One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

  I, however, was pretty fucking wound up. My erection had mostly gone away, thankfully, but it was crazy how badly I wanted to go back downstairs and finish what we’d started.

  No, I told myself. Out of the question. You shouldn’t have even done what you did. Do you not have a big enough life crisis right now? Do you want to add another one? You don’t do relationships, and that’s ALL she does. It’s what she wants and deserves. So keep your tongue in your mouth and your pants zipped before you add a whole new set of expectations to your plate and become the latest name on a very long list of assholes who let her down.

  I took a few more minutes to let that sink in and catch my breath. Then, moving slowly and carefully, I placed my daughter back in bed, waited a moment to make sure she remained asleep, and went back downstairs.

  Emme was in the kitchen, finishing the dishes. She’d put her hair in a ponytail, and I recalled the way it had felt like spun silk in my hands. I wanted to touch it again. I wanted to touch her again. So I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter, five feet away from her, the island between us. “You know, if that whole event planning thing doesn’t work out, you’d be a kickass housekeeper. I’d hire you.”

  She smiled at me over one shoulder, eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t afford me.”

  “Ha.”

  “You get her back to sleep?”

  “I did. Got her to take the pacifier.”

  “Good job.” She turned off the water and dried her hands. Then she turned around. “So.”

  Fuck, she was cute in my shirt. “So.”

  She twisted her hands together and glanced over at the couch. “Guess I was a little loud,” she said sheepishly.

  “I didn’t mind.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been that loud.”

  Oh, Jesus, Emme. Don’t tell me that. “Good.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get to—you didn’t—” She made a little bursting motion with her fingers.

  I had to laugh. “What is that? An orgasm?”

  “Yes,” she said, giggling too, although her cheeks went a little pink.

  “Well, don’t be sorry. I quite enjoyed myself. And actually, it’s probably better that we were interrupted before we took it too far.”

  “Definitely. I mean, what were we thinking?” Her eyes were wide.

  “I’m not sure there was a whole lot of thinking going on.”

  She laughed. “Probably none at all.”

  “Let’s call it a momentary lapse in sanity. Forget it happened.”

  Her smile was relieved. “Let’s.”

  “Friends?”

  She nodded. “Friends.”

  But we stood there looking at each other across the kitchen for a moment longer, and I found myself wishing that somehow we could be more. That there was a state of closeness that existed between friendship and commitment. Something more than platonic but less than romantic. Did such a thing exist?

  No. And she wouldn’t want it if it did.

  “Well, I should go,” she said. “It’s late.”

  I followed her out of the kitchen and watched her drape her blouse and jacket over her arm. “Oh, your shirt!” she said, turning to me with a worried expression.

  “Keep it,” I told her. “Looks better on you.”

  She smiled at me and stepped into her heels. “I’ll wash it and bring it back.”

  Actually, I kind of liked the idea of her lying around in it, maybe sleeping in it with nothing underneath, but that was probably the kind of thing you didn’t say to a friend. And you definitely didn’t imagine yourself smelling it once she gave it back. “Okay.”

  She walked to the door and opened it herself, which totally violated my sense of chivalry, but I thought it might be smarter to keep some distance between us. “Night,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

  “Night,” I echoed, remembering her hand in mine as we’d lain next to each other in bed last night.

  The door shut behind her with a soft click, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  I needed a break from her. The more time we spent together, the easier she made my life, the harder it was to suppress these stupid urges I had whenever she was around. Urges that could ruin our friendship and destroy her opinion of me. If I was really the man I was pretending to be—no, the man I wanted to be, strong and able and independent, I’d be able to get through a few days without her.

  I vowed to do it, starting tomorrow.

  Seven

  Emme

  My head was spinning. I couldn’t believe what we’d done. What we’d almost done. Was there a full moon or something? A strange disturbance in the electromagnetic spectrum? An unusual alignment of the planets? I’d read my horoscope earlier, and it hadn’t mentioned anything remotely interesting—something about keeping my distance from issues that trigger my feelings of imprisonment, which I didn’t even have.

  I didn’t recall letting myself into my apartment, going upstairs, or getting undressed for bed. It was only when I stood in front of the mirror, wearing only his white T-shirt over my underwear, toothbrush in one hand, toothpaste in the other, that I caught my reflection and realized where I was. But I had no idea how long I’d even been standing there. All I could think about was Nate.

  Don’t obsess. It was a mistake, it meant nothing, and you need to forget it.

  And I would. I really would.

  But not just yet.

  It was too fresh in my mind, every detail still vivid and thrilling.

  The torture of his lips so close to mine, not yet touching them. The booming in my chest as I waited to see what would happen. The will-he-or-won’t-he agony that stole my breath and rendered me unable to move even one little finger.

  And then…

  Closing my eyes, I swooned, remembering how it had felt when he’d finally given in to it.

  The pressure of his fingers at the back of my neck. The warmth of his mouth closing over mine. That first shocking stroke of his tongue between my lips, the barest hint of chocolate flavoring the kiss.

  And then…

  I opened my eyes and leaned forward on the vanity, lifting my chin and staring at my neck.

  His mouth moving down my throat. His hands in my hair. The heat coming off his body as he’d loomed over me, tall and strong and masculine.

  And then…

  His fingers beneath my thighs. My body being lifted. My legs twining around him.

  I set my toothbrush down and put a hand over my stomach, which was flipping wildly.

  His weight on me.

  His hands beneath my shirt.

  His mouth on my breasts.

  His tongue on my—

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

  Nothing had ever felt so good in my entire life. Where the hell did he learn all those tricks? Why didn’t other guys I’d been with know them? How was it possible I’d never been with anybody who knew how to make me come like that, like my entire body was being gloriously ripped apart at the seams?

  I clapped both hands over my lips, remembering how loud I’d been. Color seeped into my face. How embarrassing! He was probably used to women who were way more sultry and sophisticated during sex. Women who moaned and purred instead of screaming like a teenage girl on the Dragster at Cedar Point.

  Then again, he hadn’t seemed to mind. I remembered the feel of his cock through his jeans when he’d lain on top of me, thick and long and hard. He’d been as turned on as I was. For a moment, I let myself wonder what would have happened if Paisley hadn’t woken up. Would we have gone further? Would we have gone all the way?

  My stomach whooshed. My pelvic muscles clenched. My breath stopped.

  Stop. Stop it right there. It would have been a huge mistake. You guys are friends, and nothing ruins a friendship like sex.

  Forcing the thought of sex with Nate from my mind, I finished my teeth, washed my face, took my birth control pill, and switched off the light. Crawling beneath the cov
ers, I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly I wasn’t the least bit sleepy. My whole body was tingling. I wondered if Nate was still up. I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered if things would be awkward between us tomorrow and hoped they wouldn’t be. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to sleep.

  But automatically, my mind wandered back to that moment Nate’s hands froze as he unzipped his pants. Here, alone in my bed, I let him keep going. Let him shove down his jeans. Let him slide inside me and begin to move.

  Then I stopped—what would it be like to have sex with Nate Pearson? Was he gentle or rough? Was he quiet or loud? Did he close his eyes, mutter incoherent curse words, and use his dick like a hammer, like a lot of guys did, making sex feel strangely impersonal, like it was something being done to you and not with you? Or did he look at you, use his whole body, talk to you, make you feel connected to him, share the dizzying climb and the rapturous fall?

  Sighing, I opened my eyes again.

  Probably I was idealizing him. Idealizing sex, even. I always wanted it to be something more than it was. I always wanted it to mean more than it did. In my head, I could still hear him call me a little girl in a fantasy world, even if he’d tried to say otherwise earlier tonight. But it seemed to me if you let someone into your body, if you let him see you and hear you and touch you at your most uninhibited and vulnerable, it was only natural to feel something in your heart for that person you didn’t feel for anyone else. It shouldn’t be something you did on a whim with someone who had no interest in your heart whatsoever. If that was childish of me to believe, so be it.

  It was a good thing we’d stopped.

  Sunday morning I woke up around nine, and I felt so energized that I decided to get in some exercise before meeting my sisters for our standing eleven o’clock Sunday brunch date. Since a peek out the window told me it was pouring rain, I decided against a walk or jog, threw on a sports bra and some leggings, and dug out the yoga mat Maren had given me for Christmas. It had been at the back of my closet and had some pretty good-sized dust bunnies clinging to it, but I cleaned it off and spread it out on my bedroom floor.

  Once I was sitting on it, however, I realized I actually didn’t know any yoga on my own. Wasn’t there something called a downward dog? Or was it a warrior dog? Maybe a downward child? I guessed my way through a few haphazard poses, then gave up and did some old-fashioned jumping jacks, squats, push-ups (albeit from my knees), and crunches. For good measure, I did a few side stretches and runner’s lunges before hitting the shower, congratulating myself on a well-rounded workout.

  I dressed in jeans and a sweater, blow-dried my hair, braided it, and put on minimal makeup. Before I left, I checked my messages, since it was Maren’s turn to pick the place and my phone had died last night before she’d texted the spot. Sure enough, there was a message from her saying Rose’s at 11, see you there, which made me happy because I loved the little diner on East Jefferson. Best pancakes ever.

  I had a few other messages—one from Coco asking if I’d have lunch with her and Mia tomorrow, which was normally my day off, and one from my cousin Mia, telling me she would be in town this week and wanted to see me. Ignoring the tug of disappointment I felt that Nate hadn’t texted to tell me how the night had gone, I resisted the urge to message him and ask. I responded to Coco, saying yes, of course, and asked where and when I should meet them, and texted Mia back that I’d see her tomorrow, adding a bunch of smiley faces. It would be good to see her—it had been a few months, and spending time with her always inspired me. She had everything: adoring husband, three beautiful children, a gorgeous home, a successful business. We shared blood, so I figured if she could accomplish all that by age thirty-six, there was still hope for me.

  I drove to Rose’s, parked in the lot next to the small freestanding building, and hurried inside through the drizzle. The diner was crowded, as usual, but my sisters were already there and had a table. I made my way to the back of the restaurant and shrugged out of my coat before taking the seat next to Maren and across from Stella. “Hi. Sorry I’m a little late. I worked out this morning.” Statements like these always made me feel like a better person.

  “You did?” Maren sounded more surprised than I thought was necessary. “Where?”

  “At home. I used the yoga mat you got me for Christmas.”

  She beamed, her face radiant. If there were anything that could convince me to eat, drink, and live cleaner, it would be Maren’s skin. She was always radiant. I was constantly asking her what she used on her skin to make it so bright, and she always claimed it was plain old coconut oil. Stella and I were convinced she had to be lying, although she is the worst liar in the world and wouldn’t have spent the money on expensive skincare or cosmetics anyway. Stella and I, on the other hand, were product junkies, and could happily blow a hundred bucks at Ulta with no regrets.

  “I’m so glad you’re using it,” she said. “I was afraid it would sit neglected at the back of your closet.”

  I didn’t tell her that’s exactly where it had been before I’d dug it out. “It was very useful. Thanks.” Before she could ask me about what I’d done, I addressed Stella. “Did you run this morning?”

  She nodded. The most athletic of the three of us, she wore a track jacket and her hair pulled back. “Yep.”

  “In this awful weather?” Maren asked, gesturing toward the windows.

  Stella shrugged and picked up her coffee. “You get used to it. It’s not bad if you’re dressed right.”

  Her answer didn’t surprise me. Not only was our older sister a total creature of habit, she actually enjoyed running enough to do it in the rain, if you can believe that. She ran marathons in cities all over the country. I thought running was repetitive and miserable even in beautiful weather, so her dedication made little sense to me.

  The waitress came by, and I asked for some coffee. A moment, later, she came back with my cup and we put in our orders—eggs and veggies for Stella, granola and fruit for Maren, pancakes and bacon for me.

  “So how are you, Em?” Maren inquired, lifting her cup of tea to her lips. “When I talked to you on Friday, you were pretty upset.”

  For a moment, I couldn’t even think of what she meant, and then I remembered the wedding invitation. It seemed like ages ago! Had I really cared so much I nearly set my apartment on fire?

  “About what?” Stella asked.

  “Stupid Richard and Lucy invited me to their wedding,” I said.

  Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Are you going to go?”

  “No. Do you think I’m crazy?”

  Neither of my sisters answered that.

  “I wouldn’t go either,” Maren said. “I don’t blame you for being upset.”

  I sipped my coffee. “I’m not even that upset about it anymore. I don’t know why it had me so riled up.”

  “Bad day?” Stella suggested.

  “Not really.”

  “Jealousy?”

  I snorted. “I don’t care about that asshole anymore. She can have him. Those two deserve each other. I think it was more the idea that they assumed I’d want to attend their stupid wedding after what they did.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty ballsy,” she admitted.

  “And it pisses me off that those two fell in love so fast and so easily when it’s so hard for the rest of us, you know? Well, for me, anyway.”

  “And for me,” added Maren. She’d recently broken up with someone she’d met at the studio because he smoked too much pot and didn’t seem to have any ambition whatsoever.

  Stella actually had a sort-of boyfriend, this psychologist she’d met at a workshop last year. He was nice enough, and attractive in a distinguished professor with glasses and elbow patches sort of way, but he never stopped talking about his fucking bees. He kept them in his yard and he was obsessed. Maren and I did not understand how Stella took it. His name was Walter, but we called him—wait for it—Buzz, and we were always making little buzzing noises or bee jokes. K
ind of mean, but what are sisters for?

  “Hang in there, both of you. You did the right thing to break up with that guy,” she said to Maren. “And you deserve a lot better than Richard, Emme. He was a classic narcissist.”

  “Thanks. How’s Buzz?” I hid my smile behind my coffee cup and felt Maren kick me beneath the table.

  “He’s fine, but do you have to call him that? There’s a lot more to him than his beekeeping.”

  “You should tell him that.”

  She sat up taller. “It’s very good for the environment, you know.”

  “I do know. Because he’s told me multiple times.”

  “Bzzz,” agreed Maren.

  “Be nice,” said Stella. “He’s a good guy, smart and successful, and he treats me well. At this point in my life, I’ll take it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stella, you’re thirty-two, not eighty.”

  “Still.”

  I could tell she was getting testy. “Okay, okay. Sorry. Did either of you guys go out last night?”

  “Not me,” said Maren.

  “Walter and I went to dinner and saw a film down at the DIA, then came back to my house.”

  “Did he finally sting you?” I couldn’t resist, even though I knew the answer. Stella and Buzz did not have sex. This made my sister and her relationship even more baffling to Maren and me. If you were going to date a boring guy, wouldn’t you at least want him to have a big dick or something?