by Robin Leaf
I watch Ember intently listen to Desiree, who’s squatting next to her. The look on Ember’s face is nothing but pure empathy. She’s such a good person in a tiny, sexy-as-fuck body.
I know she can tell something is wrong with me. The emotional upheaval caused by learning that my surrogate grandmother has a multitude of inoperable spots on her brain, ones she refuses to get treatment for, is not easy to hide.
“C’mon,” Emily says, pulling on my elbow.
“Where are we going?” Tater asks. He must have just walked back inside from meeting Chapa.
“To get to know Dugger’s girl.”
“She’s not my –”
“Yeah, she is,” she insists, patting my arm. “You’re just not ready to admit it yet.”
When we approach, Desiree still squats next to Ember.
“You’ve never had a thing for Douglass?” Ember asks shyly, playing with her hair.
I hope her answer is no. It’d be strange to find out this way that Des felt anything for me, but I wonder why Ember asks.
Desiree stands, laughing at what Ember said. “God no. It’d be like dating my brother.”
I’ll always love you, Dugger. You’re like a brother to me.
Fuck. I feel the anger welling, like a sludge from the depths of my stomach. But why? I thought I was over that shit.
The words still sting. I guess I’m not as over it as I thought. I close my eyes to try to keep it at bay. The last thing I need is to react badly to innocently uttered words, words I should be thankful to hear.
Desiree steps back into me, and I reflexively reach out to keep her from falling, but I don’t want to touch her any longer than I have to.
“Hey,” she says brightly, as if what she said didn’t just tear through me. Of course, she wouldn’t know that, but it still slices, just the knife has been dulled by time. “I was just telling…” she looks to Ember.
“Oh, I’m Ember,” she says, and her voice soothes my soul a little.
“…Ember here that you’re the best man I know.” She pats my arm and winks. “And she agrees with me.”
She agrees with her? With what exactly? That I’m like a brother?
I look at Ember, and her face flushes immediately before she looks down.
Another table flags Desiree down. “If you guys need anything, let me know,” she says, nodding to the table before she walks away.
“I call him Sunshine for a reason,” Emily pipes up, stepping in front of me. She holds out her hand. “Hi, Ember. I’m Emily, Dugger’s best friend’s wife. We’ve seen each other before.”
Ember’s face brightens, losing some of its redness from a second ago, and she shakes Em’s hand. “Right,” she nods, snapping her fingers, “that’s where I’ve seen you. Duh. You’re the friend’s wife he took to the strip club. I knew you looked familiar.”
Emily slides into the large booth next to Kelly, who introduces herself before making room for Tater to fit.
“For the record, Dugger and I took my bestie there for her first night out after having twins at her request.” She laughs. “And she got drunk off a virgin drink, psychoanalyzed the shit out of Dugger, and leaked breastmilk all over the stripper during her onstage lap dance.”
“Holy shit, that’s what happened? I thought she paid extra for some private package that got her backstage.”
“No, Beck, the dancer, simply saved her from club-wide, leaky-boob-induced-see-through-shirt embarrassment.”
“Jeez, and to think all I did that night was make a stripper think he had cancer and lock myself outside with a hot guy.” Ember gets flustered and blushes, taking a sip of her almost-empty drink. Anything to avoid looking at me. “Well, at least that was nice of Beck.”
“Yeah, and then Dugger had to charge backstage like some freakin’ Hulked-out white knight trying to save the damsel.” She turns and winks at me. “It was adorable.”
Ember’s smile slips a little, turning a bit wooden as her eyes glance my direction. “So I guess you chose the right profession, huh?”
“He’s been a protector since I’ve known him,” Tater adds, nuzzling up to Emily. “When we were younger, he would jump in to save people from bullies all the time, and he was always a little overzealous with the protection when it came to my sister. Man, this one time…”
I quietly step away, following Desiree back to the bar.
“Ember needs another of whatever she’s drinking, please.”
She turns to me and squints, staring for a second, seeming to scrutinize what she sees.
“Wow,” she says, turning to the bartender. “Rum and Coke, two Coronas dressed, and a Bud Light bottle.”
I grab her wrist and turn her toward me. “What’s with the ‘wow?’”
“In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you so bent over a girl before.”
“I’m not bent.”
“Right.” She turns back to the bar to stack some cocktail napkins on her tray. “Whatever, Dugger, you’ve been eye fondling her all night, and she’s about to drive herself crazy thinking you’re avoiding her, which, since you’re over here talking to me instead of over there with her,” she loads her tray with the drinks the bartender delivers, “seems to be exactly what you’re doing.”
Laughter bursts from the table I’m avoiding.
“Oh, look, the seat next to her is all open and shit. Hmm, maybe you should go over there.”
Desiree picks up her tray and walks over to deliver the drink to Ember, nodding back to me. Hazel eyes lock on mine, and her cheeks flush. Mouthing what I think is thanks, she pulls her lower lip into her mouth and lowers her head to take a sip, keeping her eyes on me. God, this woman is a test of my faltering resolve. I’m not sure I can hold out much longer.
Tomorrow, we have a meeting at Reed Security. I won’t be able to face Noah if my resolve snaps. I’m hoping the meeting is productive enough to find out who the hell this freak is so that we can get him arrested and out of her life so I can get in it.
I don’t want to have sex with her. Shit, that’s not true. I want inside that woman more than anything in the world, but what I really want is to date her. I want to get to know her better, but it means opening up myself. I’ve never had to do that before. Hell, I’ve never really dated anyone before. I spent the last nine years of my life pining after a woman I knew I could never have. But Ember… she’s the first girl I’ve ever wanted to know things about me. It’s why I asked Emily and Tater here tonight.
I wanted to introduce her to my family.
Emily’s almost right. Ember’s not my girl… yet, but I want her to be. So fucking bad.
But I can’t get too close to her now. I already feel a connection to her. If I get any closer, all bets will be off. I’ll do all the dirty things I want to do to her, and I’ll lose this job before I ever finish my first assignment.
We just need to find this fucking sicko stalker so I can make it happen.
“You gonna hold up this bar all night,” Tater asks, “or are you going to come join us?”
I’ve been so focused on Ember, that I missed him walking over here. Some bodyguard I am.
“I’m doing my job.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Let me tell you what I think, Dugger Man. We have been best friends most of our lives. I consider you a brother, and in some ways, I think we’re closer than brothers. I know you’ve been reeling from all that happened at the beginning of this year with Kaelyn, Mabel, and your father. This,” he points to my face, “is the first sign of life I’ve seen on you in a long time, my friend.” He smiles before taking the last swallow from his beer bottle, signaling the bartender that he wants another. “I knew it was gonna take something extraordinary to put that spark back in your eyes. And after meeting her, I can tell,” he says, pointing his empty bottle toward the table, “she’s extraordinary.”
“I agree. But I have to wait until this whole stalker shit storm is over.”
“So take the opportuni
ty to go slowly. Get to know her. Unlock that Fort Knox of a heart and let her in it.” He pats my shoulder again. “I know you better than anyone on the planet, my friend, and I have proudly stood beside you for over twenty-five years.” He nods to her. “I have faith that she will, too.”
My eyes reflexively seek hers, but she’s smiling and nodding, I’m guessing from listening to Kelly and Emily’s conversation.
“If I do that, buddy, I’ll want her more.”
“Good.” He takes a drink from his fresh bottle. “Then definitely open up to her. She’s perfect for you.”
I watch as she picks up her phone and reads something on the screen. Her face sobers and pales; she shifts in her seat, sliding down a bit, before putting her phone face down on the table, plastering a smile and trying to appear normal.
I push off the bar and am over to the table in what feels like three strides.
“Ember, are you ready to go?”
She nods, grabbing her phone and digging through her bag for her keys, to avoid eye contact with anyone. “Yeah.”
“It’s barely eight,” Kelly whines.
“Maybe they need some alone time, Kel.” Emily teases.
Ember’s eyes shoot daggers at Emily, so I divert Em’s attention.
“No,” I say with a smile, “we just need to be at Reed Security very early, and Ember had a long day.”
Ember’s expression goes back to blank, and she resumes looking for her keys.
“It’s cool.” Kelly raises the remnants of her beer. “I need to leave after I finish this anyway.”
“And we need to go to the airport. Etta and Nate’s wedding is next weekend, and Etta asked if I can help her this week, mostly to help keep Mom busy enough so she won’t bitch about Kaelyn’s planning.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, good luck. I saw how nervous weddings make your mother during yours.”
“By nervous, you mean completely controlling, neurotic nut job? And guess what, it’s not just during weddings.”
When her keys are in her hand, Ember slides over in the booth, and I grab her elbow to help her stand. “Well, yes, but I was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt since that’s the only context in which I have seen your mother in action.”
“So you have a crazy mom, too?” Kel asks, nudging Emily with her elbow. “Ember’s mother is one of those control-freaky nut jobs, as well.”
Ember smiles at that. “We’ll leave something to discuss for next time. Emily, nice to meet you, and Kel, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She doesn’t wait for their responses. Grabbing my arm, she pulls me to the door, bursting through it.
“What was it?” I ask, letting her pull me to the car.
“Not yet,” she whines, quickening her steps.
When we get to the car, she hands me her keys. “I’m in no shape to drive.”
“Agreed.” I stop her before she can move to the passenger side. “What did you see, Blue?”
Closing her eyes tightly, she takes a deep breath.
Once her phone is out of her pocket and in my hands, I take a second to study her face. She looks so fragile, so I pull her to me with one arm and hope to absorb all that terror by holding her until she stops trembling. She sinks into my side, burying her face in my shirt.
I hold up her phone, and on her screen is another email.
Why won’t you fucking answer me? I know where you’re staying. If you don’t answer, I’ll come ask in person. It’s time we meet anyway.
Attached is a picture of her car in the parking lot with the hotel behind it.
“I c-can’t…” She swallows, trying to hold back her tears. “I w-w-won’t go b-b-back there, Doug.”
Wrapping both arms around her, I pull her securely to me, ignoring, for now, how good she feels in my arms. “You don’t have to, Blue. I’ll take you somewhere safe. Okay?”
She nods, clinging to me desperately.
“I have a plan, but it does require you to trust me. Do you?”
She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes, just as beautiful as they always are, except this time, I see something that resembles complete faith in me. It makes me feel like the king of the twelve-foot tall superheroes.
I cannot let this woman down.
Seventeen
Ember
I wipe off my face with the towel after emerging from Doug’s shower. I was able to avoid getting my hair wet except for the little bit around my face. It’s almost impossible to wash the makeup off without some casualties. It did give me something to focus on besides the completely freaked out state I’ve been in since I checked my email at the bar. Doug was right. A hot shower was a good idea. And the smell of his soap was oddly comforting.
Honestly, the last hour of my life is about as foggy as the mirror in this bathroom right now. We did some clandestine spy car-switching trick in a private garage just in case we were followed, and my car now sits in that location while some nondescript, window-tinted, black SUV is parked in his driveway. And now, we’re here, in his house, alone. I feel marginally better than I did earlier; at least I’m no longer shaking like a neurotic Chihuahua on crack.
I dress in his sweetly-provided clothing, one of his old t-shirts, I think it’s the one he wore when I first met him, and black sweatpants that are about ten sizes too big; seriously, I can pull the waistband over my breasts, so I have some major rolling down to do. Underwear is not a priority right now, I guess, since in my fit of absolute terror earlier, I peed a little in my only-available pair. Supposedly, one guy from Reed security will drive my car to the hotel, gather our possessions from the room, and deliver them to us here while another waits in the room just in case my freak-show stalker decides to make good on his promise to show up there. Point is I’ll have fresh underwear in about an hour. Sorry, Mom, but apparently I’ll be spending at least the next sixty minutes as a “Godless Jezebel who can’t wear proper undergarments.”
I open the bathroom door, releasing the billowing steam, and resist the urge to run back into the safety of Douglass’s embrace. I would really love to climb on his lap and have him hold me again. I can’t ever remember feeling the same level of comfort and security I felt after spending two minutes in his arms. One would think I would be wanting to mount him after all the vaginal spazing I’ve done over the past few days, but I guess the ol’ vagina realizes there’s no place for the lusties when the rest of my body is freaking the fuck out. Thanks for taking a back seat on this one, V.
I find him sitting on the couch with an unopened bottle of tequila in front of him and the remote in his hand. He’s changed into some comfortable clothes, another pair of sweats and a t-shirt of his own, one that clings to his chest the same way I want to. It looks soft, so score one for my face, ya know, if I do get the chance to sit on his lap. Nuzzling will be so much more pleasant with some soft cotton between my cheek and those hard pecs.
In my ogling, I miss him smiling at me, holding up the bottle.
“I don’t know what to offer. Emily says girls like shit like ice cream in times of stress, but I don’t have any, and I don’t feel right asking Bryan to stop for any on his way here. I thought maybe a shot would relax you and some Friends might distract you.”
And now Miss V decides to make herself known. But I guess it’s okay since the rest of me is swooning so fucking hard, I just might fall out right at his feet.
“I’m not feeling the tequila, and instead of Friends, make it Supernatural. Wherever you left off will be fine.”
He smirks and nods, setting the bottle back down on the table and pointing the remote at the TV. My feet are frozen, though. I just stand awkwardly, clasping and unclasping my hands.
“C’mere, Blue,” he says, all deep and husky, sending a zing through my entire body, and he pats the couch next to him.
I take a deep breath, willing my legs to behave like flesh and bone instead of lead, and try not to stagger too much while making my way over to the couch. Sitting gingerly, I am careful to
place myself far enough away so as not to touch him, but close enough to not seem like I’m afraid to get too close, which I totally am. Six or eight inches of space separate us, enough that I might be able to fight this new round of pheromones or whatever fucking spell this man casts over my entire body.
At least I’m no longer absolutely terrified. Who knew lust was the cure?
He starts the episode over that he fell asleep watching last night from the beginning, one with my favorite character, Charlie, LARPing as a Queen in some fake medieval world. I settle against the cushions and try to forget this fucking sexy-ass man is next to me only inches away. Fifteen minutes of awkwardly pretending I’m fully okay and focused on the show is apparently all I can stand.
“Charlie is one of my favorite characters,” I blurt, feeling an attack of the run-on sentences about to explode from my mouth. “I just loved her in season seven as a hacker because girls should be portrayed as the super-smart computer nerds who save the day more often.”
Well, that wasn’t so bad. Now, I just need to leave it at that. Yeah, that lasts for about thirty seconds.
“I just love girl superheroes.” Okay, so I suck at staying quiet. “My favorite is Black Widow because she, too, is super-smart and can kick some serious ass, but that could be because ScarJo plays her. I have a low-key girl crush on that woman, which, coincidentally, Charlie mentions she has one as well, and speaking of ScarJo, your little waitress friend kind of looked like her. She was super nice and said such nice things about you, like how you helped her get out of that abusive relationship, and how come you never had sex with her?”
Fuck.
That’s stage one of the full-strength, bumbling craziness: create a problem with my filter-free awkwardness.
And here comes stage two: try-to-make-it-better-but-really-make-it-worse tomfoolery.
“I just mean she seems like someone you might want to have sex with, since she’s, ya know, tall and tattooed and gorgeous, and her hair is red and shit. I mean I’d want to have sex with her if I had a penis, only if she was willing of course. No turning back time with the women’s rights and all that jazz. Of course, I’d probably be one of those little guys, like Kevin Hart, and might not get a lot of play, although Kevin Hart has the funny going for him. I love a funny guy.”