by Lisa Moreau
Emily snapped her fingers in front of Sydney’s face. “Hello? You’re totally ignoring me. I knew this nice thing couldn’t last.”
“Shh…would you be quiet for a second?”
“What?” Emily glanced around, letting her gaze land on the boy. “You know him?”
“Yes and no.”
Sydney walked toward the kid, with Emily following. When he spotted them, he turned and started to run, but Sydney grabbed his arm.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.
The kid tried to wiggle out of her grasp with no success.
“What the hell are you doing?” Emily asked.
Sydney ignored the question. People like Emily wouldn’t understand. She’d probably been raised in a life of luxury, never having to worry about when or where the next meal appeared. Her parents had undoubtedly tucked her into bed each night and kissed her forehead. She’d probably been loved.
“This isn’t the way,” Sydney said. “Trust me. Now why don’t you hand over the items?”
The boy gazed up at her with a panic-stricken expression. When she let go of his arm, he unzipped his jacket and pulled out two cans of beans. Sydney snatched them and put them back on the shelf. She took out a fifty-dollar bill, thanks to Owen, and held it up.
“This is yours, if you promise me something.”
The boy never took his eyes off the money and was practically drooling.
“Don’t ever steal again. Hey, look at me.”
The kid’s eyes shot upward.
“Do you want to go to jail?”
He shook his head.
“Good, because it’s not a nice place. You think you’re hungry now? All you’ll get is stale bread and dirty water. You’d be better off eating the cockroaches and rats running around in the cell.”
Both Emily and the kid gasped.
“Do I have your promise?”
“Yes ma’am,” the boy whispered.
“Go buy yourself something healthy to eat, and if I ever catch you stealing again I’ll call the cops.”
He took the money and ran.
“Wow,” Emily said. “You just gave him fifty dollars. That was so nice.”
Sydney shrugged. “He needed it more than me.”
“Do you think he’ll steal again?”
“I dunno. I hope not.”
“What did you mean when you said that you knew him but didn’t know him?”
That was something Sydney had no desire to explain. She rushed down the aisle and yelled over her shoulder, “If you want stew for dinner, we need to get moving.”
* * *
Emily sat on a stool in the kitchen and watched Sydney expertly slice carrots. “You sure I can’t help?”
“Positive,” Sydney said without looking up.
“Good, because I’d probably cut my fingers off. I’m not much of a cook.”
“No?” Sydney glanced at Emily. “Oh. You probably have a maid who takes care of that.”
“I think you’re under the erroneous impression that I’m rich.”
Sydney scooped up the carrots and put them in a pot on the stove. “You like garlic?”
“Love it.”
Sydney grabbed a couple of cloves and began dicing. “Where’d you grow up?”
Emily paused, knowing the reaction that’d elicit. “Beverly Hills, but―”
“Ha! I knew it. You said your mom is a Pilates instructor. What does your dad do?”
“He’s a brain surgeon.”
“Ha, again.”
“No ha,” Emily said, irritated. “I’ve been supporting myself since college. My parents don’t give me a cent.”
“Wait a second.” Sydney put the knife down and faced Emily. “Isn’t your last name Wellington? As in…Wellington Hospital?”
Emily shifted in her seat. “Well. Yes.”
“Oh my God. An entire medical center is named after you.”
“Not me. My father. You act like having wealth is a sin. I do believe you were the one who just gave fifty dollars to a stranger. You must be doing okay.”
“Things have just recently picked up in that area.” Sydney resumed slicing and dicing.
“What do your parents do?” Emily asked.
Sydney turned her back and scrubbed potatoes in the sink. Emily had a feeling that was more about ignoring the question than having spick-n-span veggies. Avoidance seemed to be her specialty. After several long moments, Sydney turned around and began peeling the potatoes.
“My mom has had a variety of jobs. And I never met my dad.” Sydney spoke in a monotone voice without taking her eyes off the spud.
“I’m sorry. Did he pass away when you were a baby?”
“No. Maybe. I dunno. My mom doesn’t even know who he is. I mean, my dad could be one of many men. She was popular.” Sydney shot Emily a quick glance.
“Ah. So it was just you and your mom?”
“And about fifty stepfathers. Slight exaggeration, but not by much.” Sydney threw diced potatoes into the pot and faced Emily. “I’m going to take a shower. The stew should be ready in a couple of hours.”
Emily had a feeling there was a lot more to Sydney’s life story, and it probably wasn’t a pretty one.
A few hours later, they were sitting at the dining table with two big bowls of stew, garlic bread, and a bottle of white wine. Emily was amazed at how scrumptious everything tasted but even more astonished that she was actually having fun.
“Mmm. This is sooo good. Where’d you learn how to cook? Did your mom teach you?” Emily regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. She had a feeling the woman hadn’t been much of a role model.
“No. YouTube videos.” Sydney shoved a spoonful into her mouth.
Emily had never seen anyone eat so fast before. It was as though she hadn’t had a bite all week. Emily was half expecting her to lick the bowl when she finished.
“Seriously?”
Sydney swallowed and took a sip of wine. “Yeah. I swear you can find anything on YouTube.”
Emily snuck glances at Sydney as she ate. Golden locks framed a stunning, makeup-free face. She didn’t even need a stitch of blush or eyeshadow to look amazing. Damn her. Emily ran fingers through short, chestnut hair. Maybe she should let it grow out a little. Perhaps some highlights, too. She looked down at her stomach. And shed a few pounds. Okay, a lot of pounds. But then again, what would be the point? She’d never be a blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty.
“Is something wrong?” Sydney asked. “You’re not eating.”
“Just taking a breather. It’s really amazing.”
“Thanks,” Sydney said and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “So, what brings you to Ojai?”
Emily thrust a potato into her mouth, hoping to buy some time. She chewed slowly and took several gulps of wine. Finally, she said, “Vacation.”
“Without your fiancée?”
Emily took another drink. “She couldn’t take off.”
“How long are you staying?”
“I’m not sure. You?”
“A couple of weeks. I have an audition.”
“Really? For what?”
“Pole-dancing instructor, which is not a stripper.”
Emily cringed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be insulting before. It’s just that I’ve never known anyone who did that. Who’s the audition with?”
“PowerBar. It’s a fitness center in Beverly Hills.” Sydney smiled, a full-on, heart-stopping smile that made her face light up. “Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
Emily shook her head.
“Not surprising. It’s behind bushes and gates, hidden from the public. That’s one of the things I want to change. Pole dancing isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”
Sydney spoke animatedly and with feeling, sounding very different than when she was talking about her mom. Obviously this was a subject she was passionate about. Emily could relate. It was how she felt about her magazine.
“Tell me what you love about it,”
Emily said, surprised she actually wanted to know.
“So many things. It’s about getting out of your comfort zone and accomplishing something you never thought possible. It’s a huge self-esteem booster.” Sydney stared into space and said, “It’s like…having an orgasm.”
Emily spewed wine across the table, which resulted in a mini-coughing fit. Sydney jumped up and patted her on the back.
“Are you okay?” Sydney asked through a chuckle.
Emily cleared her throat and downed an entire glass of water. She took a deep breath, reveling in the aroma of coconut―her favorite scent. It must have been coming from Sydney, maybe her shampoo or soap. After regaining her composure, Emily was very much aware that Sydney’s hand was on her arm―her warm, sturdy hand that sent tingles through Emily and settled in the pit of her stomach. Emily wiggled free and motioned for Sydney to sit back down. At the other end of the table. Far away.
“Sorry about that,” Emily said, hoarse. “Now what were you saying about…um…”
“Orgasms.”
Emily gulped. “Right. That.”
“In pole dancing, you have to relax and let go. When you’re doing a move that you’ve never done before, it can be scary. If you try to stop yourself or hold back, you’ll fall. You have to give up control, let go of the reins, and just go for it. It’s the ultimate release.”
Maybe that’s why Emily couldn’t have orgasms with Gretchen. She was a control freak. Letting go wasn’t easy, though. It made her feel vulnerable, exposed, and who wanted that?
“Interesting,” Emily said, desperately wanting to change the subject.
“Maybe you should try it some time.”
Emily’s eyebrows shot upward and she gulped. “Orgasms? Oh, I’ve had plenty of those. Like hundreds…no, I’d say thousands. Like almost every day. Yes. I’d say daily…at least…yes.”
Sydney grinned and scratched her head. “Actually, I was talking about pole dancing.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Oh, no. I could never do that.” Emily vigorously shook her head.
“Why not?”
How in the world could Emily explain it without actually having to be honest? Pole dancers were seductive, sensual, and physically fit―like Sydney. Emily would never describe herself as sexy, and no way in hell would she ever wear those skimpy outfits. Nope. She’d never be comfortable doing something like that in a gazillion years, something Sydney would never understand.
“It’s just not really my thing,” Emily said and pushed her chair back. “I’ll do the dishes since you cooked, and then I’m hitting the sack. Can I trust you to be quieter tonight?”
“Yes. I promise. How’s the sofa bed in Jill’s office?”
“Great if you like sleeping on a bed of very sharp nails.” Emily gathered the dishes and carried them into the kitchen.
Sydney pushed through the swinging doors. “Maybe we could share the bedroom. You know. Take turns.”
Emily was so shocked she almost dropped the bowls. She put everything in the sink and faced Sydney. “What in the world got into you since this morning?”
Sydney’s gaze dropped to the hardwood floor. “Just trying to be fair.”
“Well, you won’t hear any arguments from me. I’ll gladly take the bed tonight.”
“I’ll just grab some stuff out of my…our…room and get out of your way.”
Talk about a switch. Whatever the reason, Emily was just happy they weren’t arguing and that she’d get a good night’s sleep. She did feel a little guilty about not coming clean to Gretchen, but she needed a place to stay until she got the lovebird story. Personally, Emily didn’t see anything wrong with having a roommate, even if she was a hot pole dancer. It wasn’t like they were going to have an affair.
Chapter Nine
Pop-Tart Talk
Had Emily died and gone to heaven? If angels hand-made mattresses, it would surely be this one. She rolled over, pulled the sheet under her chin, and snuggled into the warmth of the most comfortable bed ever. Burying her face into the pillow, she took a big whiff, coconut filling her senses. Maybe she hadn’t died at all but instead was lying on a deserted tropical island with a piña colada in one hand and Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil in the other. Coconuts. Emily loved the smell of coconuts. Where had she detected that aroma before?
Suddenly, she bolted upright. Sydney! Nervously, Emily glanced around, half expecting to see Sydney lying beside her…naked. She wasn’t sure why she’d pictured Sydney nude, but there it was. After realizing she was alone, Emily fell backward and shook her head as though to knock sexy Sydney images out of her brain. Gretchen was the one she should be thinking about, not her housemate. Gretchen was also…well, no…she wasn’t actually sexy. She was stable, secure, trustworthy, which was exactly what Emily wanted in a girlfriend. Physical attraction went just so far.
Strange grunting noises coming through the vent caused Emily to sit upright again. Was a wild pig downstairs? She got out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs, the sound growing louder with each step. Emily stopped midway and peered over the railing, surprised to see Sydney sitting on the couch ranting and raving.
“Argh! I’ll never get this! Grrr.”
“Hey, are you okay?” Emily asked, bounding down the remaining steps.
Sydney appeared startled and stuffed whatever she was looking at under an afghan. Something was definitely up, something Sydney didn’t want Emily to know about.
“What’s under there?” Emily pointed.
“Nothing,” Sydney said, looking nervous and terribly uncomfortable.
Emily walked around the couch and sat on the armrest. “Then why don’t you show me?”
“You’re awfully nosy.”
“Just curious. It’s obviously something you’re not happy about.”
Sydney’s lips turned upward into a wide grin, which wasn’t the reaction Emily was expecting.
“What…uh…what are you wearing?” Sydney asked with a sparkle in her eyes.
Emily looked down at her PJs and let her shoulders slump. Crap.
“Are those little birds?” Sydney looked like she was about to burst out laughing.
“They’re lovebirds, thank you very much.” Emily jutted her chin out. “We don’t all sleep in provocative lingerie, you know.”
“Are you insinuating that this is provocative?” Sydney motioned to her outfit.
“The way you wear it, it is.”
Emily regretted the admission, but for Pete’s sake, could Sydney look any sexier in the baby-blue tank top that made her gorgeous eyes pop even more than usual and the leg-revealing blue and white polka-dot shorts?
“I seriously don’t mean to laugh,” Sydney said, still smiling. “You look adorable. Really.”
Emily sneered, flung a pillow at Sydney, and marched into the kitchen. The navy PJs, which were covered with pink lovebirds, were intended to inspire Emily. They symbolized her goal. When she’d packed for the trip, she hadn’t expected to model the outfit in front of a pole dancer.
One of the swinging doors creaked open, Sydney halfway into the kitchen. “You gonna throw anything else at me?”
“Probably.” Emily opened several cabinets, looking for those damn Pop-Tarts. She needed something sweet.
Sydney walked into the kitchen and rested a hip against the counter.
“Ahh. Here they are.” Emily held up the box and smiled. “You probably don’t eat these, do you?”
“You toast. I’ll pour the OJ.”
They sat on stools opposite each other at the counter and chowed down. It was actually nice eating breakfast with someone. Even when Gretchen stayed the night, they’d go their separate ways early the next morning.
After a few minutes, Sydney asked, “Are lovebirds your favorite?”
“No one has ever asked me that before,” Emily said, wondering why Gretchen or her parents had never inquired. But then again, they hadn’t been supportive of that particular interest. “Yes. As a matter of fact they are.”
Emily smiled, recalling the first time she’d laid eyes on her beloved pets. “When I was twelve my dad came home with two rosy-faced lovebirds. My mom had a fit, but he did it to cheer me up. And—”
“Why’d you need cheering up?”
Emily’s pulse quickened. She didn’t like thinking about that time, much less talking about it. “Remember when I said I was overweight? Well, let’s just say kids can be cruel.” Not to mention mothers.
“You mean you were teased?”
“Uh-huh. A lot.” Emily met Sydney’s eyes, which were filled with an unexpected compassion. She didn’t think someone so fit would understand body-shaming. “Anyway, I had Bogie and Bacall…that were their names…for ten years. They were my best friends. I guess that’s when my affection for birds began.”
Sydney stretched, opened the fridge, and grabbed the orange juice. She poured some into Emily’s cup and put the carton on the counter. That was nice. Emily hadn’t even noticed her glass was empty.
“Why lovebirds and not an eagle or something more majestic?”
“They’re amazing,” Emily said with a wide grin. “They’re one of the few animals on earth who mate for life. They have high levels of oxytocin, the love hormone, and spend their days preening and snuggling with each other. When they’re separated from their partner, they have erratic behavior and become sullen. And many die within days from what’s known as the heartbreak syndrome. That’s what happened to Bogie. He was completely healthy but then died two days after Bacall did.”
Sydney eyed Emily, clearly skeptical.
“And if they’re separated and then reunited they feed each other to reinforce their bond. How sweet is that? They have deep, loving relationships just like humans.”
Sydney snorted and rolled her eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mating for life. What a fairy tale.”
“You don’t believe in happily-ever-after, I take it?”
“God, no. I’ve never known anyone whose relationship lasted more than a few months.”
“You included?”
“I’ve had plenty of girlfriends, some who were a lot of fun, but long-term doesn’t happen in real life.”