by Paige North
Something about waking up in the morning in his bed, seeing him in a different light, makes me feel strange and itchy all over, like a junkie looking for her next fix.
“Brought you coffee,” he murmurs, handing me one of the paper cups.
“Thank you.” I sip the hot liquid and give a contented sigh. “I didn’t mean to sleep that long.” A glance at my phone, which was stashed in my purse, shows it’s already after eight. We’re supposed to get on the road at nine to head home.
“No problem.” He moves to the couch across from the bed and sits, opens the laptop on the coffee table. His bag is tucked against the side of the couch. He’s already packed and ready to go, just waiting on me. I must have been unconscious to not hear all that movement. When’s the last time I slept this hard?
I feel a flush crawl across my face as I look at him. While he isn’t acting distant or pushing me away right now, he isn’t exactly radiating warmth in my direction either. His phone buzzes and he grabs it, frowns at the display. Gives a heavy sigh.
“Everything okay?” I tentatively ask as I take another sip.
His lips thin in frustration, and he finally looks up at me. His eyes are flat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Clearly you’re not,” I point out. I’m not trying to pry, but for God’s sake, we just had sex. Again. And he’s closing off to me. Again. This is getting so old. Resentment seeps into my bones. Why does this crap keep happening? And why did I foolishly drop my guard and let him in, knowing how he is around me, how he doesn’t want to let me in?
I accept responsibility for my actions and feelings, but I need him to see what he’s doing is hurtful too.
“Look,” I continue, “I get that last night was just sex. That came through loud and clear. But that doesn’t mean you can just keep pushing me away when you get freaked out or don’t want to talk. People don’t treat someone like that if they care even a little bit.” I stand and thrust my jaw out. “You might not want to admit it, but you do care about me.” I know I’m not delusional about that.
He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “Yes, I do care. A little too fucking much for my comfort. But Emme, I promise, this isn’t about you. And it’s not about last night, either.”
I can’t take comfort in his words because of how resentful he sounds. He clearly doesn’t want to have feelings for me. Is that supposed to make me feel better, that he’s basically pulling a Mr. Darcy on me?
“But how the hell am I supposed to know what it is about when you just clam up on me? It makes me feel paranoid and isolated.” Pain crackles in my heart, and I struggle to not let that come into my voice. Why am I pushing so hard for something that isn’t going to happen? This is futile. “Know what? Never mind. It’s obviously not my business. I’ll go get cleaned up in my room and—”
“My mother texted, asking me to come to Thanksgiving,” he interrupts me in a dark tone. “With the whole family there. My brother and my ex. That’s what this is about. Despite knowing how much it’ll hurt me, she wants me to roll over and give in.”
I stand there, cupping my mug and staring down at him. His eyes aren’t on mine; they’re on a fixed point ahead of him.
“I can’t sit at the table and watch the two of them together when I can’t get the images out of my head. My brother, pursuing her when my life was falling into a dark hole.” His voice is quiet, though his words roil with pent-up emotion. My stomach keeps twisting into a tighter and tighter knot.
“Have you thought about talking to someone about all of this?” I suggest in a soft tone.
He quirks a brow and finally looks at me. “Yeah. I know what they’ll tell me. Get over it and stop holding on to the past.”
“And that’s bad advice because…?”
“Not bad. Just not realistic for me yet.” The painful sigh he gives as he looks down at the coffee table pushes a big fat splinter into my heart, and I get it.
I understand now.
And I feel so stupid for not suspecting it before. Stupid and utterly blind.
Dane’s not over his ex yet. He’s still in love with her, at least to some degree. The moments of sadness in his eyes, the hesitancy to be in her company, the way he doesn’t want to settle down with anyone…it’s never been about me, but about her, and the way it makes him feel to see her with his brother now.
Jealousy makes my stomach turn, and I fight back the sting of tears. As upset as I feel about this revelation, I also feel bad for him and his perpetual pain, and all these complex emotions are warring within me.
Why would I expect him to be able to get over those series of betrayals from the people closest to him? Would I be able to if I’d been hurt that devastatingly time and again by my father and then my brother? A failed marriage on top of it all? Probably not.
I need to get out of here. He needs his space, and I need to find a way to move past him for good. That Meatloaf song crops in my head out of nowhere, the one about him wanting and needing the woman, but he’ll never love her, and I bite back a wild laugh. I’m going to lose my shit if I stand here for one more moment.
“I’m going to go to my room and get ready,” I say. “I’ll see you in the lobby at nine.”
He must hear something in my tone, because his gaze narrows on me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I lick my lips and force them to curve up into a smile. “Just tired, I guess.” I feel kinda bad for lying, but if that’s what I need to do to get out of here, so be it. Before he can say anything else, I grab my purse and walk out of the room without looking back.
Normally, I can destroy a Ben & Jerry’s pint of ice cream like no one’s business. But right now, my stomach just isn’t feeling it.
I put the carton on the side table and snuggle deeper onto the couch, feet resting on our beat-up coffee table, thick sweat socks sticking out from the end of Mom’s blanket. Robert’s on the other end of the couch with me, gnawing away at a bowl of popcorn. We put on The Hangover, since I wanted to watch a movie that doesn’t require a lot of attention.
Robert laughs at all the appropriate parts. I’m just feeling too depressed to really get into it.
About halfway through the movie, he hits pause and eyes me. “Okay, spill. You’ve been in a funk since you returned from your trip earlier. Did you fuck something up? I’m sure it can be fixed, whatever it is.”
I shrug and grab for the pint of ice cream again. It’s really soft now, and I make myself spoon a bite into my mouth. “I just have the blues. Lady blues. You probably don’t want to hear about it.”
His face scrunches up. “You mean, like…period stuff?”
I throw a small pink pillow at his face, and he cackles. “No, asswipe. Of course I don’t want to talk about menstruation with you.” I sigh and eye the carton. The chocolate taunts me. It just doesn’t taste as good as it should. “I mean matters of the heart.”
“You realize men fall in love too, right?” he says drolly.
“Yeah. That’s true, sorry.”
“So who’s the bastard? You haven’t brought anyone around here. Did he hurt you and now I need to punch him? I still have one hand left, you know.” He holds his big fist up and shakes it, wearing a wry smile.
He’s really trying to make me feel better. He’s trying to be in a better mood after our discussion. And now I’m the one who’s in a super-dark place, feeling depressed and moody. My eyes fill with tears, and I put the ice cream down and reach over to hug him. He stiffens in surprise, then wraps his arm around me.
“Hey, it’s okay.” His gentle words soothe me until I finally stop crying.
I back away and sniffle, wiping my eyes and nose, and he puts his popcorn on the coffee table.
“Talk. Tell me what’s going on. This isn’t like you.” His eyes flare with worry.
So I do. Well, not everything—not the sexual aspects, because I highly doubt he wants to hear about it. But I share the generalities of what happened, how I fell for Dane and how he’s still
hung up on his ex. Times like this, I miss my mom so badly. She always gave such sage advice.
“And I feel stupid and I don’t know what to do,” I finish up, staring down at my fingertips as they worry the hem of the blanket. “But I can’t keep working there, so now I have to find a new job.”
“Don’t feel stupid. Love is never bad or wrong,” my brother says.
I jerk my head up to look at him. His eyes pour out sincerity.
I lick my lips nervously. “But…he’s my boss. It’s so cliché, really. And he’s never going to feel that way about me, so I need to get over him somehow.”
“He might not, that’s true. But do you realize that in the last few weeks, you’ve been more relaxed and happy and social than I’ve seen you in years? Even if you two don’t end up together, your feelings for him helped bring this out of you. That’s not so bad, is it?”
“That’s true,” I say grudgingly.
Robert gives a soft sigh. “Emme, I know it feels like a tragedy, but…we’ve been through tragedy, and it made us stronger. Don’t let him make you feel bad about who you are or how you feel. Be proud that you were strong enough to let him into your heart.” He rubs his stump and his smile seems a bit wavy. “I’m not sure I’ll ever find that courage, but one day I hope so.”
“I hope so too,” I tell him. Tears make my throat tight. “Because any woman would be lucky to have your love.”
His smile steadies, and his cheeks flush with an embarrassed glow. “Come on, now. Stop exaggerating.”
“Well, once you pull your head out of your ass and stop being so weird and antisocial,” I say to lighten the moment.
“I’m getting there, sis,” he says, swallowing. He rubs the stump again and gives a small moan, his face creasing in pain. “Sorry, it’s hurting.”
“Need me to get you something?” I move to get up, but he grabs my shoulder and nudges me back down.
“I can get it myself. I’m ready to start taking control and getting my life back, or at least move forward and start a new one. I’ve been thinking about the stuff we talked about, the stuff my therapist said. It’s time. Past time.” He gets a vulnerable look in his eyes. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I will. And I’m going to find a job and get my own place.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. You need your space, and I need to become more self-sufficient.”
If my brother, who has gone through hell, can find his courage to move forward and live his life, I can too. I wipe away the last of my tears and give him a slow nod. I won’t keep feeling bad about falling for Dane. But I won’t let it drive my life anymore, either.
Tomorrow, I’m going to find a new job. Redouble my efforts to finish school and break into this industry. Even if it means I’m doing it alone…and without most of my heart.
Dane
Sixteen days.
It’s been sixteen days since I had Emme in my bed, since I’ve tasted her and touched her and seen her smile. At the office, she’s all serious business, and she’s avoiding me like I’m a deadly disease. Our interactions have been mostly through electronic means, and we haven’t been alone in a room together at all.
The trip that I thought was going to fix the issue between us made it worse. Far, far worse.
I know she’s pulled away from me. I can tell because her heart is closed off completely now, and she doesn’t look at me, only talks to me if she has to. She hangs out with Lauren or sits by herself. As awful as it might sound, I wish I had her diary so I could see inside her head again. I miss her transparency.
Even as I think that, I shove that greediness aside—I probably wouldn’t want to see what she’s written about me since the trip. I turn my attention back to the papers on my desk. The contract from Sanderson stating they’re on board with my vision for their renovation and they want to pay us a shitload of money to handle it.
This is what I need to focus all my consideration on. Not toward my lack of control when I’m alone with Emme. Not her breathy sighs and warm body. Or the way she makes my heart feel.
Frankly, this is better for both of us. It’s not like the sexual relationship with her was going to go anywhere, anyway. It was going to have to end at some point. But she has expectations, needs that I just can’t fulfill right now.
Is that really true?
Really?
I’ve repeated those words to myself a hundred times a day, and I’m still waiting for acceptance to sink in. For me to feel good about the way everything’s turned out with Emme.
My phone buzzes. I pick it up and see a text from Simone, a girl I’ve gone on a date or two with over the last year or so. We haven’t seen each other in months. She’s not the deepest person I’ve ever met, but she’s fun and she likes to party, unlike the majority of the women I tend to date. I read her message.
Hey, sexy! Long time, no hear. I know it’s last minute, but are you busy tonight? Want to get a drink somewhere? Let’s catch up! ;-)
I’m torn. The thought of kissing her doesn’t turn me on at all—that’s a pretty fucking big red flag. But how am I going to get over this situation with Emme if I don’t get out there and date around? I should do it, I know. And I’m surprised at how little I want to.
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. I’m being a fucking idiot, and I need to nut up. I’ve made my decision, and I’m going to stop being so damn wishy-washy and keep moving forward.
I grab my phone and write back, Sure. I’ll pick you up at 7. Then I toss the phone to the far end of my desk. I don’t really want to talk to anyone right now. I need to psych myself up for going out with Simone, maybe having a few drinks and driving all thoughts of Emme out of my brain. Even for one night.
“Oh my God, you smell so friggin’ good, Dane,” Simone says as she leans in toward my neck and takes a big whiff. She giggles then peers up at me through thick black eyelashes. “But I’m sure you know that already, right?”
I force a smile to my face. “I like to shower.”
She swats my chest then takes a sip of her beer. Her lips slowly wrap around the bottle and she locks her gaze on mine, then drops her jaw to slide the tip of the bottle into her mouth. It’s a move designed to make me think of her sucking cock. It’s supposed to make my own cock stir in excitement with the promise I’m seeing in her eyes.
It’s supposed to, but I’m just not feeling a damn thing.
I clear my throat and wave at the bartender, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a wide smile. I need a few more drinks, that’s all. Once I have enough, I won’t be able to think straight. I can retrain my body and my brain, and then I won’t need to rely on alcohol to purge Emme.
“Jim Beam and ginger ale, please,” I tell him.
A young blonde who must be a freshly minted twenty-one-year-old jostles me from behind, spilling a bit of her drink on my leg. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she says with an embarrassed giggle. She grabs a napkin off the bar and begins to pat my thigh, nudging her way between me and Simone. “I’m such a klutz.” Pat, pat.
“He’s fine, sugar,” Simone says as she leans toward me. She grabs the napkins from the girl and tosses them. “I’ll make sure he’s nice and dry, thanks.” There’s no mistaking the edge of possessiveness in her tone.
The girl scampers off, and Simone rolls her eyes.
“God, could she be more obvious?” She laughs. “You must get that a lot, huh?”
“I don’t think she was flirting,” I say.
“You’re adorable.” She presses a kiss to my nose, then takes another swig of beer. “Wanna dance? Let’s dance!”
“I’m gonna sit here for a minute—I haven’t gotten my drink yet.”
She pouts, pushing out her plump red lips. “Seriously? Okay, fine. I’m gonna dance, then. I’ll wait out there for you.” Her eyes rake my body over, and she makes sure to brush her breasts against my upper arm as she slides off the stool. Her red dress is molded to her curves, and he
r red heels make her legs look shapely.
She’s gorgeous.
And she’s just not doing it for me.
I watch her go to the dance floor to make sure she gets there okay. When the bartender brings my drink, I take a slow sip and mull it all over. Yeah, Simone’s a little over the top, something I forgot about in the long absence from her company. But this isn’t about her. All night I’ve been comparing her to Emme, and there’s just no comparison for me.
Why the hell am I here?
I stare down into the amber liquid. I don’t want to be here. My stomach has been a fucking mess for sixteen fucking days now. Every minute, every hour I have to tell myself to stop thinking about Emme, to let her go so she can find someone who can be everything for her. Convincing myself it isn’t me because I’m too fucked up to make her happy, to give her all of myself.
But I miss her so much my entire body hurts.
And every minute, every hour that passes, that missing grows stronger and stronger.
What I feel for her isn’t diminishing with time. It’s like my brain and body are starving for her, so they’re hoarding every sensory memory I have of her. The way her skin flushes when she’s turned on. The freckles on the tops of her cheekbones. The small scar on her upper lip, which she told me on the phone that one night was from hitting a coffee table as a kid.
Her body shaking as she comes.
Her saying I love you.
Fuck me. I’m falling in love with her. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I am.
Or did I already fall in love with her?
I take another swig of the drink and let the alcohol sink in. The realization sinks in. My skin starts to feel warm all over, and the burn slides down my throat to settle in my belly.
I think I need to talk to someone about this. Maybe my friend Dominic can shed some light. Surely he’s learned a thing or two by now in his Master’s program in psychology. Some kind of mumbo-jumbo that will shed light on my emotions.
I glance over at the dance floor. Simone is sliding her hands up and down her body. Half the guys on the dance floor are watching her with their tongues practically lolling out. She’s not looking at me or any of them; she’s just enjoying herself. Even though I’m not turned on, I still smile. At least Simone is having a good time. She’s comfortable in her skin, knows who she is and what she wants.
