. “You could say that. Since it’s right here, I come at least three times a week.” Leaning in, Dana whispered, “My figure is suffering for it.”

  I knew she was fishing for a compliment. She wanted me to compliment her figure, which didn’t look as if she chowed down on pasta all the time. Her waist was trim and when she walked, her heels accentuated her long legs and firm ass. Yesterday at the store, her hair had been swept up in a messy ponytail, but tonight her long honey blonde hair hung down to just below her shoulders in waves. She had taken the time with her appearance tonight, I could tell, but I leaned in closely and told her, “You have an amazing figure.”

  Blushing, her green eyes danced as she grinned. “Thank you.”

  Girls were easy. They liked compliments, thrived on them in fact, and wanted to be treated with respect. I could do both of those things with ease.

  Unless that girl was named Emma Taylor. Then I felt like I had to monitor everything I said. Sometimes talking to her made me feel like I was navigating a mine field. But her brown hair and brown eyes contrasted with Dana’s light hair and eyes. Even their personalities seemed to be polar opposites. I tried to picture Emma with Dana’s personality, but it didn’t work.

  “Is something wrong?” Dana questioned.

  “Wrong? No. Sorry. I was just thinking about something my roommate asked me to do.” My answer sounded forced and rushed to my ears, however, she visibly relaxed and seemed to accept it as fact. Stop it, Bryan. You don’t need to think about Emma right now!

  After we ordered, I managed to keep Emma out of my thoughts the rest of the night…for the most part. On the way to Dana’s house for “dessert,” I might have thought about her briefly, and I might have checked to see if she left me a FaceSpace message, but other than that, I remained with Dana mentally.

  Yes, I stayed with Dana, but the guilt started to creep in again when we got to her place and began ripping each other’s clothes off on our way down the hall to her bedroom. I refused to stop though. I needed this. I needed tonight. I needed to get laid. I was on the cliff of desperation and I jumped.

  I had done nothing wrong. Dana and I were two consenting adults.

  I wished I could blame the guilt on the fact I had to keep reminding myself of Dana’s name, but I couldn’t keep up that façade. When I closed my eyes, I imagined a set of brown eyes staring back at me. Why? Why was I plagued with thoughts of Emma? Why this guilt?

  Chapter 18

  Emma

  Something seemed off about Bryan today, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out. It was just a feeling I had, nothing more, and nothing less. It felt like there was this canyon between us. Which, if I thought about it, was ridiculous, considering all we have ever done was talked on FaceSpace messenger.

  Me: Are you sure u r ok?

  Bryan: Fine.

  Every time I asked, he gave me the same answer. I knew it sounded weird or funny, but all of his responses seemed short, without humor, and clipped. What had happened in his part of the world?

  Normally when we talked, Bryan harped on me about ways to better myself, to get rid of my insecurities, or he bugged me about my past. None of that had happened today…yet. I thought he would have given me a pep talk about tomorrow’s barbecue by now, but that hadn’t happened either. If anything, the conversation felt slightly one–sided. He asked about my day, and I told him about how I had an eye appointment and the nurse dilated my eyes. I hadn’t realized I was getting my eyes dilated and wound up calling my sister to drive me home since she had stayed home to wait on the cable man today. Then I told him I tried to play with Curley, but I kept throwing the toy on the table, behind the TV, or in the water bowl. After that, my dog gave up and left me to take a nap. I expected a few LOLs or something, but I got another short response.

  Bryan: That’s nice.

  That was all he could say?

  Me: You ok?

  Bryan: I’m fine.

  Me: How was your day?

  I hoped that would start a conversation, but my hopes proved to be in vain.

  Bryan: I flew drills, worked out in the gym, and met with my CO.

  Me: You’re CO?

  Bryan: It means commanding officer.

  Me: I knew that. Everything ok?

  Bryan: Then why did you ask? And, I told you, I’m fine.

  I managed to develop a deep level of hostility for the word “fine.” I tried to give him an out.

  Me: Need me to let you go?

  Bryan: Nah. I can talk.

  I screamed at the computer, “Then fucking talk to me!” He couldn’t hear me, but it made me feel better.

  Me: How were your drills?

  Bryan: Good. I hit all my targets.

  Me: So is it like that movie Top Gun?

  Bryan: What? LOL.

  That was my first “LOL” of the conversation today. Had I finally broken through to him? Maybe things were looking up. I could picture him distracted and then seeing my question. He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and laughed. Not sure if that was what he did or not, but the Bryan in my head appeared real enough to me. Then again, maybe I sat on the precipice of completely going crazy.

  Cracking my knuckles and then my neck, I tried to get rid of some of my tension. I already heard plenty of stories from my dad on how Top Gun didn’t come close to comparing to real life. Chris Taylor, aka “The Dad” as he liked to call himself, made it his duty to inform anyone around him exactly what Hollywood got wrong about any military movie (especially the Navy), or any movie involving planes. I had heard countless times how Air Force One couldn’t possibly be accurate because shooting a gun in a plane, regardless of the plane, would cause issues with cabin pressure…after that I usually tuned him out because by this point he sounded like the adults from those Charlie Brown cartoons.

  I asked because I wanted to shock Bryan out of his funk, or whatever was going on with him.

  Me: Is it like the movie Top Gun?

  Bryan: Haha. If I say yes, will you call me Maverick from now on?

  Me: Oh please. You can do better than Tom Cruise’s character. I’ll call you Goose.

  Bryan: 1st, Goose is the navigator. 2nd, he died. No thank you. LMAO.

  M
e: Iceman?

  Bryan: Better. I’m good with Iceman.

  Me: What is your pilot name?

  Bryan: Long Duck Dong.

  Me: Bwahahaha! Do not pull 16 Candles into your depravity. That is one of my fave movies.

  Bryan: U made me snort when I laughed at you.

  Me: Hehe. Well? What is it?

  Bryan: Something. LOL.

  Me: That doesn’t tell me anything.

  Bryan: It’s need to know and you don’t need to know.

  Me: Funny because I feel like I do, in fact, need to know.

  Bryan: Call signs aren’t like on Top Gun. Well, some are and some aren’t.

  Me: So, you won’t tell me?

  Bryan: Maybe one day, honey. ;)

  Me: I’ll hold you to that.

  Soooo…real life isn’t like Top Gun?

  Bryan: Hell fucking no. It’s a hell of a lot harder.

  Me: Have you been to Top Gun? I know the school actually exists.

  Bryan: It does and I have.

  Me: Oh, so you’re a hot shot.

  Bryan: One of these days I may let you see how hot I can be.

  Me: LOL.

  His jokes still managed to make my insides clench in anticipation. No wonder I had imagined him a couple of different times as I pleasured myself.

  Had I finally broken through the wall he erected today?

  Me: Anything I need to know about tomorrow?

  I crossed my fingers that the party had been cancelled. Luck abandoned me once again.

  Bryan: No. Just be you and you’ll be fine.

  Me: So, if I jump on the bar and perform a striptease that would be all right?

  It took him a few seconds to respond, and picturing him doing a double take, had me doubling over in laughter. There was no way possible I would do something like that—now or before I got sick. Then again, before myasthenia gravis, I partied a lot more, and tequila had a way of making me do crazy things. I’ve kissed a stranger, made out with two men at once, flashed a bouncer so he would let me into a club without charging me, and I may have danced on a bar or four.