by Lisa Moreau
What was it about Emily that affected her so? Maybe it was the fact that she was unlike any other woman Sydney had ever dated, not that they were dating, of course. Sydney should just close her eyes and enjoy the moment. She’d probably never be this close to Emily again. As they swayed to the music, everything around them disappeared. It was as though they were the only two people in the room until someone grabbed Sydney from behind, awakening her from a lovely dream.
“What the…” Sydney turned, ready to tell some drunk chick to beat it. Instead, she stared into all-too-familiar eyes. “Monica? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve been texting you all day.” Monica’s speech was slurred and she reeked of alcohol. She wobbled and looked back and forth between Emily and Sydney.
“Looks like someone got lucky.” Monica attempted to punch Sydney on the arm but missed by several inches.
“You’re drunk. Let’s get you out of here.” Sydney grabbed Monica’s arm and peered sideways at Emily. “Sorry about this. We should probably go.”
They exited and stood in the parking lot, Sydney supporting Monica so she didn’t fall face-first.
“Why are we leaving?” Monica asked and hiccupped once. “Damn. I must’ve drunk too fast. That always gives me the hiccups.”
“Try drank too much,” Sydney said. “Where are you staying? We’ll drive you.”
Monica giggled. “With you, silly. You’re in that big cabin all by yourself.”
“Christ. You didn’t get a hotel?”
Monica leaned close to Emily, swayed back and forth, and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but Sydney broke into what’s-her-name’s cabin.”
Emily took a step back and placed a finger under her nose, probably to escape the whiskey fumes.
Sydney looked at Emily and shook her head. “I’m so sorry about this. Can she just stay the night? She can crash in Jill’s office, and I’ll take the sofa.”
“Of course,” Emily said. “She’s certainly in no shape to drive.”
Sydney stuffed Monica into the back seat, glad they were in her car instead of Emily’s in case she got sick.
“I’m really sorry,” Sydney said and opened the passenger door for Emily. “I’ll make sure she leaves tomorrow morning.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
Once they were on the road, Emily turned in her seat and faced Sydney. “Is she your girlfriend?”
Sydney shot Emily a quick glance. If she didn’t know any better she’d swear she saw disappointment in Emily’s eyes. A twinge of joy shot through Sydney at the prospect of Emily being jealous.
“Monica is my straight roommate.”
Monica leaned across the seat and hugged Sydney’s neck, practically choking her. “If anyone could get me to jump over the fence, it’d be Syd. Isn’t that right, honey?”
Sydney pried Monica’s arms off. “Why don’t you sit back and relax?”
Monica turned her attention to Emily. “I’ve known Syd since she was seventeen.”
“Really? Where’d you meet?”
“On the street corner of…where was that again?” Monica asked and hiccupped.
Sydney stepped on the accelerator. The sooner she got Monica away from Emily, the better, considering she was probably about to spill Sydney’s life story.
“I taught her everything she knows about pole dancing,” Monica said and collapsed back in the seat.
Good. Hopefully she’d pass out.
“Is that right?” Emily asked Sydney.
“Yes. Actually, she taught me a lot.”
Monica held up a finger. “And I got her a job at…at”—Don’t say it. Don’t say it—“Leave It to Beaver,” Monica said and hiccupped again.
Sydney’s heart dropped to the ground, and she visualized running over it with the car, over and over again. She gripped the wheel tight and drove even faster. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Emily staring at her, but she didn’t dare look.
They drove in silence, thankfully, until reaching the cabin. Sydney walked Monica up the stairs and tucked her into the sofa bed in Jill’s office, certain they wouldn’t be hearing from her anymore tonight. She went into the bathroom, put her PJs on, and glanced into the bedroom. Emily was nowhere in sight, which meant she was still downstairs. Maybe if Sydney was super quiet and slipped under the afghan on the sofa feigning sleep, she’d get away with not having to answer any questions.
No such luck. Emily was sitting on the sofa sipping something out of a mug.
“You can take the bed if you want to head up,” Sydney said.
“I will in a minute. Why don’t you have a seat?” Emily patted the place beside her.
Sydney faked a dramatic yawn and sat. “It’s awfully late. We should get some sleep.”
Emily placed her cup on the table and faced Sydney. “We’re friends, right?”
“Of course.”
“So why do I know hardly anything about your past?”
Here we go. Sydney couldn’t very well race out of the cabin, although that’s exactly what she wanted to do. “What do you want to know?”
“Why did you run away? Where did you go? How’d you support yourself? And what’s…what was it called…Leave It to Beaver?”
Geez. No easing into the conversation. Emily got right to the point. Sydney should get this over with in one swift motion, like getting a bikini wax. It’d hurt like hell at first but better not to prolong the pain. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Probably no surprise from what I told you before, but my mom was verbally abusive, and the multitude of stepfathers parading in and out weren’t much better. Being on my own was a more attractive option than staying under her roof. After I left, I lived on the streets for a while, doing whatever I could to survive. Everything except selling myself. I’d never do that. When I met Monica, she took me in, got me a job, and we’ve been roommates ever since. And just roommates. Nothing more. And…um…Leave It to Beaver is a…it’s a strip club. I worked as a pole dancer there for five years.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of that earlier?”
Sydney studied her clenched hands. “I didn’t want you to think badly of me. You’d really think I was a stripper then.” Sydney looked at Emily. “I never once took my clothes off or had sex with strangers.”
Emily scooted closer and put her hand on Sydney’s knee. “I believe you. Even if you had stripped, it wouldn’t change my opinion of you. Who’s to say what I would’ve done in the same situation? So then you quit the club and went to work at the Little Bird?”
“Not quite. I’ve had about six jobs the past two years. I have a talent for getting fired.” Sydney smirked.
“It’s because waitressing, or whatever else you did, isn’t your passion. Why did you quit the pole-dancing job at the club?”
“It was demeaning. I hated the entire atmosphere of the place. I want a better life, a respectable life.”
“I think I see a little more clearly why you’re dead set on the PowerBar job. But like I said before, your self-worth doesn’t come from the outside. I’m sure the Beverly Hills position isn’t the only respectable pole-dancing gig out there.”
“You don’t think I’m going to get it, do you?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. You’re amazing. They’d be crazy not to hire you, but don’t put all your hopes on this one position. Maybe something bigger and better is out there, something you haven’t discovered yet.”
“Maybe you should tell yourself the same thing.”
Did I just say that out loud?
Emily raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me. I want to know.”
Sydney gazed into curious brown eyes. She wanted to tell Emily that maybe she should try to find someone more suited for her than Gretchen, someone who could make her happier, maybe even someone like Sydney. Instead, she pulled the afghan under her chin,
let her head drop back, and closed her eyes.
“I’m exhausted,” Sydney said. “Let’s go to sleep.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Love Hormone
Emily should have strategized about meeting Fran later that day, but instead she sat at the bar in the kitchen with her laptop and googled oxytocin. She knew a little about the love hormone from studying lovebirds, but she wanted to find out more for reasons she wasn’t yet ready to admit.
She clicked on a link and read. “Oxytocin is a neurotransmitter…blah blah…that’s boring.” She wanted the juicy details, not the technical ones. Emily glanced at her cell phone when it rang. It was Gretchen. She paused, hit the reject button, and made a mental note to call her later. Gretchen would talk too long, and Emily wanted to review the website before Sydney woke up.
She scrolled down the page, stopped when she reached the interesting part, and silently read.
People who excite romantic feelings in us trigger an increase in oxytocin levels. It affects the body in a myriad of ways, such as shaky knees, flushed cheeks, racing heart, sharing intimate details, less need for sleep, and sexual arousal.
That wasn’t good. Emily had stayed awake half the night thinking about how much dancing with Sydney had affected her. It’d felt so good to be in her arms, touching in all the right places. She’d never been so turned on by a slow dance before, even with Gretchen. Emily placed her hands on her hot cheeks and felt light-headed. This was probably a heavy dose of guilt and not an overload of the love hormone. She focused back on the screen.
There is a strong correlation between oxytocin and the intensity of an orgasm.
Emily gasped. That hit close to home. She’d never had an orgasm with Gretchen. Emily had always blamed herself, but maybe she just wasn’t romantically attracted to her. She vigorously shook her head. That was crazy talk. They were perfect together. Weren’t they?
“Whatcha looking at?”
Emily slammed the computer lid shut when she heard Sydney’s voice.
“Nothing.” That didn’t sound believable even to Emily’s ears, but luckily Sydney didn’t seem suspicious.
Sydney took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, poured a glass, and sat opposite Emily. “So today’s the day.”
“For what?”
“Aren’t you meeting Fran at noon?”
“Right.” Emily waved her hand.
“You okay?” Sydney gazed at her curiously.
“I’m fine.” Emily wasn’t about to admit that her mind was still on orgasms.
“So what’s your lovebird plan?”
Emily chewed on her bottom lip. She hadn’t exactly been honest with Sydney about the lovebirds. It’s the least she could do after Sydney had opened up about her past.
“I need to tell you something,” Emily said. “I sorta lied a little about the lovebirds.”
“Wait a second. You’re not looking for figs or lovebirds?”
“No. I am. But it’s”—Emily glanced around to make sure Sydney’s drunk friend hadn’t walked in—“Madagascar lovebirds.”
Sydney stared, stone-faced. What did Emily expect? Sydney didn’t know birds. This was going to take some explaining.
“The lovebirds on Fran’s farm are extremely rare. They’re found only on the island of Madagascar. There have been rumors for years about a flock in Southern California that escaped from an aviary, but no one has managed to photograph them. This is the bird story of the decade, and no one knows about it but me.”
Sydney appeared more worried than impressed, rubbing her chin and staring off into space.
“It would save my magazine,” Emily added.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s in the red. I promised Gretchen and our parents that I’d shut it down and go back to the corporate world if I didn’t get this story.”
“Shit. This is big.” Sydney’s eyes widened, in a non-blinking, wild-woman sort of way.
“If it weren’t for Owen, I wouldn’t be in this place.” Emily scowled.
“W-what did he do? I mean…who is that?” Sydney audibly gulped.
“Owen is a competitor. He stole a huge story off my desk and published it as his own. It would have been big enough to secure my magazine’s future.”
“Why would he do something so underhanded?”
Emily sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “He blames me for being deaf in one ear because of an accident that was totally his fault. I stopped at a crosswalk to let someone…you know, walk…and he rear-ended me. So hard that his airbag exploded, which—apparently—can cause hearing loss. He claims I stopped suddenly, but I didn’t. If he hadn’t been riding my bumper he never would have hit me.”
All the color drained from Sydney’s face, and she looked like she was about to barf. Before Emily could ask if she was okay, Monica stumbled in looking like hell.
“Please tell me you have a jar of pickle juice here.” Monica pressed against her temples.
Emily scrunched her nose. “Pickle juice?”
Sydney nodded. “It’s a surefire hangover cure. The salt in the juice replenishes electrolytes.”
Sydney grabbed a jar out of the fridge, opened it, and handed it to Monica, who chugged it down. Emily’s stomach soured. She couldn’t imagine drinking sixteen ounces of pickle juice.
Monica slammed the jar onto the counter and eyed Emily suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“We met last night. I’m Emily.”
Monica paused for a full five seconds before she grinned. “Oh, right. You were Sydney’s dirty-dancing partner.”
Emily’s cheeks warmed. “What? No. There was nothing dirty about it. I’m engaged.” Emily stuck her left hand out.
“Damn. You must have nabbed a rich one. But I’m sure she isn’t nearly as sexy as Syd.”
Emily’s cheeks grew even hotter, so much so she was sure she looked like a radish. “Sydney is…well…she’s certainly…jazzy.”
Jazzy? I sound like a 1930s black-and-white flick.
Emily glanced at Sydney, who tilted her head and furrowed her brow.
“What I mean is, yes, of course she’s sexy. Anyone can see that. But Gretchen is also―”
“Jazzy?” Monica stifled a giggle.
“All right. Stop teasing Emily.” Sydney grabbed Monica’s arm and tugged her toward the door. “Come on. I need to ask you something.”
“Why can’t you ask me in front of your girlfriend?”
Sydney shot Emily a quick glance. “Just come on,” she said and pulled Monica through the swinging doors.
The great thing about saloon-style doors is that you can pretty much overhear what someone is saying when they’re in the living room, especially when you place your ear in the opening over the door. Not that Emily was the nosy type, but she was curious as to what Sydney and Monica were chatting about in angry-sounding tones.
“I promise to pay you back,” Sydney whispered.
“How are you gonna do that with no job?” Monica asked, not quite so whisper-like. “And what do you want the money for anyway? Two hundred and fifty dollars is a lot of dough.”
Sydney needed money? She should have asked Emily. She’d have been more than happy to help. Her parents had more money than they knew what to do with.
“I owe a guy,” Sydney said.
“Who?”
“Shh. Not so loud. Let’s go outside.”
Was Sydney in trouble? It sounded suspicious, but Emily was sure it wasn’t anything shady. Sydney wasn’t the druggie or gang type. More than anything, Emily wanted to wave a wand and make it all better. She couldn’t bring up the subject of money, though, or else Sydney would know she’d been eavesdropping.
After a few minutes, Sydney popped her head into the kitchen. “I’m going to drive Monica to her car so she can head back to LA. When I get back we can leave for Bud’s.”
“You’d go with me?” Emily asked, touched by the gesture.
“Of course. Thanks to you, I p
assed the GED. It’s the least I can do.”
Emily couldn’t stop smiling. Having Sydney as a friend felt nice. Really nice.
* * *
Emily’s pulse raced the closer she and Sydney got to Bud’s Burrito ’n Bait Shop, which was where they’d meet Fran. Emily had been in Ojai a week, and she wasn’t any closer to finding the lovebirds. The only good thing was that she was fairly certain no one else knew about them. Otherwise the press would be everywhere.
“If things get dicey, give her this.” Sydney, who was sitting in the passenger seat, pulled the Conway Twitty cookbook out of her backpack.
Emily sighed. “It’s going to take more than artery-clogging recipes to warm Fran up.”
“Just try it,” Sydney said, sounding annoyed.
“I’ll see. I really do appreciate you helping me. If you ever need a favor, just ask.”
Sydney sat upright in her seat. “Really? Even if it’s a big one?”
“Yes,” Emily said brightly. “No amount is too much. All you have to do is ask.”
This was working out perfectly. Emily thought she’d have to skirt around the topic of money, but it sounded like Sydney was going to come right out with it.
“You mean you’d do anything?” Sydney asked.
“Absolutely. Just name it.”
Sydney’s eyes twinkled, and she rubbed her palms together. “This is awesome. I didn’t think you’d accept. We’ll start tomorrow.”
“It’s no problem…wait. What do you mean start?”
“The pole-dancing lessons.”
“What?” Emily swerved, nearly running off the road. “I never―”
“You said anything.”
“Hold on. I thought you were talking about something else.”