Now and Again

by Jennifer Ellision

  He's easy with them, I think with another sip. His cheeks are split in a sincere grin, eyes crinkled at the edges. It's something I've always liked about him. He smiles, he laughs, he's good with people. It relaxes everyone around him. It relaxes me.

  Tori follows my gaze and something in her expression freezes. "Oh. Colson?" she asks.

  I nod, taking a closer look at her at the use of his full name. Bold move.

  She looks at me as if she's considering something. Her hair glints in the topaz lights and her sharp features are in profile as she turns to look at Cole again. "Be careful with him. Colson and I have dated a couple of times."

  My back stiffens.

  "He's fun," she continues. "Good in bed. But he doesn't stay."

  Cole not wanting to stay is the precise opposite of my experience with him. But that doesn't matter. Whatever vibe she's getting from me is all wrong. "I'm not—" I start.

  She holds up a hand to stop me and shakes her head. "No, look, you don't need to explain anything to me. I'm just letting you know that he's always been pretty hung up on some girl from his past. He won't let it go, you know?"

  Yeah, I think, unable to stop my heart from fluttering, eyes still on Cole. A girl from his past, huh? I know exactly what you mean.

  Tori's expression is resigned when I excuse myself and take the time to explore the venue. Even the bathroom makes me feel like I'm in an old film.

  I almost want to call it cheesy. But with the jazz band in the corner of the ballroom and the low croon of a saxophone, it's somehow both retro and elegant at once. And under the soft lighting, I can only stare, spellbound, at the happy couple. The bride's eyes are lit as she looks at her new husband adoringly.

  She's glowing, I think ridiculously. Not from the soft lights, but from somewhere inside. There's a rush of feeling, of longing, in me.

  I want that.

  "So, what do you think?" Cole's voice is low in my ear and I jump, stomach swooping. I didn't say that out loud, did I?

  "What?" I ask over the pounding of my heart, accepting the champagne flute he extends me. I barricade myself against the wave of emotion that assaults me.

  "What do you think of the place?" he clarifies. He sips his drink.

  I take it all in once more. "It's... incredible," I say. I lack a better word to describe the place. 'Incredible' is somehow inadequate.

  I look again at the bride and groom. There's something… unexpected about them, but I can't figure out what it is.

  Then it strikes me as the champagne sparkles on my tongue.

  The couple doesn't cling to each other. Their fingers lightly touch. They caress each other with their eyes. But after a few dances, they circulate the room independently, stupidly happy grins plastered over their faces as they greet their own friends.

  They're not a single unit. They haven't somehow lost themselves to a relationship. They're still their own people, just… happier for being together. Like Ron and Nikki. Like Mom and Dad had been while he'd been with us.

  Cole's arm brushes mine and he stands beside me silently as I look from bride to groom and back again.

  I flinch away. "It's not what I expected." I busy myself with smoothing out wrinkles on my dress. "We'll keep it in mind for a venue," I say, settling on a vague answer.

  Should I tell him about Nikki's doubt? No, I decide almost the instant that the thought enters my mind. That's her business.

  He nudges me with his elbow. "Hey. It's a party—open bar and everything. Let's enjoy it. Do you want to dance?"

  Yes—No. The memories of another dance with him on a dark and crowded dance floor crash into me. Moving against him, trailing my fingers down his sides, my lips down his cheeks, and tempting fate.

  I fight with my instinct to run, quelling the knee-jerk refusal, and accept his open hand. Maybe I'm tempting fate again. Maybe I don't care right now.

  His fingers close around mine to lead me onto the dance floor. "Your hands are freezing," he says.

  I flex my free hand and place it on his neck. He jumps at my cool touch. "Bad circulation," I say with a nervous laugh. My pulse beats frantically against my neck.

  For all the attention I'm paying the people around us, they could be invisible. Chatter surrounds us, but it's like we're in a bubble free from the rest of the world— just us and the jazz singer, crooning into the microphone.

  My cheek moves of its own volition to rest against Cole's chest as we sway to the low sound of the music.

  My body is stiff in his arms. I will myself to relax but my dress might as well be lined with wire.

  "I'm glad you're back," Cole confesses quietly. The mood and music seem to call for a whisper. His voice vibrates along my body, his hand warm against my back.

  "I'm… glad I'm back too," I say softly—haltingly. I look off to the side.

  His lips brush the top of my head. "I missed you, Em," he murmurs. My heart races, out of time with the music. Despite feeling him pull away to look down at me, I can't look up to meet his eyes.

  "Em?"

  I step away as the music fades and clear my throat, running my fingers over my collarbone the way I'd play with a necklace. With a safe barrier of distance between us, I can finally make eye contact, resisting the urge to tug on my ear to keep my hands busy.

  "Let's check the rest of the place out, just in case," I say. The spell of the moment's broken. "We've got a lot to figure out."

  ∞

  I don't know that I figure anything out— nothing about Nikki's wedding and definitely not what I should do where it concerns Cole, but hours later, the wedding is over and I've loosened up a bit. Cole and I spill from the cab that drops us off outside Everything But.

  "I haven't had to take a cab home because I was too drunk to drive in years," I say between giggles, fumbling with my keys. And I'm not sure I need one now. I had a couple more beers at the wedding, but am I drunk? No. But it's easier to explain away how relaxed I've let myself get with that excuse than with the truth. It's Cole. Cole's what's relaxed me.

  He laughs, sort of a boisterous whoop of laughter that he shouts to the night sky.

  I don't mean to, but I tell him, "That is my favorite laugh of yours."

  "You have a favorite laugh?" His voice still has a tinge of that whoop in it when he stops to stoop inside the cab window and pay the taxi driver. He's a little on the tipsier side, but when we left, the thought of driving didn't even leave his lips. I hadn't even seen him call a cab, but there it was, with him waiting outside, gallantly holding the door open for me.

  "Mm-hmm." I give up trying to find the right key for the time being. Squinting through the darkness isn't working. I slump down onto the front steps and the fabric of my dress catches on the concrete.

  Gracelessly, he plops next to me and offers me a bottle of the wine we smuggled out of the wedding. I take a swig and pass it back. The liquid sloshes inside the bottle as Cole swirls it.

  "I miss you," he says again. Twice in one night. I ignore how my heart speeds up as he traces the bottle's label.

  "I'm right here," I say. I force a laugh, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind my ear.

  Cole shakes his head. "No. You're not. Drunk Em is. Drunk Em still wants to be my friend. But Sober Em left me the day we graduated and hasn't thought about me in years. Sometimes, I hate Sober Em." He tries to glower at me, but only succeeds in looking pathetic. And why do I find that endearing?

  He's wrong. Sober or not, I had thought about him. More than I would ever admit. I feel a twinge of guilt for pretending—and for abandoning my friend. I nod sadly, keeping up the act. "Sober Em can be a bitch."

  "That's what gets me," he says, scooting closer. "Sober Em and Drunk Em used to be the same. They both liked me. They both had fun. Neither one had a stick up her ass—sorry," he says, when I open my mouth to object, "but you know it's true."

  I cup my chin and stare out into the street. No one else is around and a nearby traffic light swings in the breeze. "You were
complicated for me," I say simply.

  "Life's complicated," he says. He sets the bottle down and rests a hand on my knee. "You were my best friend."

  My eyes dart to that hand. "We were more than that." I bite down on my lip and swear internally over the slip. When I lift my eyes to Cole's, his gaze is hot on mine, the gray flecks among the blue like melted silver.

  My hand rises, unbidden, to his cheek. He stills.

  "You need to shave," I say. I sound breathless. I feel breathless. My eyes are caught by his and my fingertips graze the stubble on his chin.

  "Always a critic," he murmurs. He lays a soft kiss on my cheek, testing the waters. His cologne wafts over my senses and my heart stutters.

  I cannot focus if he keeps doing that. "I'm serious," I say. "The Grizzly Adams look doesn't work for you."

  He laughs and lifts his head, resting his forehead against mine.

  "Control freak," he says.

  And then he captures my mouth with his.

  My stomach drops; an elevator that plummets from the top floor to the basement—the ride is unintentional, just this side of terrifying, and if there's any part of me that was drunk, it's gone as sobriety slams into me.

  I break away, pulse pounding and head spinning. "Stop that," I say, waving my hands to ward him off.

  "Stop what?" he asks.

  His blue eyes look cloudy, like an impending storm. I half-expect lightning to come shooting out of them as he reaches for me again. I scoot away and swat at him with my purse to discourage him. "That. Stop that."

  "Bad idea," Cole says. He knots his hand in my hair and massages my scalp. "Trust me, it would be a very bad idea for us to stop what we're doing here." His hand moves to my hip.

  I push him away. "You're the president of bad ideas," I say. "Trust me, stopping is the right move."

  "Wrong," he says.

  I shoot him a withering glance and he winces. "You got me drunk," I accuse, trying to deflect. For all he knows, I'm telling the truth. "Once upon a time, that would have mattered to you," I say, standing and fidgeting with my hair.

  "Once upon a time, we were kids," Cole counters and shoves to his feet, eyes spitting fire. "And let's cut the bullshit for a second. You were my best friend. You think I don't know when you're actually drunk and when you're faking it? Back in college, I thought I had to watch out for you. We're grown-ups now and forgive me for saying so, Em, but I think you knew exactly what you were doing."

  I suck in a quick breath. He knew?

  "Go home, Cole," I say.

  "Why can't you stop being a robot and admit that there's something here?" He takes a step toward me.

  "Why can't you just be happy with being friends?"

  "Because I've been in love with you since I was in college! Because, like you said about two minutes ago, we're more than that!" Cole runs a hand through his hair and curses. "Fine, Em. Fine. I'll go home." He holds up his hands in surrender.

  I scuff my feet against the ground and cross my arms over the way my heart leapt over the word 'love.' "Well… Good."

  "Good!" he snarls.

  "Good!" I yell.

  But as he turns around and walks off into the night, good is exactly the opposite of how I feel.

  SEVENTEEN

  EM

  ∞ Then ∞

  Senior Year

  I didn't know what prompted me to reach up to Cole's warm cheek in the dark of Patsy's.

  No, that wasn't true.

  It was some strange swirl of happiness, drinking, and comfort. It was feeling seen and understood when I'd been doing my best to hide for the past year. It was the potential to lose myself in him the way I'd never let us get close to before.

  So I didn't stop my hand as it skimmed his jawline. I didn't stop it from pulling his mouth to mine. I made no efforts to keep from asking him to take me home, not caring what it implied. What I wanted it to imply.

  I would deal with any consequences in the light of day. Not now.

  I just wanted to let myself feel.

  He took me home like I'd asked, his hand resting over my knee during the drive. My fingers etched a path from his knuckles up his arm. The small touches stoked a flame and by the time we parked outside our building, I was on fire. We burst into the apartment in a flurry of sweat. A tangle of mouths, of lips, of tongues. Of arms, as they groped and grasped. Of bodies, as they pressed closer together, reaching, eager for more. God, I needed this.

  I hissed as we stumbled backwards into my room. A foot trod on my toes—whose? His? My own? I didn't know, didn't care.

  "Sorry," he mumbled distractedly.

  Oh. His, then.

  "It's okay." I fumbled at his shirt's buttons as his hands dove into the knotted mass of my hair.

  "You taste like…"

  I waited, half-expecting him to say "strawberries" or some other bullshit.

  "…beer," he finished, removing a hand from my hair to slide to the small of my back.

  I made a sound that was caught between laugh and bewilderment. No bullshit. Not from Cole. I should have known.

  "It's ok," he assured me, breaking away for a second. He cupped my face in his hands and looked at me intently, dropping another kiss on my waiting lips. "I like beer."

  He kept distracting me with wandering hands, but finally, I succeeded in tearing his shirt open. I eased my hand inside the fabric, smoothing it over his chest. His skin was hot against my cool touch.

  I removed my hand, breaking away to yank my shirt over my head and push impatiently at his sleeves. "I want this off," I demanded.

  I wasn't new to this. I knew what I wanted when I wanted it. But it was different already with Cole. The other guys, named and nameless alike, had been fueled by the motivation to disappear inside each other. I could do that tomorrow. Tonight, I wanted someone to know me.

  I shimmied out of my jeans, heart galloping in my chest as Cole let his shirt fall to the floor.

  We stood there, staring at each other. For a moment, it seemed like that would be it. That it wouldn't go any further. Because sure, I'd thought about this before. A lot. But I hadn't let myself ever go after it.

  Only now, with the band's music, our drinks, and— yeah, my feelings for Cole, too— still flowing through me, I wasn't too clear on why.

  So there we stood, his eyes on me; my gaze locked onto his chest. And then, we were on each other once more. I wasn't sure which of us moved first. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I yanked his mouth down to meet mine again.

  We backed up, body to body, step by step. Tentatively, his hand traced my bra clasp, seeking permission. I gave it without a second thought, reaching back, unhooking, and shrugging out of it.

  My eyes locked onto his and the air between us heated. I bounced back onto the bed, and he moved to peruse my throat with his lips.

  "Hey," he said suddenly, lifting his head as a thought occurred to him. "You're not drunk, right?" His hand landed on my breast and I arched into his touch, fighting down the twin flares of desire and the alarm that came with his question.

  No. I wasn't drunk. I was feeling good. More sober than tipsy, drunk on nothing but the buzz in my skin that came from contact with him. But I wouldn't let him take my excuse from me so easily. I couldn't. I'd need it tomorrow.

  "Eh." I shrugged.

  He jerked back and stared at me, aghast. His hand disappeared. "Eh?" He sat up and away from me. "What does 'eh' mean, Em?"

  I stretched languorously and looked up at him from under lowered lashes, falling easily into the persona I'd constructed with all of the other guys. "Well… eh. We were drinking, Connors. There was vodka. And beer. I'm not wasted. But drunk? Sure. A little." I forced a giggle. It tasted unnatural on my tongue— like sugar after months of salad. Sweet and artificial.

  He snatched his shirt from the floor, and stuffed an arm in one sleeve, his movements jerky.

  I sat up a little straighter. It was like a bucket of cold water had been tossed over my head. "What are you do
ing?"

  "Leaving." He grabbed his phone from my dresser.

  "What? Why?" I said, alarms going off in my mind. I snatched up my bra and hurriedly threaded my arms through its straps again. "Cole, come on, don't be so dramatic. It's just sex."

  He paused and looked at me, something unreadable in his eyes. I swallowed, wishing I could take the words down with it. They'd been the wrong choice, clearly. But what was the right choice? So what if sex with Cole would mean more than the simple act with other guys? It couldn't be more because I couldn't let it be more. This was all I had to give right now.

  "Right," he spat. "Of course. Just sex."

  He didn't bother to slam the door as he left.

  EIGHTEEN

  EM

  ∞ Now ∞

  I'm really starting to hope that Nikki has given up on the idea of this big wedding of hers.

  After his friend's wedding, neither Cole nor I call each other to continue planning the Wright-Jennings wedding. But a guilty conscience won't let me rest. What if Nikki does stick with the big event and I have squat to show for it? I'd feel terrible.

  So, I check out a couple of venues on my own and half-heartedly call flower shops to gauge pricing. I even get ordained online— if all else fails, I'll officiate the ceremony. Without any other details nailed down, it's not as though I can ask the Wright family's pastor if she's available.

  I balance a pen above my pursed lips as I stare at my computer screen and the blinking cursor on yet another job application. This one, for a major hotel chain, is perfect. It's entry-level, but with a decent starting salary and benefits, and plenty of opportunity for advancement. It's in San Francisco and I have all of the qualifications they're looking for. I even know someone who works there who'd probably put in a good word for me if I asked.

  And so far, all I've filled in is my name.

  I'll come back to this one.

  Changing the parameters on the job site, I make my next search local. For shits and giggles only, of course.

  If Nikki could hear my internal dialogue right now, she'd totally call me on my bullshit. But she's not here, so I squash down the little voice that's doing her work for her, and scoot closer to the monitor, scrolling through the listings.