by Brinda Berry
But he thinks I’m less.
I know I’m more. I’m not defined by what I’ve had to do to survive.
“You’re right. You wouldn’t have to ruin my tire,” I say with a perky smile. “Absolutely.”
He raises a brow suspiciously.
“Oh,” I continue, “you wouldn’t have to ruin my tire.” I pause for effect. “Because there is no way in hell or heaven or anywhere in between that you could get a date with me.”
Dylan looks from the road for a moment. “Really,” he says skeptically. “I thought you said I’m forgiven.”
“That has nothing to do with this conversation.” Oh, the wicked lies I’m telling now. “You’re not my type.”
“And that guy is?” Dylan pulls onto the main campus drive.
“Take a left up here.” I point to a parking lot. “Maybe he is. So what?”
“You can do better than him.”
“Has anyone told you that you’re a snob?”
“Hey, all I’m saying—”
“Don’t. Every word you say digs the hole a little deeper. Here’s my car.” The second we stop, I hop out in a race to my car. I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m disillusioned enough for one day.
“Wait. Emerson...”
My name on his lips sounds tortured for some strange reason. He must be back to feeling guilty again. What is his problem?
I pretend I don’t hear him and drop gratefully into my car. I have to get away before I do something really stupid like break down and cry. How could I be so very wrong about him? I’ve spent every day in Dylan’s house learning a lot of things about him.
He loves ties and has them in every color and collects them in the way I used to collect shoes.
He reads. Everything. Some days when I clean and the house is empty, I take a few minutes to discover what he’s reading for the week. I’ve even picked up some books and taken an hour of down time to read a chapter or two. We share some of the same tastes in reading.
And then there’s the most surprising thing I know about him. He has a dresser drawer full of some kid’s drawings. Dylan is written on a couple of them with a stick figure that must be him. Some of the drawings are of several stick people and a house and a dog.
I’m fascinated by these, knowing that some child has given them to Dylan and he’s kept them.
But there’s also the Dylan I’ve seen over the last 24 hours. It’s almost as though my heart can’t bear to think that he’s not what I’ve conjured in my imagination.
I start my car and roll down the window. “Thanks,” I yell as I drive away with Dylan still sitting in his car.
I look into my rear view mirror and see him leave the parking lot. The drive to my apartment takes me back through some morning traffic. I glance at my phone. I have twenty minutes to get home and change in time for the class I teach at the health club, Body Works.
Having three jobs plus college classes takes master scheduling skills. I think I should be a life organizer, if there is such a career.
I change into my workout clothes and peek in on Gabby. “Hey, time for class. Get up. Your ride will be here in a minute.”
She groans and turns over, effectively rolling herself into a sheet cocoon. “Sissy, I think I’ll skip today. I don’t feel so hot.”
Gabby is a nineteen-year-old kid and this is partially my fault. I know it. I just don’t know what to do about it.
“Up.” I grab the edge of the sheet and tug it off her body. “You can’t miss. That professor is a hard-ass.”
She yawns and attempts to snatch the sheet back. “You are so mean.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I rush out of the room and return with a glass of juice. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She smiles up at me, all angelic and sleepy.
“Gotta go,” I say and head out. My phone plays my new favorite ringtone, a song called “Give You Some Love,” by Jelly Bean Queen. I retrieve it from my bag and scowl at the unfamiliar number. A phone never rings unless you don’t have two seconds to spare.
“Hello.”
“Hey. This is Toby.”
I pull the front door behind me and turn my key in the deadbolt lock. “Hi, Toby. In case I didn’t say this enough, you are a lifesaver.”
“It was nothing. So, I was wondering if you might like to go out and get some dinner sometime.”
“Toby, it’s sweet of you to ask, but I really don’t have a lot of time to go on dates.”
“I did get it right, didn’t I? You and Dylan aren’t a couple...”
“No way. Dylan? No. Fat chance. Pft.” Okay, so I was going a little overboard on my response. I realize this on my last syllable. Dylan doesn’t date girls like me. “You know what? How about a coffee? Could we just do that?”
“That’d be great,” he says. “Tonight?”
I start my car engine and close my eyes. “Sure. I’ll text you later. I’m going to work right now.”
“Emerson?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m looking forward to it.” There’s a smile in his voice that carries over the line.
“Yeah, me too. Bye.” I press END and rub my temple. Why am I still thinking of Dylan?
Chapter Four
Really Don’t Care
Dylan
My office at the car dealership stays neat and tidy, compliments of Aggie Phillips. Aggie who was my father’s secretary, sneaking candy to me when I visited after school and hung around doing my homework at Dad’s desk.
She tuts repeatedly, making me grin at her trademark mother hen attitude.
“Honey, I hope the other guy looks worse than you.” Aggie squints at me and purses her lips. “You should’ve switched to warm compresses after the ice.”
“I didn’t exactly have access to an ice pack after the fight.”
She taps a stack of papers on the edge of my desk and studies my eye, leaning across with her hands flat on my desk.
“Aggie? Do you need something else?” I hide a grin at the way she hovers. Everyone loves Aggie.
“I have just the thing for that. Do you have Vaseline at home?”
Vaseline? I hold up a hand. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it feels.”
“Vaseline and cayenne pepper. Mix those five parts to one and smear it around your eye.”
I shake my head and give her a horrified look. “There’s no way I’m putting cayenne on my eye. Are you trying to blind me?” I take the papers from her hands and place them to the side. “Will you order a new espresso machine for the lobby?”
She raises a brow. “Espresso...la-ti-da. Coffee not good enough?”
“We need one that does everything. Our customers like to be pampered.” I glance out the glass wall to see my sales team waiting to sell the next Mercedes or Porsche.
Aggie rolls her eyes. “Heard from your parents this week?”
“Mom says they’ll be back in a week. I think they love Florida. I wouldn’t be surprised if they make a permanent move.”
“Good, good. I’m so glad for them. Tell your mom to take some hunky men photos and email me. I like seeing those shirtless studs all oily with lotion.”
“Too much information,” I mutter under my breath. Plus, my mother would be praying for Aggie’s soul if I told her that. I grab a pen and quickly sign at the bottom of the contract before me.
My stomach growls and I glance at the clock. Almost time to lock up. I worked through lunch so I could catch up. The side trip to take Emerson to her car has set me behind for the rest of the day. Way behind, but worth every second.
Aggie takes the piece of paper from me but doesn’t leave. “You work too hard.”
“That’s how people get ahead.”
She points at me. “You’ll wake up one day and be sorry that you spent all your time at this desk. When was the last time you had a steady girlfriend?”
“I thought you were my girl.”
She shakes her head at my flirting. “You’re too young to bury yourself in w
ork. I know your father did it, but at least he finally came to his senses this year. He’s lucky your mother didn’t leave him.”
“Aggie. You’re exaggerating, don’t you think?” I glance at the glass wall to my right and watch Serena Esteban in her stilettos en route to the exit. Her walk reminds me of Emerson’s, all swing and proposition. Except Serena glances around to see who’s watching while Emerson is oblivious.
Maybe Aggie has a point. I need to get Emerson out of my head. Maybe I should be leaving with Serena, who has quite the party-girl reputation.
“You have no clue what’s important in life.” She steps in front of my line of vision, effectively bringing my attention back to her. “Get your eyes off that one. She’s not for you. Not the right kind of girl.”
I smirk at the way she’s read my mind. “You think? She’s absolutely my type.”
“I don’t care about your type. Rich beach boys are my type, but a roll in the sand isn’t going to make me happy in the long run.”
Even though Serena is long gone, I gaze longingly at the exit. “But think how fun it’d be in the meantime.”
“Not really.” She reaches across to a crystal dish and takes one of the candies that she carried in earlier. “You’d just get sand in your crack.” She unwraps the candy and pops it into her mouth.
“A little sand never hurt anyone. Sometimes it’s nice to get dirty.” I put a suggestive drawl into my words, but she looks unconvinced.
“There’s naughty and there’s dirty. You don’t want to go there. Too unclean.” Aggie wrinkles her nose. She turns and carries the paperwork to the glass door. “Surely there’s some nice girl out there who revs your engine. Your parents would love to see you as happy as they are.”
All this talk has taken my brain in a direction I’ve attempted to avoid all day. Also, I’d rather not talk about sex and my parents in the same conversation. I clear my throat. “Thanks for your concern, but it’s misplaced. I’m very happy.”
“Tomcat,” she says as she shakes her head and leaves my office.
My routine is to work until seven, grab a bite to eat, and head home. I straighten my desk and spot the check to Emerson that I wrote earlier. There’s a chance I can catch her at home if I drop by with it. I argue with myself that I’m only trying to be thoughtful and get it to her as quickly as possible, but I know it’s a lie. The girl has been on my mind all day long.
I grab the check and place it in my wallet. My office manager glances at the wall clock as I walk by and gives me an odd look. He lifts a hand to wave. Does everyone in this place keep tabs on when I come and go?
A gust of chilly air circles me as I pick up the pace to my car. I drag my fingers through my hair and loosen my tie. Five-thirty. Maybe I’ll mention dinner. There’s no sense in eating alone when we can eat together.
In no time at all, I’m at her run-down apartment complex. Some people stand around outside as if they have nothing else to do and I scowl at a crowd of teenage boys standing near a dumpster, skateboards in their hands. Two of the kids are shoving each other while the others watch.
By the time I make it to her door, I’m pissed off that she’s living in a place that probably rates one of the highest crime rates in the city. I rap on the door twice. There’s a lady across the lot in the opposite building who stands in front of her door watching me. Was she there when I was here earlier? She gives me a nod of recognition in answer to my internal question.
The door opens wide and Emerson stands there with a confused look. “Hey. What’s up?”
“What are you doing opening your door without asking who it is?” My voice is tense.
“Peephole.” She cuts her gaze to the open door. “I knew it was you.”
“Hmm.” I take a step. “Are you going to ask me in?”
“Depends on the reason for your visit. Did you come to scold me about something else?”
“No.” A corner of my mouth tugs up. “I brought you a check. The money you gave the bondsman. You also ran off before I could put your spare tire in your car.”
“Ah,” she says and moves aside. “In that case, come in.”
“Thanks.” As I walk inside, I notice again how neat her place is. A candle flickers from the end table and there’s a book open and face down beside it.
“Check?” Emerson holds out her hand. Silver bracelets clink together on her wrist and I lift my gaze to her face.
“Are you busy?”
She shrugs. “Not really.” Her hand drops as if she realizes she’s being rude.
I examine what she’s wearing. Emerson always has on jeans and T-shirts when she comes to clean our place. I don’t see her much in other clothes except for the night we all went out to a local club. My roommate Collin had invited her and no one was more surprised than I was to see her decked out in a skintight red dress that hugged all her curves just right.
Tonight though, she’s not in the uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. She’s wearing some black leggings tucked into tall black boots with a soft mint-colored sweater that hangs mid-thigh. She looks classy and understated. Sexy.
I realize I’m staring. “Were you reading?” I ask, stating the obvious.
“Oh, well yeah. I do other things besides take off my clothes.”
I groan for two reasons. One, she’s never going to let me live down that insult. Two, I don’t want to start thinking about her out of the sexy clothes. “You like fighting with me for some reason? Is it a turn-on for you?”
She gives an unflattering huff. “Oh yeah. Highlight of my day. Love having my blood pressure spike. It’s such an aphrodisiac.”
“Glad to be of service.” I raise one brow and move closer to her. Emerson’s eyes widen and she takes a step back. I move around her to take a seat, uninvited, on her sofa. There are several soft pillows at my back and I sink into them.
“What are you doing now?” Emerson folds her arms over her chest and the fuzzy sweater molds to her upper body. She tilts her head.
“Relax.” I glance around. “So, your sister lives with you?”
“Yeah. Why?”
I shrug. “Just didn’t know that. I’m realizing I don’t know a lot about you.”
“Listen,” she says. “I bailed you out. You helped me with the car stuff. We’re even. You don’t have to pretend you’re interested.”
“Why do you have such a problem with me?”
Emerson unfolds her arms and places them on her hips. “I don’t have one.”
“Then sit down and talk to me. Unless I make you nervous for some reason.”
“God, you’re full of yourself.” She takes a seat across from me. “I can...well...um, visit for a few minutes and then you have to go.”
She does in fact look a little antsy. I stretch my legs out and fold my hands behind my head, searching for something to get our conversation headed in a better and less antagonistic direction. All I can think of is the whole stripping thing and how it doesn’t make sense with her. Think of something else.
Asking about that will definitely get me booted out of her apartment. Maybe literally by the look of those killer boots she’s wearing.
“Have a rough day?” I finally say, giving it that neutral chit-chat tone.
“Really? You want to know?” Her mouth quirks. “As a matter of fact, I did. I worked at the health club this morning, went to my classes—”
“You work another job?” I should have let her finish, but she keeps surprising me.
She glances away from me uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. You guys pay me plenty, but it’s not enough to cover my bills. A girl’s gotta eat.”
“We need to give you a raise.” I’m serious when I say this. Emerson keeps me from worrying about doing much around the house. She does some of our laundry, vacuums and dusts, makes our grocery list. Where else would I find someone who does all that she does? Add in the fact that she only works one day a week. Now that I think about it, I’m ashamed that we’ve depended on her for this much an
d haven’t compensated her more.
Emerson crosses one leg over the other and swings her booted foot. She tilts her head. “You can talk about a raise with Jordy and Collin. But tell them that it’s your idea, because I didn’t ask for it. I’m thankful for the job.”
I lean forward to put my elbows on my knees. “I’m really sorry about that whole firing thing. I should never have said that either.”
“I didn’t think you meant it. But I don’t need the stress of you threatening me either. Now that I’m back in college, I need every dime. I have some debts to pay off. That’s why I worked at Earle’s in the first place. Do you have any idea what I made in one night there?”
“You can forget about Earle’s. You’re not going back. No. Way.” My mouth tightens at the thought.
She narrows her eyes at me. ”You are so bossy.”
“Well, you’re irreplaceable. We need you.”
“You better say that,” she answers. “Or else I’m taking all the important stuff in your house hostage.”
“I bet. And then I’ll be forced to hold you hostage until you divulge the locations of my necessities.” The thought has a lot of merit. I like sitting here with her in this quiet room. The reading lamp beside her chair lights her pretty face. Dark hair, blue eyes that glitter, high cheekbones.
For several months, I’ve been very busy not looking at Emerson.
“Oh, I know more hiding places in that house than you can imagine. You guys think it’s only a place to sleep, but I know all its secrets.” One sly corner of her mouth quirks up. She’s wearing crimson-colored lipstick. Fresh lipstick.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Oh, um, in half an hour.” She glances at a silver clock on the wall. “You said you brought me a check?”
I examine her without moving to get my wallet out. She’s wearing jewelry and the cashmere sweater that makes her look soft and sexy and she has not answered me about where she’s going. My something’s-not-right-here Spidey sense kicks in. “Want to grab a bite to eat?” I ask casually.
“I can’t.” That’s all she says before pressing her lips together as if she’s afraid she’ll say more.
