The Upside to Being Single

by Emma Hart

  “Well, obviously, I didn’t know they were cousins.” Peyton tucked her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t meet them together. In fact, we couldn’t have met any further apart.”

  “Wow, really?” Chloe said sarcastically. “That’s the story you’re going with?”

  “Story? What do you mean, story? There’s no story. I met one in class, and the other when I was on vacation for spring break.”

  “Okay,” I said, looking straight at her. “Now, you have to be messing with us. That’s the most ridiculous excuse I have ever had.”

  “It is not an excuse! God, it’s not like I had a threesome with them.” Peyton crossed arms over her chest. “But, if you don’t want to know about the genetic side of manhood, then that’s fine by me.”

  Chloe glanced at me then back at Peyton. “Hey now, there’s no need to be hasty about it. “Even if she doesn’t want to know I do.”

  “I didn’t say didn’t want to know.” I pushed my plate to the side and brought my glass closer to me. “All I’m saying is that I don’t really know how you can accidentally sleep with cousins.”

  “I clearly just explained that to you,” said Peyton, sighing.

  I rolled my eyes “Sure, but I didn’t say that I believed you.”

  “Do you want to know or what?” Peyton asked sharply. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to go back to work.”

  “God,” Chloe said. “You suck at girls night.”

  “Oh, just spit it out.” I sipped the last of my cocktail. It was pretty obvious what she was going to say, and that was just from the sassy grin on her face.

  “So.” Peyton pushed her plate to the side and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Without going into too much detail—”

  “Since when have you ever not gone into detail?” Chloe snorted.

  “—It’s worth noting,” she paused, glancing around as if somebody could hear us. There are…similarities…in certain aspects of relatives’ bodies.”

  “Oh, boy. That was informative.” I rolled my eyes again.

  Peyton flipped me the bird across the table. I just laughed.

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Chloe leaned forward and stared at Peyton. “Are you telling me that male relatives have similar penis sizes?”

  Peyton gripped the stem of her wine glass and glared at her. “And that was the detail I was hoping to avoid in a public place.”

  I frowned at her. She nodded toward the table next to us. With all the discretion of an atomic bomb, I looked sharply to my left.

  Brilliant.

  It was full of college-aged boys who were listening to every word we were saying.

  Way to go, Chloe.

  There was always one, and in this friendship, it was always Chloe.

  With a heavy sigh, Peyton nudged my foot under the table, and we both turned to Chloe.

  “Yes,” Peyton said quietly. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about, Chloe.”

  “Oh.” Chloe blushed. “And, you’re saying you just got a submission from her boss’ cousin?”

  Peyton grinned once again. “Sure did.”

  God. I’d never been more interested in anybody’s penis in my life.

  No, that was a lie. I was pretty sure I was damn interested in Tom Hardy’s.

  And, you know, she didn’t exactly have to tell me anything about the penises of the Creed family, given that I’d had Jake’s erection pressed against my stomach not forty-eight hours ago…

  “Well,” said Chloe. “You can’t just leave it at that.”

  I hated to admit it, but she did have a point.

  “With a glance to the table of young guys next to us, Peyton leaned right into the middle of the table and motioned for us to do the same. “To put it simply, the only reason I’d kick him out of bed would be to fuck him on the floor.”

  “Well, luckily for you, he sent that in the hopes of getting your attention,” I muttered. “He likes your boobs.”

  “They’re pretty great boobs.”

  “I agree.” One of the boys from the table next to us leaned over and gave her a devilish grin.

  It was about a sexy as a mating pair of slugs.

  “Oh, thanks.” Peyton flattened her hand against her chest. “Now, stop looking, because the only place you’ll ever touch them is in your dreams.”

  His friends all laughed at him, and she promptly turned her back on him.

  I stared at her for a minute. “I’m trying to decide if a clapback like that to a guy a few years younger than you is cruel, or in this situation, totally justifiable.”

  “Totally justifiable,” Chloe said. “We’ve seen Peyton eat bigger men for breakfast.”

  “Only when they taste good,” she shot at her, then turned to me. “You seem real uninterested in Sam’s dick. Do you know something about Jake that we don’t know?”

  I twirled my glass. “I’d hedge a guess that I know a lot of things about Jake that you guys don’t.”

  Chloe smiled. “That’s not what we’re talking about, and you know it.”

  “Fine, but I’m not telling you anything until we’ve moved away from the pint-sized perverts.” I shot a dark look at the guys in the table opposite us.

  “Right, we’re done, anyway.” Peyton caught the attention of our server and motioned for the bill.

  He brought it over minutes later, and we all threw down our share of the cash. Leaving it on the table, we gathered our things and headed out of the restaurant. We’d gone to our favorite place, and the walk down Bourbon Street reminded me of the first night I’d seen Jake.

  The night they’d made me flash him. If I’d known then what I knew now, I sure as hell wouldn’t have done it.

  But you know what they always say about hindsight…

  “All right. Now spit it out,” Chloe demanded.

  I took a deep breath. “We kissed.”

  “We know that.” Peyton nudged me.

  “No, again. We kissed again.” I did a quick recap of how he’d basically tortured me into teaching him how to cook, then how he’d decided he didn’t want to cook, and seducing me was the best option.

  “I’m a little turned on,” Chloe muttered.

  “Oh, I’m not done.” I carried on and went through what had happened at work two days ago and what was happening tomorrow night. “I’m not even going to see him until what he insists is a date.”

  Peyton tapped her finger against her lips. “Are you sure dating your boss is a good idea? I mean, I’m all for using men for my own pleasure—”

  “And you wonder why you’re single,” Chloe interjected.

  “Hey, they use me, too. It’s all mutual.” Peyton pointed out before returning her attention back to me. “Have you thought this through? The implications of working with your boss? I mean, not even a co-worker. Your boss.”

  “Only a thousand times.”

  “Other than she’s a chicken, there’s a reason Chloe hasn’t told Dom how she feels.”

  Chloe ground her teeth together. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Sweetie, your denial does nothing to convince us,” I told her. “We know you’re in love with him, so give it a rest.”

  She glared at both of us before turning away.

  Peyton rolled her eyes. “I just—I’ve seen it go wrong. Do you know how many women come to me and tell me they hooked up with someone they worked with?”

  “She does have a point,” Chloe agreed begrudgingly. “We get those stories all the time. Seriously. The Stupid Cupid application box is full of them. The amount of interviews we do where we have both men and women say to us, “Oh, I had a bad break-up with a co-worker, now I have a new job, and I’m looking for a new relationship, blah, blah, blah.” It’s wild, Mellie.”

  “Geez, you guys, I’m not saying I want the guy’s babies. You’re the ones who made me tell you this. Do you have anything supportive to offer me at all?” I peered at them both.

  “Yes. Don’t do it,” Peyton sai
d.

  “You changed your tune,” Chloe said to her. “Weren’t you all for it before?”

  “Yes. That was before I looked at Starstruck Sally over here and realized she isn’t going to screw him and move on. Haven’t you noticed the stupid grin on her face when she talks about him?”

  “I do not get a stupid grin! And Starstruck Sally? What the hell?” I prodded her arm.

  “Yeah,” Chloe said. “I noticed the grin.”

  “It’s the same one you get when we mention my brother,” Peyton responded.

  “One day, when you sleep, I will kill you.”

  “Guys, we’ve had this narrative now for ten years. Can we focus on my problem? I’m sure we’ve got another couple of years to nail Chloe about her undying love for Dom.”

  “I don’t know why I’m friends with you people,” Chloe snapped.

  Peyton linked her arm through Chloe’s. “Because I make mean cocktails, and Mellie can cook anything with a blindfold on.”

  Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but yes. That was the general reasoning.

  I walked around and linked my arm through Chloe’s other one. Her cross-body purse bumped into my leg, but I didn’t mind. “Help me out. I don’t need advice from Panty-Dropper Pamela over there.”

  Peyton laughed.

  “You’re the dating expert. Tell me what to do.”

  Chloe took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment. “Well,” she said slowly. “It’s tough because you work together. If we matched clients and found out they worked in the same company, we’d be hesitant to go through with it. They almost always end badly and awkwardly, mostly because the biggest thing those two people would have in common is work. Which means most of their conversation would be about work.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “But, it’s a little different with you and Jake. I mean, there’s clearly a real chemistry there, and you’re both clearly too attracted to each other to ignore it.” She clicked her tongue. “So…I don’t know what to say. If I tell you to run away, I don’t think you’ll be able to, because even if you deny it, I think you’re starting to get real feelings for him.”

  I wanted to deny it. I really did. I wanted to laugh at her and tell her to stop being so stupid, but I couldn’t.

  She was right.

  I did have feelings for him. They were small, but they were big enough to be undeniable. Strong enough that one more kiss, one more laugh, one more touch, and they could flourish into something more.

  And that scared me. A lot.

  I didn’t want to fall for my boss. I didn’t want to feel the way I felt when I was around him. And that was just now. What would happen in a week, a month, a year from now? If these feelings didn’t go away, I was screwed, completely and utterly screwed.

  Not in the good way. The bad way.

  Jake was determined to pursue something. I had a constant battle inside me. My head told me no, to run, but my heart told me to ignore my stupid head and listen to it instead.

  My heart obviously forgot that time in senior year where it got itself broken.

  Fickle little bitch.

  “Your silence is telling,” Peyton said softly.

  “I just…I don’t want to be in a situation where my job is at risk.” Although did I truly believe that? After everything he’d said to me, did I believe that would ever be the case?

  Not right now, but that didn’t mean that couldn’t change. That didn’t mean that wouldn’t change. And if it did, there would be nothing I could do about it.

  The hotel was his new baby, and I was just a staff member.

  What if we started a relationship and then it all fucked up? He wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t quit. I’d have to be the one to do it.

  And I didn’t want to do that.

  “Then, you have to decide,” Chloe said, squeezing my arm. “Is the way you feel worth the risk? Is Jake worth the risk?”

  Talk about a loaded question.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted softly. “I really don’t know.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Upside #19: You get to keep all the change you find down the back of the sofa. Unless it’s tax season, then you can kiss that three dollars and sixty-two cents goodbye.

  “How was your trip?” I cradled the glass of wine and leaned against the small island in the kitchen of Jake’s apartment.

  “As well as it could have gone,” he admitted, setting the wine bottle down on the granite countertop. “My mom is still struggling with some grief, but I think it might ease for her now the house is cleared and on the market.”

  “I’m glad it went well.” I smiled.

  “How is everything at the hotel? I didn’t get a chance to stop by thanks to my flight delay.”

  “It’s fine. Quinn seems to have Harley shadowing her a lot more, so hopefully, that works out.” I shrugged a shoulder.

  Jake sipped from the glass and walked around the island to me. “Good to know.”

  “You don’t really want to talk about work, do you?” I met his gaze and kept it as he came right up to me. I turned as he approached, and in what was fast becoming a signature move, he trapped me against the island, his thumbs brushing my hips.

  “Not really,” he said in a low voice. “I can talk about work with you at work.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.” I swallowed. It also went against the fear that work would overshadow any potential relationship.

  Damn it.

  “What are we cooking tonight?” His eyes glittered, and his lips pulled up into a one-sided smirk. “Gumbo? Jambalaya?”

  “Woah, Gordon Ramsay. Slow down.” I put my hands flat against his chest and pushed back at him. “Maybe we should try not to burn pasta before we try something a little more complicated.”

  “It’s like you don’t trust me to cook.”

  “You. Burned. Pasta.” I punctuated each word with a jab of my fingertip into his chest.

  “Hey, hey!” He grabbed hold of my finger. “Watch where you’re poking that thing.”

  “You burned pasta, and you want me to teach you how to make classic New Orleans food? No. Boil pasta first.” I pushed his arm away and walked over to where the grocery bag from my shopping trip was. “Boil the water, and if you can do this successfully, we’ll see about something more complicated next time.”

  “Hell, it’s like being seven again.”

  “Did you burn pasta at seven?”

  “I wasn’t allowed to make toast at seven.”

  I put the pasta on the side and stared at him. “You weren’t allowed to put toast in a toaster at seven?”

  “Nope. Almost set the toaster on fire once.” He tucked his hands in the pockets of his light jeans and grinned.

  “How—never mind. I don’t want to know how you did that.” I shook my head and turned back to the unpacking. I pulled out the chicken, peppers, mushrooms, and garlic, followed by a jar of sauce.

  That’s right. It was cooking lesson one, take two.

  I hoped we’d get it quicker than movie outtakes seemed to.

  “Fill a pan with water and boil it,” I told him.

  “A pinch of salt,” he said, pulling out a pan from a cupboard. “Not a tsunami of it.”

  Ah, we were getting somewhere.

  He managed to get through salting the water and putting it to boil with overfilling the pan being his greatest mishap.

  And he called me clumsy. Seriously.

  At least I could boil water.

  “I’ll cut the onion and pepper,” I told him. “We’re not repeating last time.”

  “But last time was fun.”

  I pointed a knife at him. “Behave yourself.”

  He leaned against the side. “This is the worst non-date that’s a date if I have to behave myself.”

  “You’re the one who started this. You wanted me to come here. I’d rather be at home with a take-out.”

  He clutched his hand to his chest. “You break my heart, spitfire
.”

  “You talk shit, bossman.”

  He grinned. “That’s kind of kinky.”

  “Only if you assume I’m less feisty between the sheets.” I froze, staring at the tiled backsplash. Why the hell did I say that?

  “I assumed you were feisty all around.” His grin turned wolfish, playful, but also deadly sexy.

  I pulled the chicken out of the packet, dropped it on the cutting board, and sliced the knife right down the middle of it without looking.

  He winced.

  Now, it was my turn to grin.

  I carried on with dicing the chicken while he watched the water boil. It was weird—there was an awkwardness in the air that had never been present before. It hung heavily, dripping off most of our words, and I was almost afraid to move toward him in case it was too much.

  Two days. It’d been two days since he’d walked out of the office after I’d kissed him. Two days since I’d had revelations about how I looked at him, about how I felt about him.

  Apparently, two days was long enough to create a divide between two people who were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  I didn’t really know what to say to him. I didn’t know how to act around him.

  What was this?

  Why wasn’t I able to categorize it?

  Was I not strong enough to make the choice?

  Did I need him to help? Did that make me weak? Or was this something we needed to name together?

  There was only so long the non-date-date could stick around. Sooner or later, we’d cross the line of messing around and something would become serious.

  What if we already had?

  What if this was beyond a laugh? Beyond a game, beyond something we could come back from?

  I took a deep breath and dumped all the chicken into the big pot he’d placed on the stove top. He moved out of the way so I could clean the board and the knife and my hands, and I didn’t make eye contact on my way to the sink or on my way back to the side where the mushrooms were waiting for me.

  This was decidedly less sexy than before.

  There was none of him touching me. None of the cutting with his hand over mine. None of his breath fluttering my hair.