by Layla Hagen
“I’ll e-mail,” Sleazeball says, his eyes darting between my sister and me.
“We were badass,” Alice says once we’re in the car.
“Very,” I agree. “I bet he’ll write by tonight.”
“Mmm, why did he look as if he was about to shit his pants when we left?”
“No idea.” I suddenly become very interested in a dirty spot on my windshield. As I drive into town, we talk about everything and nothing, and then the conversation veers to Emilia again.
“How long will your therapy last?” Alice asks.
“Four weeks.”
“Wow, that sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
“At least you get to spend time with Jonesie.”
“Yeah,” I say dryly. Just thinking about her sends my mind into a tailspin. Damn it. Being friends with Jonesie was one of the best parts of my childhood, but being friends with a grown-up Emilia might just be my most trying challenge yet.
Chapter Five
Emilia
My head is pounding as I arrive home after a long day. Ms. Adams tells me that Grams is already asleep, so I take a sweater and a book and hang out in the backyard for the rest of the evening. I settle on the outdoor couch, shoving my favorite pillow—dark blue with silver stars—under my head. Perfect reading position. But as I crank my book open, my mind flies to my encounter with Max yesterday. Now that twenty-four hours have passed, I can view the event critically.
Of course my hormones went haywire when I saw him. He’s a drop-your-panties gorgeous guy. Not that I plan to drop my panties, or anything else. But I’m a woman after all, so seeing him in all of his gorgeousness confused me. This is all that it was though. Confusion. As I attempt to dive into my book again, my phone beeps with an incoming call. A fleeting look at the screen tells me I don’t know the number, but I answer anyway.
“Hello?”
“Sword, or bow and arrow?” Max asks.
I grin, sitting up straight so abruptly that my book tumbles on the floor. “Bow and arrow. Always.”
Playing pirates was one of our favorite games as kids. The first time we played it, he shoved a makeshift sword in my hand. I dropped it as if it were a snake, proudly claiming that the bow and arrow was my weapon of choice. We launched into a long debate about the benefits of each weapon before finally agreeing to disagree. In ten-year-old behavior, that meant a mud fight.
“Still making the wrong choices,” Max says. “Swords will always win the fight.”
“Suit yourself.” I grin like an idiot. “How did you get my number?”
“I called the clinic.”
“But they don’t give out our personal numbers,” I argue.
“I can be very persuasive, Jonesie.”
His tone jolts every nerve ending in my body alive. “I bet,” I murmur. “Well, I’m glad you asked for my number.”
“I want us to catch up. We need to exchange fifteen years’ worth of information.”
“This will be one long phone call, then.” My grin stretches even more as I lean back on the couch. It’s been a while since merely talking to a man brought me to this state of excitement.
Not a man. You’re talking to your childhood friend.
“We have plenty of experience with talking for hours,” he says.
“Yeah, but I have to say, spending said hours on the roof had more edge to it than talking over the phone.”
Max had a habit of sneaking up to my house in the dead of the night. We’d go up to my roof so Grams couldn’t hear us.
“You start,” I tell him. “You and Bennett Enterprises have been in the papers a few times, but I want to hear everything from you.”
“After you moved away, Sebastian asked my parents to sell the ranch because he needed capital to start Bennett Enterprises, and—”
“Oh, no… I loved your ranch.” I’d spent so many afternoons there, it felt like a second home.
“Then you’ll be glad to know Sebastian bought it back for them about two years ago as a gift for their wedding anniversary.”
“Wow! Your brother is something.”
“True. My parents turned it into a B&B. We could go see it sometime.”
“I’d love that.” That place holds many dear memories for me. “So I know quite a few of you work at the company, but what are the others doing?”
“Alice owns a restaurant and is about to open a second one, Summer is a painter, Blake opened a bar a few months ago, and Daniel is looking to open his own business.”
“Holy crap, there’s a lot of stuff going on.”
“Never a dull moment in the clan. I was in London for a few years, expanding the business.”
“And now you’re back in San Francisco for good?” For some reason, my heart constricts as I wait for his answer.
“Yeah. For now, at least. We’re moving into new territories all the time, and opening offices. Until now we’ve always sent someone from the family to oversee new markets, but it doesn’t mean we’ll be doing it again. I’m overseeing our international development from here, and it’s working out great. Your turn.”
I shudder as a breeze sweeps over me. Digging my hand under the couch, I retrieve the thick blanket we keep there for chilly evenings and drape it over me. “As you know, I moved with Grams to Montana after I left California.” I pause, because thinking about that time is bittersweet. We were financially better off because Grams had a better-paying job as an accountant, but I’d missed Max terribly. “It was actually nice there.”
“Did you find another partner in crime?” Max asks, and I can practically hear his smile.
“Nah, you were pretty much it for me during my childhood. What about you? Found a replacement for me?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
My heart sinks as an irrational jealousy grips me over that nameless and faceless playmate of his.
“Christopher,” Max clarifies, referring to his twin brother. “We got over the fact that we looked the same. Actually, we started using it to our advantage.”
I chuckle. During my time with them, the twins hated that they looked alike. That meant they made a point to have different haircuts and clothes, and they spent time apart as often as they could.
“You finished school in Montana?” Max asks.
“Yeah, then I moved here for college. Grams also got a job offer and moved here, which was just as good because I could take care of her after she got sick.” I wrap the blanket tighter around me as another gust of wind sweeps over me.
“About Grams,” Max says. “I know a very good neurologist. He’s the father of a college friend. I called him today and asked him about the disease, without mentioning names or anything personal. If you want, I can set up a meeting with him. You wouldn’t even have to bring Grams to him. I can drive him to your home.”
For a long moment, I remain silent as a rush of emotions overwhelms me. This is what I missed most about having Max in my life. More than the banter and laughter we shared, I missed his warmth and the kindness that runs bone-deep in him. And right now, I miss him so much that the ache is almost physical.
“Thank you for doing that—calling your friend’s dad. I’d love to take you up on it, but I have to convince Grams first. She already has a neurologist, but another opinion wouldn’t hurt. But she hates doctors. Seeing one is always an emotionally draining experience.”
“I’ll be there with you this time.”
And cue the fluttering in my stomach, which feels dangerously close to butterflies.
“Let me know when you want to go,” he continues. “Let’s move on to more cheerful things. Do you still like pancakes?”
“Absolutely. Once a pancake girl, always a pancake girl. Only now I almost always pair it with decadent toppings.”
“Describe decadent, Emilia.”
His voice has a husky undertone that sends ripples of heat down my arms. Also, I realize, it’s the first time he used my first name, and it sounds so perf
ect coming out of his mouth. Almost… decadent.
Damn, I’m losing it.
“Let’s see,” I reply in an uneven voice. “Whipped cream and caramel. Sometimes chocolate topping on top of everything. Decadent enough for you?”
Is it my imagination, or did I just hear him swallow hard? Definitely my imagination, because when he speaks again, his voice is perfectly composed. “Absolutely. Just concerned you might overdose on sugar.”
“There is no such thing.”
“Do you still clip photos on notebooks with all the places you want to visit?”
My jaw drops. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“You stole my car magazine. Of course, I remember.”
“I didn’t steal it,” I argue, recognizing our familiar bickering routine. I pull the blanket up to my chin and wiggle my butt on the couch. “I borrowed it when you weren’t looking.”
Max snickers. “And returned it with a hole.”
“You didn’t need the picture anyway.” Vividly I remember that moment when he realized his pristine magazine collection wasn’t so pristine anymore. There was an ad about London, promising cheap flights and accommodations, with Big Ben in the background. I couldn’t help myself; I cut it out and clipped it in my notebook.
“It’s a matter of principle,” he volleys back. “Anyway, do you still do that?”
“Well, I don’t glue pics on notebooks anymore, but I do collect pics on my laptop. Traveling is still on my to-do list. Haven’t been out of the ol’ US yet though, but I will eventually. So, why did you return from London?”
There is a long pause before he starts talking again. “I loved it there, but something was just missing. I worked sixteen hours a day, so building a life there was hard. And I wanted to be closer to my family.”
I melt at his honest response, happy to learn the Bennetts are as tight-knit as I remember them. I loved being at their house. They were loud and fun, and they made me feel as though I was part of the family—an adopted Bennett, they used to call me. Feeling a yawn form at the back of my throat, I fight to stifle it and fail.
“Was that a yawn?” he asks.
“No,” I answer too quickly. Max chuckles. “Fine, it was. This was a long day.”
“Go to sleep, Jonesie. We’ll have time to catch up. And this will go down in history as the world’s shortest longest phone call.”
After battling another yawn, I say, “I’m glad you’re back. Grams used to say that some people show up in your life when you need them the most. I first met you after Mom died and Dad left, and now you’re back in my life when I’m losing Grams more each day. I missed you, Max. I’m happy you botched your knee ligaments. Good night.”
“Ah, your concern for my health is touching. I missed you too, beautiful. Good night.”
As I hang up, my breath catches in my throat at the way his voice dipped as he said beautiful and heat singes me in my most intimate spot. What the hell? I’m reading way too much into this—well, my body is. Friendly banter, that’s all this is, and it has to stay this way.
Yet as I hug the pillow in my bed a little while later, smiling as I recall the care in his words, the huskiness of his voice, every fiber of my being disagrees.
***
“Darling, you’re staring at that clock as if you can make it go faster just by looking at it. Are you going on a date after we finish?”
“No,” I tell Mrs. Devereaux. “I have four more patients today.”
Mrs. Deveraux gives me a questioning look, clearly wanting to know more, but I keep my mouth shut. She loves gossiping, and once she senses a story, nothing stops her. Right now she is sitting on her exercise mat, her snow-white hair up in a bun. Even in workout clothes, Mrs. Deveraux never looks anything less than regal. She is in her late sixties, and as healthy as they come, aside from the odd joint or back pain due to age. She has no real need for physical therapy, but she insists on having regular sessions. I think it’s because she feels lonely. She has five kids, but they don’t visit her often.
“Is the next one the hot stud who left here the last time I came?”
I look at her in shock, and all I can do is nod. A glance around the room confirms that the other therapists are too busy with their patients to pay us any attention.
“Oh, that explains it.” She winks at me, then takes a sip of her vitamin-powered drink. I sit cross-legged on the floor in front of her, unsure I want to know what she means. Still, common courtesy means I must ask anyway.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if I had a date with him, I couldn’t wait to get rid of this bag of bones either.”
“You’re not a bag of bones, Mrs. Devereaux. And I don’t have a date with him. He’s my patient. And a childhood friend. I hadn’t seen him in years before the other day.”
“Let me guess, it was a big surprise to find out your childhood friend is now a sexy man? I might be sixty-eight, but that doesn’t mean I don’t look. If anything, I have more experience recognizing the good ones. For instance, I can tell your childhood friend is fantastic in bed.”
Only Mrs. Deveraux can say that sentence with a straight face.
“How would you know that?”
“He has that way of walking and moving. A kind of self-confidence men only have if they know they’re very good at what they consider important skills. And being a good lay ranks high on their list.”
I blush, not wanting to give too much thought to Max’s skills in the bed. “We should get back to your exercises.”
“Sure. So tell me, what type of friends are you and hot stud? With benefits?”
“No, not at all.”
“Well, good. I can tell you straight up that doesn’t work. Tried it a few times.”
Of course, she did. Mrs. Devereaux refers to herself as an adventurous woman, which I suppose is a fair way of summing up her life. She’s lived in nineteen different countries and been married four times.
Despite myself, I ask, “So why didn’t it work out?”
“Sex complicates friendships. You might tell yourself in the beginning—no strings attached, but then one day you find yourself jealous when you see him with another woman. You can’t go back to just being friends after having done the nasty with each other either. But then again, being friends with an attractive man is a difficult thing too. Someone who looks like him is bound to stir up your hormones.”
You have no idea.
“Just know what you want from him, sweetheart. And stick to one thing. Friendship or romance.”
“Friends. Romance can fall apart—it always does for me anyway, but friendships are for the long term.”
She nods thoughtfully. “That’s a very smart thing to know. I was quite a few years older when I reached that conclusion.”
Mrs. Devereaux reminds me of my grandmother, even though they have nothing in common in terms of their upbringing or past. But they are both strong, opinionated women who don’t take shit from anyone.
***
I pace around the gym after Mrs. Deveraux leaves, her words still ringing in my ears as I wait for Max, who arrives fifteen minutes after the scheduled start of our session. He walks in holding his hands up as if he knows I’m preparing myself to scold him.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I was in a meeting that went on for too long.” He undoes his tie as he speaks, clearly happy to get rid of it.
“No need to strip in front of me, Bennett. You know where the changing room is.”
He winks at me before striding to the other end of the room. Five minutes later, he returns, wearing the same workout clothes as last time.
“So what kind of exercises are we going to do today?” he inquires as he paces the training room, eyeing the various machines. I can’t help notice the way his lean muscles flex when he moves. Belatedly I realize Max is watching me too. Drawing in a sharp breath, I look away. Biting the inside of my cheek, I point to one of the treatment tables.
“Lie there.�
��
He grimaces. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Max Bennett, are you afraid?” I ask while leading him to the treatment table. He walks a few steps behind me, yet knowing he is so near messes with my senses. Thank heavens there are four other people in the training room, though they are at a considerable distance from us.
He shrugs as he stands in front of the table. “I’ve seen videos of exercises done on these tables. They look like torture.”
“You are afraid,” I exclaim. “Well, well. I wouldn’t have expected that from the boy who convinced me to jump with him in the pond from the top of the cliff.”
Max grins at me, and I’m instantly reminded of that particular day.
It was a warm Saturday morning, and Max showed up at my house like a boy with a plan. I was sitting on the porch, reading a book. He convinced me to go swimming with him at the pond we regularly went to. But when we arrived at the pond, it became clear he had more in mind than just swimming.
“Let’s go jump off the cliff,” he said.
“But that’s dangerous,” I countered immediately. The pond was surrounded by high cliffs—one of them particularly high and pointy.
“Nah, it’s pretty high, but I’ve seen some tenth graders do it.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous.” I folded my arms over my chest, shaking my head.
“Why are you so afraid, Jonesie?”
I shrugged. “I’ve never been brave.”
“I think you are, but you just don’t know it.”
“But what if something happens to us?”
Max sighed dramatically. “Look, that group looks like they’re about to jump. Let’s watch them. If something happens to them, we don’t do it.”
I balanced my weight from one foot to the other, but didn’t argue anymore. “Okay.”
Max and I looked as everyone in the group jumped, some alone, some holding hands. Nothing happened to any of them. Of course.
“See? They’re all fine,” Max said.
I was afraid, but I also didn’t want to seem like a coward. I was more afraid that if I didn’t do it, he wouldn’t want to be friends with me anymore, which sounds silly now, but to a ten-year-old, it made perfect sense.
