by Gina Drayer
“That’s what you want people to think, but I know different,” she says, tapping her forehead with her finger. “You’re not such a bad guy when you’re not being an asshole. You like to play at being a bad boy, but that’s not who you really are. God, I wish you were.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because if you were really an asshole, it would be easier to resist you.”
While I tried to unpack the meaning behind her words, Emily laid her head down on my shoulder and closed her eyes. Within seconds she was out. I probably shouldn’t read too much into her doped up utterances, but her words had my mind spinning. Was there a possibility that we could make this into something real? Is that even something I want?
A few months ago, hell, even a few weeks ago, I would have said no, but this clumsy, emotional, messy woman curled up in my arms has affected me in ways I never imagined. I can see so much more with her. A life. A future. And that scares me more than anything else.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe if I was just an asshole, this little arrangement we have would be easier for both of us.
The driver pulled up to her house, and I carry her to the door, having left the crutches behind at the hospital. That was going to be an issue when she woke up.
I unlocked the door and stumbled around for a few seconds until I found the light switch. Her place was much like I would have expected. The walls were painted bright colors, and the whole place was a little unorganized. It looked comfortable and lived in. There was a half-finished puzzle on the small dining room table and a well-worn copy of one of the Harry Potter books on the coffee table.
I sat her down on the sofa and went back out to the limo to get her purse and shoes. The shoes that were responsible for this whole night. The driver lowered the privacy screen after I slid in the backseat.
“Back to your place Mr. Reynolds?”
“No. I’m just getting Emily’s things.”
“Very well, sir. Do you want me to wait for you? Or are you in for the night?”
I start to tell him to stay, but then I remember the crutches. I can’t leave her alone without a way to get around, and I really don't’ want to go back to the hospital.
“I left the crutches at the hospital. Can you go back and get them? It’s going to take me a while to get her situated inside.” I glance over my shoulder to her front door and sigh. I wish things were different, but they’re not. This isn’t a relationship, it’s a business deal. “When you get back, I’ll be ready to go home.”
“I’m happy to help.”
I gathered the few items left in the back and head back inside. Much to my surprise, the first thing I saw was a black lace thong and two firm, creamy butt cheeks. Emily was bent over, balancing on one foot, trying to pull her dress over her head. I would have been content just watching her undress, except she started to wobble. I dropped her things and ran over to grab her before we ended up back at the hospital.
“What?” She swung her whole upper body around and smacked my shoulder. “There’s something wrong with my dress. I can’t get it off. Cooper? What are you doing in my bedroom?”
I pulled down her dress and tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. “We’re in your living room, and we just got back from the hospital. Don’t you remember?”
She scrunched up her face and shook her head. “They gave me drugs, didn’t they? I don’t do drugs good.”
“I’ll have to remember that. I think it’s time we get you into bed.” I scooped her up in my arms and headed to the stairs.
“You’ve been wanting to get me in bed since the moment we met.” She leaned forward, banging her head against the side of mine and whispered loudly, “I’ve wanted to get in your pants too. Hmm. You smell good. What kind of shampoo do you use?”
I laughed and tried not to put too much stock in her drugged up babblings. She probably wouldn’t remember a word of it tomorrow.
Her bedroom was the first door on the right. Like the rest of her house, it was neat but cluttered. I settled her on the bed and rummaged through her drawers until I found an oversized shirt for her to sleep in.
“I’m going to unzip your dress and then give you some privacy to change. I’ll be back in a second to check on you.”
“Okay-dokay,” she said, taking the shirt and curled up on the bed.
I was being punished.
There was no doubt in my mind that this was Karma coming back to bite me in the ass. Sighing, I pulled her back to a sitting position and helped her change, trying my best not to look. But fuck, every inch of her gorgeous body was right there for me to see. I was going to have to take the world’s longest cold shower after this.
She was already snoring when the driver knocked on the door. I ran downstairs to get the crutches, thankful that this night was almost over. But when I went back upstairs to put the crutches where she could get them in the morning and found her curled up in the chair next to the bed, I realized I couldn’t leave her alone tonight. What if she needed something? What if she woke up and fell in the middle of the night?
Resigned, I tossed a blanket over her sleeping form, and I went back downstairs to send the driver home. At least, this would get the overnight requirement out of the way, and I didn’t even have to talk her into it.
Her place was small, cozy even. The second bedroom in her brownstone was converted to an office, so my only choice tonight was the sofa. Scattered throughout the living room are half a dozen crocheted afghans like my grandmother used to make. I figured she had an elderly neighbor that made them for her and she was too polite to turn them down.
But as I started to collect them for my makeshift bed, I noticed a basket of yarn in the corner and the start of what looked like another afghan. I unfolded the one in my arms. It was bigger than I was and had to have taken weeks to make.
I kicked off my shoes and removed my jacket and shirt. I thought about taking off my pants but decided against it. This whole situation was fucked up enough. I didn’t need to push my luck. I settled on to the sofa, surrounded by blankets Emily had made with her own hands and stared at the ceiling.
Despite the late hour, I couldn’t sleep.
I didn’t want to turn on the TV and run the risk of waking her. I rolled on my side and was face to face with dozens of judging eyes. Her walls were covered with photos of families. Families in front of houses. Families next to Christmas trees. Families with dogs.
There was an older wedding photo sitting on the end table. I sat up and studied it. The woman had honey brown hair and soft hazel eyes, but the tall, thin man in the photo shared Emily’s dark, soulful eyes. These had to be her parents.
Those few things in this room told a whole story about the woman upstairs. I thought of my own apartment and realized it had nothing at all to say. Or maybe the emptiness spoke volumes. I set the photo back on the table and went to the kitchen in search of a beer.
For as homey as the rest of her house was, her kitchen reminded me more of a bachelor pad. The refrigerator was filled with takeout boxes and science experiments. But thankfully, there was beer. I grabbed one and shut the door, coming face to face with a marker drawing of a woman-like stick figure that had to be Emily. It was signed by Angelica. Next to it were dozen more drawings by various kids. All displayed proudly.
What am I doing with this woman? She’s the bring home to mom and marry kind of girl. She deserves to have her own family. She deserves someone better than me.
21
Emily
The sound of crashing metal and breaking glass tore me out of a deep, sound sleep. In the alley, a high pitch beeping signaled the garbage truck, but visions of mangled headlights and blood still playing in my mind.
I hadn’t had a nightmare in years. I looked around my still dark room confused. I was covered in sweat and breathing hard, and couldn’t figure out why I was sleeping in the papasan chair. I stood up to hit the bathroom, but a heavy weight on my foot threw off my balance. I pitched forward and fell face
first onto my bed.
Last night’s event came flooding back in cloudy detail. I remembered the fundraiser and the kiss. I also remembered my spectacular freak-out and the fall. The trip to the ER and the drugs. After that, I’m not sure how much of my memory is real or a dream.
I really needed to get a medical alert bracelet or something. One of these days, I’m going to end up naked on a park bench.
When I sat up, I saw the crutches propped against the wall. At this point in my life, I’d become somewhat of an expert with crutches. I grabbed one and hobbled into the bathroom. I looked a mess. My hair was tangled into a giant, frizzy tumbleweed, the black streaks from my mascara had me looking like a raccoon, and it tasted like something had died in my mouth.
I hopped and shuffled my way around the bathroom, brushing my teeth, washing my face, and managing the rat’s nest on my head. I really wanted to get a shower, but I’d have to remove the brace. My head was still fuzzy, and I didn’t think it was a good idea just yet. Maybe after I’d eaten something.
I went back to the room and pulled out a comfy shirt and an oversized pair of sweats. I thought about calling Cooper and apologizing for last night. I’m sure a five hour trip to the ER wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend his Saturday night. But by the time I was finished dressing, my stomach was reminding me I hadn’t eaten since before the event yesterday.
Slowly and very carefully, I made my way downstairs. The first thing I noticed was that all my afghans were piled on the sofa, but as I got closer, I realized that under that mound of yarn was Cooper. He was stretched out, half on half off the sofa, snoring.
He’d stayed the night.
I tried not to read too much into it. It had to have been past midnight when we got back to my place. But I couldn’t talk sense to my stupid heart. I went to wake him, let him know that I was fine and he didn’t need to worry but realized it was only five in the morning.
I decided to let him sleep while I made something to eat. I grabbed my book and went to the kitchen to put on some rice. I was looking out for him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I liked having him here in my space.
I was sitting on a stool finishing up my third chapter when Cooper shambled into the kitchen.
I looked up from my book and sucked in a breath. I had already thought Cooper Reynolds was sexy. But I was wholly unprepared for the sight of him first thing in the morning.
He’d shed his shirt and jacket last night, and I got my first, live and in person look at his naked chest. And let’s just say, the man was perfection. His arms and shoulders were muscled and well defined. And those abs… I’ve never had a desire to run my tongue over another person's body until today. Honestly, the men on the covers of fitness magazines had nothing on Cooper.
He was still in his dress pants, although they were unbuttoned and slung low on his hips, showing off a splash of hair that disappeared below his waistband.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep.
As if I wasn’t having a hard enough time focusing my thoughts, he had to go and talk. That voice was pure sex. Tension coiled low in my center, and my fingers itched to run through his hair again. Being this close to him and not touching him again was the definition of insanity.
Did he feel it too?
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, concern in his voice.
Just then I realized that I’ve been sitting there, staring. I take a deep breath and find my voice.
“Yeah. I had some weird dreams, but I slept fine.”
“Good. I was worried about you.” He leaned against the counter next to me and glanced down at my foot. “Do you want me to run to the pharmacy and pick up those pain pills? I could even grab breakfast while I’m out.”
“I think I should stick to Tylenol,” I said, feeling my cheeks get hot. “I’m making breakfast if you want to stay.”
“I didn’t see anything in your refrigerator that was edible. I didn’t get the impression you cooked.”
“I don’t cook. It’s hard to plan meals for just one person. But I try to make breakfast most mornings.”
He looked around the kitchen, confused. “I could call the service and have something sent over. Really, it’s no problem.”
Just then the rice maker beeped. “Do you like sushi?”
“Sushi? For breakfast? I thought you were a vegetarian?”
“My last neighbor was Japanese and a sushi chef. His wife was gone, and his son had moved to California, so on his days off, he’d come over and make me breakfast. Even though he’s been gone for over a year, I still make Tamago Kake Gohan almost every morning.”
“Tamago what?”
Cooper watched as I filled a large bowl with steaming rice. I cracked two eggs, added a dash of soy, and started to whip.
“Are you going to cook that?”
I could tell by his expression that he thought I’d lost my mind.
“Does a little raw egg scare you? I thought athletes made raw egg smoothies to build muscle.”
“Only if you like getting salmonella. That’s why God invented protein powder.” He watched, part curious, part horrified, as I divided the dish into two bowls and topped it with furikake. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
“Thousands of people eat TKG for breakfast every morning. It’s a Japanese comfort food.” I garnished with some pickled ginger and held out the bowl. He just stared at it. “I buy eggs from a small local farm. I promise they’re as safe as you can get.”
Reluctantly, he took it and watched me as I started devouring my own. The warm rice settled in my stomach. I closed my eyes and sighed.
Now convinced I wasn’t trying to poison him, Cooper took a tentative bite and then he took another. His lips twitched into a semi-smile, and he looked up from the bowl. “This is weird.”
“Weird good?”
“Weird good,” he said and took another bite.
We ate in silence, enjoying the simple breakfast and each other’s company. I missed Sunday breakfast with Hiroyuki and thought it was nice to share this with Cooper.
“I wanted to thank you for last night,” I said. “You didn’t have to sit with me at the hospital, and you didn’t have to stay the night. It was really nice of you.”
“Well, I guess you were right. I’m not such a bad guy when I’m not being an asshole,” he said and took my empty bowl.
“Did I really say that last night?”
“Yes, you did. You also said—” He stopped mid-sentence, his brow creased as if debating whether or not he should tell me. “Never mind.”
He went over to the sink and rinsed out our bowls.
I covered my face, worried that I’d said something really embarrassing. What if I told him I fantasized about his kisses while alone in the shower or that I wanted to do more than just kiss him? Not knowing was killing me.
“You can’t leave me hanging. What else did I say?”
“You said I smelled good and wanted to know what kind of shampoo I used.”
I bit my lip, thankful it hadn’t been worse. “You do smell good.”
I looked up over my coffee mug, and our gazes met, energy crackling between us. This attraction pulled at me like a magnet, and I was tired of fighting it. I wanted to tell him I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t keep lying to myself, especially with him standing so close to me.
But instead, I chicken out.
“You don’t have to stay. I’m sure there are better things for you to be doing than babysitting me.”
He narrowed his eyes and gave me a long look, as if trying to figure out exactly what I was trying to say.
“I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”
I knew we were all kinds of wrong for each other—I wanted something that he just couldn’t give me. But did it really matter in the end? This didn’t have to be a forever kind of relationship. As long I held on to that and didn’t expect more from him, we could enjoy the right now.
I have
no idea what came over me. I took a deep breath, leaned over, and kissed him.
For a second, he didn’t move. Perhaps he was surprised. After all, I’ve never been the one to initiate any kind of intimate contact. But after hesitating for a heartbeat, his hand grabbed the back of my head and pulled me to the edge of the stool until I was practically straddling him. I gasped, and he took that as an invitation to deepen the kiss. His tongue slipped into my mouth, exploring, teasing.
After thoroughly ravishing my mouth, he pulled back. We both just stared at each other, panting.
I said the only thing that made sense.
“Take me upstairs.”
22
Cooper
At first, I was sure I didn’t hear her right. She didn’t mean what I thought she meant. But then she grabbed her crutch and was pulling me towards the stairs.
“Emily? Are you sure about this?”
“No. But I’m tired of fighting this. Aren’t you?”
She made it to the bottom of the steps, and I followed. Deep down I knew this wasn’t right, but I wasn’t sure I had the strength to deny her if she looked at me with those dark brown eyes and asked me again.
“Emily, wait,” I said, pulling back my hand. “You don’t want to do this. Not really.”
She turned and pointed her finger at me. “Really? After all the flirting and teasing? I’m offering to sleep with you, no strings attached, and you’re saying no.”
“You’re not a no strings attached girl. And I can’t be the kind of man you want.”
“You’re right. I always play it safe. I’ve always thought long term. But you know what? If my parents taught me one thing, it’s that we can’t count on tomorrow.” She grabbed my hand again and placed it over her heart. “Can you feel that? That’s what you do to me.”
There was a need in her expression and something I couldn’t read. Maybe frustration or a bit of anger over the impasse we’d found ourselves at. God knows I’m feeling both of those right now.
