“Of course she has a name,” I lie. “Eva, this is Sweet Irene.” The name pops into my head out of nowhere.
She grabs her sides, her laughing nearly uncontrollable. A smile appears before I even realize it. Eva's laughter dies down, but one glance at me sends her over the edge again. “Irene,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “You're just full of surprises, Emerson.” God, I love the way her lips move when she says my name. Her hand moves to the door handle and she pulls. As she slips out of my truck, she adds with a smile, “If you ever want to take me out again, you have my number.”
The passenger door closes and I watch her through my rearview mirror. I'm a bit stunned. If I'm not mistaken, Sweet Irene just landed me a future date with Eva.
When I make it to my one bedroom apartment, I toss my book bag onto the floor, plop down onto the couch, and take a deep breath after a long day. My head is still swimming from my time with Eva. I haven't had that since Kelly. It's as if I went skydiving and I'm still high from the adrenaline rush. Does it mean something?
I've dated other girls since I've been here. Kelly wanted me to and I promised I would. Reluctantly, I can agree that she had a point with parts of her argument. I do feel like I know myself better, although I don't see why I couldn't have figured it out with her. I've certainly grown up more, too. While I've dated some great girls, there was never the potential of it turning into what I had with Kelly. Or is it have since there's only one year left until she lifts me from this ban? Because that's what it feels like; a ban on seeing or speaking to her. A ban on loving her.
Thinking about it is worthless because I run myself in circles. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm rattled because with the hour or so spent in Eva's company, I felt something that I haven't in a year. And with someone who is not Kelly. Shaking my head, I stop analyzing the situation because it's truly nothing to be so concerned about at this point. I need to keep moving forward at a safe distance and pace.
I reach into my pocket for my phone and dial Glen.
“How'd it go with Eva?” he answers.
“Good. Have you talked to her? Do you know what happened before that?”
Glen starts laughing. “Yeah, she called me on her way to her dorm. What's this I hear about your truck having the name Irene?”
“It's Sweet Irene,” I correct. “Anyway, I called for two reasons. I'm disappointed you haven't introduced me to Eva sooner, and why has she never been to Smitty's?” He's the one who took me there, so I would have thought she'd been before.
“We haven't gotten around to it is all. Every time I plan to take her, one of us has to cancel. Hey, are we playing tonight?”
“Yeah, give me about an hour and I'll log on.”
We hang up and I think about what I need to do before we start playing a video game. I've already eaten, so that's done. I read over my syllabuses, take a shower, add Eva's cell number to my phone, and then return to the couch. The game console hums softly as it powers on. The controller and headset are in a basket underneath the side table, so I grab them. Thanks to the Internet, Glen and I are able to play the game from our respective places. It's just the distraction I need to stop thinking about Kelly, Eva, and my problematic dating life.
“WHAT'S WITH THE smile?” my best friend and dorm-mate, Catherine, asks as I apply the cream to my wasp stings.
“I've had a good day.”
She laughs as I sit down on the bed. “Is it because you finally met Emerson Montgomery? Glen was holding back on us. He failed to tell us how hot Emerson is. Does he look as hot in person as he did in the picture you texted us?”
“Yes, but he's not what I expected.” I was surprised to find he's the owner of the truck I hit. His good looks were another surprise. Then came his personality. I feel bad about lying to him, but I doubt he would be happy to know that Glen had shared some of his private troubles with me. It's my fault though.
When Glen came to me, asking why a girl would want a break, would ask her boyfriend to see other people for an extended period of time, he wanted to know what it really meant. Would she truly mean it or was it a way to break up? I thought he was talking about his then girlfriend, who he was crazy about, and demanded to know the full story.
So, he spilled the beans. His dorm-mate, Emerson, was having trouble doing what his girlfriend from high school was asking of him. It sounded crazy to me. I mean, the girl had some good points, but I'm not sure I would ask my boyfriend who I claimed to love to see other girls. However, I have a slight jealous side, too. Still, I told Glen that maybe something was going on that Emerson didn't know about, and she had good reasons for asking him to do this. Or, she was copping out of a break up, hoping he'd meet someone else and forget about her. Glen was trying to figure out her motive, so he could give better advice to Emerson.
The situation Glen told me about sounded weird. I tried to remember that we were only hearing one side, one perspective, but it seemed the opposite of what high school sweethearts would try to do. His story, what I knew of it, intrigued me. Every so often, I'd ask Glen for an update on how he was doing. Slowly, Emerson started seeing other people without feeling so guilty about it. Something about the way Glen spoke of him made me want to meet him.
And now I have.
“What do you mean?” Catherine asks.
“I don't know. I guess I had this image of him in my head, what he would look like, what he would be like, and he blew it to pieces. In the best way, too,” I add. A frown appears as a thought hits me. “Is it bad that I told him he could call me even though I know about his girlfriend from high school? He's pretty much passing the time until they get back together, right? What would be the point of going out with him again if he does call?”
Catherine finally lays the open book she was reading down on her chest, glancing over at me from where she's lying on her bed. “It's been a while since Glen has said anything about Emerson's situation. Something could have changed. You don't even know if he's still waiting for her. I say you have fun and see what happens.”
“Go read your book. I'm tired of you always being wise.”
She grins. “If you would read more, you could be wise, too, you know.”
Responding would be pointless because she's already picked up her book, lost in whatever story she's reading within seconds. I decide to get organized since after Emerson dropped me off, I called the insurance company and it's out of the way for now. I need to go through all the information I got from my classes, start marking dates in the calendar for those that provided a schedule, and make sure all of my things are together for a new semester.
I like to think I'm organized, but I know once this is done, it'll be a week or two before I look at it again. I try though. Once I finish, I grab my phone, pulling up various apps to check my social media accounts. A smile lifts my lips when I see a post from my mom. She's one of those people who likes to share pictures of her food and she'll even include the recipes. Looks like she tried some new pasta tonight.
My phone vibrates as a new text comes in. The number is one that isn't programed into my phone, but I quickly realize who it is based on the message. Before I do anything else, I add Emerson to my contacts.
Emerson: How's the leg?
My thumbs move quickly to reply.
Me: Better. Thanks for asking.
Emerson: Glad to hear that. I wanted to check. Still feel a little bad about laughing.
Me: Just a little? I was stung TWICE and you laughed a LOT.
Emerson: I did take you out to eat though.
Me: Not because I was stung. You found out once we got to Smitty's.
Emerson: You're right. That's not why I asked you. Can I make up for laughing at you by taking you out Thursday?
I stare at the message. Catherine thinks there's no harm in going out with him again, and honestly, I want to. I want more of a glimpse into who he is.
Me: Yes, you can.
Emerson: Great. I'll be in touch, Eva. Have a great night and ta
ke care of those legs for me.
My grin is stupid. So is my giggle because geez, really, Eva? Him telling you to take care of your own legs for him is what makes you smile and laugh? Ridiculous. I'm in trouble already.
I have a full day of classes and work afterward. It's going to be such a long day. There are a few things on the bright side. Catherine and I have a class together. My work uniform requires pants, so my ugly stings will be covered. Those are my two positives for the day. We're walking across the courtyard to our class right now. The weather is great and there are plenty of students out and about.
Some are clustered together at picnic tables, laughing and joking. Some are already working on assignments they've been given. A few are making out. Four massive brick buildings surround each side of the courtyard. I hear people rave about the beautiful architecture at universities, but I don't think this is one of those schools.
The buildings, interior and exterior, seem kind of plain to me. Brick on the outside and walls with pictures of alumni, students, and other academic photos to show off on the inside. There's some artwork, trophies, and a ton of bulletin boards. Nothing worth oohing and ahhing over. Well, let me backtrack. The buildings I go into aren't fancy smancy. Or maybe I just don't know how to appreciate those kinds of things. Either way, I obviously spend too much time thinking about it.
Our school is awesome though. We have great athletics, great programs, and I've only had a few professors I wanted to yell at. Lately, with the start of my junior year, I keep being reminded that my time here is dwindling. It makes me sad. My friends are here and I've already spent two years of my life here. I love college. However, I think I'm ready and definitely excited for the next step.
We make a pit stop at a vending machine.
“Who were you texting last night?” Catherine asks as she feeds it her dollar.
“Emerson. We're going out Thursday.” Her soda rolls down and I step up for my turn.
“Sweet. Know any details yet?”
“Nope. Ugh. These things hate me.” My dollar spits back out, as usual. I can never get these damn things to take my money the first time. “It's probably because they know I hate them back.”
Catherine laughs. “Or maybe it's a sign that you drink too many sodas.”
“There's no such thing. Finally!” I slam my open palm on the button of my drink of choice for today, Sprite. It falls to the bottom and Catherine and I continue our way to class once I've retrieved it.
“You work tonight, right?” she asks.
“Yeah. Barry seems to be out of his funk, so he'll be more pleasant to work with.” I work at a local sub restaurant and after a few hours, I'm left alone to work and close. With my school schedule, the manager, Barry, always schedules me to close. It's not too bad because I'm always back to the dorms by nine, which gives me plenty of time to do homework if needed without it being too late. Sometimes, Barry works with me for a few hours. He had a breakup recently and has been moody at work because of it.
We're a little early, so we get our pick of seats. Catherine likes to sit smack dab in the middle. She leads the way to a pair of empty seats there. While first days are usually filled with a lot of nothing, second days are similar. A little more attention is required because we are beginning our course.
As we're dismissed, I get a phone call from Emerson.
“Hello,” I answer, hurrying out of the classroom.
“Hey, I need a second of your time.”
“It took you more than a second to say that, so technically your time is already up,” I point out, smiling when I hear him laugh.
“When is your last class Thursday, Eva?”
“I get out at noon.”
“Could you be ready by one?”
One? “That's an early date.”
I can practically see the grin on his face in my mind as he speaks. “Don't worry. You won't be home until after dinner.” He pauses and then says, “I only have a minute; I'm on break at work. So, I'll pick you up at one?”
“I'll be ready,” I confirm, curious as to what we'll be doing.
“Good. I'll text you later.”
We hang up and Catherine looks at me expectantly. “He's picking me up at one.”
“Did he say where y'all were going?” When I shake my head, she adds, “Then how do you know what to wear?”
Crap. I didn't think about that. I'll have to talk to him again then. The smile on my face turns into a slight frown. How am I this giddy already? It doesn't matter. This thing with Emerson is just me seeing what happens, nothing serious, and it's definitely too early to start overanalyzing. By the time I get through my classes and head to work, Emerson is far from my mind.
“Eva, you're my favorite person I've seen all day,” Barry says with a large smile.
“That's because I'm your favorite employee. How's it been today?” I ask as I clock in.
“Slow, so you should be good tonight. Just find some way to keep busy. In the mean time, I actually need to take care of some stuff in the office. You should start making sure everything isn't too low.” He pats me on the shoulder as he disappears into the office, and I walk over to the kitchen.
While it's not my dream job, making subs isn't too bad. I love the regulars who come in. The work isn't all that hard, and I have good coworkers. I chuckle to myself at the thought. I work alone ninety-eight percent of the time. Barry leaves me around an hour later. Slow is an inaccurate description to describe tonight. It's dead. For three hours, I wait on three people. Some nights are just like that. It'll probably be overwhelmingly busy tomorrow.
Usually, I'm a good little worker, finding something productive to do on nights like these, but I'm not feeling it today. Plus, I'm running out of things to do. I pull out my phone and text Emerson.
Me: Hey, what are we doing? I need to know if there's any particular way I need to dress.
Emerson responds rather quickly.
Emerson: Wear tennis shoes, jeans, and a shirt. Something you wouldn't mind getting dirty/messed up, just in case.
For a moment, I'm wary over how he did not answer my question of what we're going to be doing, especially with that last bit he tagged on. I'm dying to know, but I decide not to ask yet. A customer walks in, so I slip my phone into my pocket to wait on him. Figures someone would show up when I have fifteen minutes left. Just my luck.
My car spent Wednesday in the shop once a lady from my insurance agency came to take pictures. I'm just glad Catherine has a car to take me to and from work. Thursday, I rush across campus from my last class back to the dorms, so I can get ready. I only have forty-five minutes once I get there. The good thing is I already know what I'm wearing. There will not be any time wasted on trying to figure it out.
Emerson texted me this morning to find out which building and what room I'm in. Ever since, I've been anxiously waiting as the minutes pass. The minutes dragged by earlier, but now, they're speeding by through my shower, drying my hair, and getting dressed. My hair decides to be extra unruly and frizzy today, which takes more time than I want to waste on trying to contain it.
I've just tied my shoes when a knock sounds on the door. With a deep breath, I allow the action to soothe me. I stick my phone into my back pocket, grab my purse, and then open the door. Emerson is standing on the other side, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. He's so good looking I doubt any woman could see him and not have her heart pick up its pace. His short hair is nearly the same black shade as mine, his eyes a softer toned blue, and lips worth nibbling on. Those same lips are lifting into a smile, as I look him over without an inkling of shame. He's similarly dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt.
“Are you done drooling?” he asks, lightly teasing as he smirks.
I pretend to wipe my mouth of imaginary drool. “Better than dropping my jaw and saying, 'Hubba, hubba'.”
Emerson laughs, holding his hand out, which I take. His hand is warm, larger than mine, and his strength is clear with his strong yet gentle grip.
“Your jaw did drop, Eva. Mine did too though. How's the leg?” he finishes as we walk outside.
“Good, nothing worth complaining about. Where are we going?” I finally ask.
He grins as he opens the passenger door for me. “It's a surprise.”
I smile back. “I love surprises.”
My answer causes his smile to widen. I climb into the truck and watch as he walks around to get in. He starts the engine and immediately does two things. He rolls our windows down about halfway first. Then, he turns the radio to the station I was listening to the other day. His slick grin tells me all I need to know. He's trying to impress me with his memory. I look away, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a smile because, oh my god, I'm a little impressed.
“I hope you're up for a bit of a drive,” he says.
“How long is a bit?”
“About an hour.”
The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I've already asked and he said it's a surprise. All I know is we're doing something that may make me dirty or ruin my clothes, and it's an hour away. I really do love surprises, so I'm comfortable with waiting to find out.
“Sounds good,” I say. “So, where do you work?”
“I'm a bag boy at a grocery store in town.”
“I work at Sub Grub. What glamorous jobs we have.”
Emerson chuckles. “I've never been there. And hey, I'll take money any way I can make it.”
I shift in my seat to turn toward him a bit. “Any way? So, you would strip if you were paid?”
That bright smile makes another appearance. “Are you making me an offer, Eva?”
“Ha! If I wanted you to strip, I could make you do it without paying you,” I say with confidence. Guys are all the same. Push the right buttons and they're putty in your hands, willing to do whatever it takes to get to the good stuff.
Without a Doubt Page 2
