Beauty and the Running Back

by Colleen Masters

  “No literal whips on hand, sorry to disappoint you,” I laugh, moving aside to let him in.

  “What a shame,” he sighs, taking a look around the apartment. I’m suddenly self-conscious of the ornate, elegant decor. I know Emerson has money now and everything, but the decadence of my grandparents’ apartment still has me feeling very uncool.

  “I know, this place is a bit much,” I say nervously, watching his blue eyes rove around the space. “But, you know, it’s my grandparents’. They’re not exactly hip to the whole minimalism, eco-friendly movement. Actually, they’re stopping by soon for a little birthday celebration.”

  “Frank and Jillian?” Emerson asks, laying on a parody of his most proper, upper-class voice. “What a delight!”

  “Yeah. Not my idea of a good time, but they’re family. And they’ve also been supporting me my entire life. So I can handle a bit of WASPy tension once in a while,” I reply.

  “I’ll be sure to get out of here before they show up,” Emerson says, “Wouldn’t want anyone to have a heart attack on your birthday.”

  “I’m sure they’d be happy to see you,” I offer.

  We look at each other for a moment before busting out laughing. Emerson is the last person on the planet my grandparents would want to run into, billionaire or no.

  “I doubt they’d be impressed by something as gauche as ‘new money’,” Emerson chortles, settling down on the couch.

  “Yes, how dare you be successful in this economy, young man,” I reply, doing my best Frank Rowan impression as I settle down beside Emerson.

  We sit next to each other and lapse into silence. I guess this is the moment where we’re supposed to address what went down last night, but it’s always hard to start.

  “I hope you don’t mind my swinging by,” Emerson begins, “I know it’s an uninvited visit, but I wanted to talk to you before we got back into the office on Monday.”

  “Right,” I laugh, “Yeah, that might have been awkward.”

  “I also didn’t want to let the day pass without wishing you a happy birthday,” he goes on, training those gorgeous eyes on me.

  “Oh,” I breathe, very aware of the slender space between us. “Thanks, Emerson.”

  “Has it been a good one so far?” he asks softly.

  “It just got a lot better, to tell you the truth,” I reply, my voice low and quiet. I feel that panicked resistance rising in me the more my want of him grows, but I force myself to get through it. Deal with it. I won’t let my own fears fuck this moment up.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Emerson smiles, “And I hope this isn’t too forward, but I also wanted to make sure to give you your birthday present before the day was out.”

  “What?” I laugh, turning to face him on the couch. “What do you mean, present? We only just ran into each other two days ago. How did you already—?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve been holding onto it for a while,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans. “About eight years, as a matter of fact.”

  The world grinds to a halt around me as he produces a simple black ring box. I stare at the tiny gift, my mind and heart making the obvious leap. Emerson watches my jaw hit the floor and rushes to assure me.

  “Oh god. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he laughs.

  “Right,” I breathe, “Of course.”

  He goes to hand me the box, but at the last second holds it up over his head, out of my reach. His favorite old joke from when we were kids. And given that he’s got even more height on me now, the joke holds. I give him a playful shove, and he finally hands the box to me.

  My hands tremble as I force a placid smile onto my face and open the ring box. Am I relieved that he didn’t just whip out an engagement ring, or was some ridiculous little corner of my mind hoping that he was going to? Whatever the case may be, the question fades out of my mind as I lift the lid of the box and see what’s inside.

  It’s a delicate silver ring, set with one gleaming freshwater pearl. I know I’ve seen this ring before. But where?

  “When we were at the beach for our birthdays, all those years ago,” Emerson says, watching me intently, “We stopped at that one shop you liked so much in town, with all those handmade crafts and things. You stared at this ring for a good five minutes, just admiring it. You didn’t say anything, of course, but I knew you loved it. I waited until you were trying things on in the dressing room and bought it for you. For your eighteenth birthday. But with everything that actually ended up happening that day...I never got a chance to give it to you. Well. Until now, that is.”

  “You’ve...held onto this the whole time?” I whisper, looking up at him in wonder, “You’ve had this ring for eight years, Emerson?”

  “I guess some part of me always hoped I’d have the chance to give it to you someday,” he says softly. “And would you look at that? Here you are.”

  “Here I am,” I smile.

  “I never forgot about you, Abby,” he says, resting a hand on mine, “Not for a second. Through every other relationship, and date, and fling, I always had you at the back of my mind. No one ever measured up to you. I’m not blaming you for my lack of committed relationships, of course. It’s just...I never wanted to settle down with anyone else. Because the person I really cared about was still out there. Only, I’d already met and lost her.”

  “You didn’t lose me,” I whisper, lacing my fingers through his. “We just...misplaced each other for a while.”

  “I’ll take that,” he smiles, inching toward me.

  I force myself to take a deep breath as we move closer, and closer. The heat and nearness of him is making my head spin, and that’s not all. I clench my thighs together, acutely aware of the throbbing need building between my legs. Just being close to him, alone in this room, is enough to turn me on. It dawns on me, for the first time, that I don’t have to say “no” in this moment. Nothing is stopping me from being with Emerson the way I want to be.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” Emerson murmurs fiercely, catching my face in hands.

  “Well. You know how I feel about showing and telling, Sawyer,” I whisper, my voice low and rasping with want.

  “That I do,” he grins, those blue eyes mere inches from mine.

  And with that, he tugs me tightly against him and brings his mouth to mine. I bend my body to his, opening myself without a second thought. The familiar taste of him, still the same after all these years, sets the synapses of my brain sparking, dredging up a million memories. My every barrier and defense goes crumbling down as I run my fingers through his now-cropped brown hair. I press my body flush against his as I feel his tongue sweep against mine. He kisses me swiftly, ferociously, and I match his intensity at every stroke. Now that we’ve given ourselves the permission to touch and be touched by each other, there’s no stopping us.

  “No one’s ever made me feel the way you do,” I gasp, as Emerson pulls me onto his lap, kissing down along my throat.

  “I just know you, Abby,” he growls, his hands running down the length of my body. “My god, you feel exactly the same. The way your body moves, the way you respond to me...”

  “I’ve missed these hands,” I groan softly, as Emerson brushes his fingers against my tender inner thigh, runs his hands over the rise of my ass.

  “They’ve missed you,” he smiles devilishly, catching my lips in his once more.

  I can’t keep my hips from grinding against his as I straddle him on the couch. Our tongues glide against each other, twisting and caressing like I wish our limbs could, right this second. My breath comes hard and fast as that throbbing between my legs grows more intense—more intent on getting what it wants. I can already feel myself getting wet for him as he pulls me flush against him—lets me feel the telltale rise in his jeans.

  “No one’s ever known how to turn me on like you do, either,” he says, his fierce blue eyes hard on my face.

  “I can’t believe we’ve gone so long without this,” I brea
the, taking his gorgeous, sculpted face in my hands.

  “We don’t have to wait any longer,” he replies, turning his face to lay a kiss against my palm. “Not if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t want to,” I whisper, letting my sex rub ever-so-lightly against his stiff cock.

  The feel of him pressing hard against me brings a sudden, untempered cry to my lips. I just can’t help myself as I feel the staggering bulk of him brush against my aching clit, even through layers of clothing. The second my moan escapes into the air, my eyes go wide. I clasp my hands over my mouth, but it’s too late. Riley’s bedroom door flies open, and I scramble off of Emerson’s lap as she appears in the doorway in full action mode. I’m surprised she isn’t carrying a frying pan or something.

  “Are you OK?” she demands, taking in the scene.

  “Oh, sure!” I laugh dementedly, leaping off of the couch. “We’re fine! Sorry!”

  My best friend sees Emerson’s flabbergasted, frustrated expression, not to mention the tousled state of my hair and clothes, and puts two and two together. Her game face is replaced by a knowing grin.

  “I thought I heard you scream,” she says, feigning innocence. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, or—”

  “It’s OK,” I insist, shooting her a look that says, Please shut the fuck up, dude.

  “Is that Emerson Sawyer I see sitting on our couch?” she goes on, crossing her arms with an amused smile on her lips.

  “That it is,” Emerson says, grinning gamely back at her as he stands. He’s rolling with the interruption, just like that night when our post-Dr. Zhivago make-out session was interrupted by our parents—and the announcement of their doomed engagement. He’s always been quick on his feet, my Emerson.

  My Emerson? I ask myself, What’s this about my Emerson, Abby?

  “Man, it’s been forever!” Riley exclaims, “You look great, man.”

  “Thanks. You too,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. The flush fades from his chiseled face. Good. At least one of us is composed. I probably look like a deer caught in the headlights. Who also happens to be in heat.

  “Abby, did you offer our guest a drink?” Riley asks.

  “Oh. No,” I mumble bashfully, “I didn’t. Emerson?”

  “Sure, if you guys are having something,” he says.

  “Vodka tonics good for everyone?” Riley asks, making her way over to our home bar.

  “Make mine a double,” I mutter, trading glances with Emerson. He strides my way and leans close.

  “Later,” he whispers in my ear, “Just you wait.”

  “Are you trying to make me faint or something, Sawyer?” I whisper back.

  “Not just yet,” he winks, and goes to join Riley at the bar.

  “Here we go,” she says, passing out the three cocktails and raising her glass. “To old friends, all grown up and kicking ass.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Emerson laughs.

  “Hell yeah,” I smile, clinking my glass to theirs.

  “And to your birthday, of course!” Riley adds.

  “Of course. Happy birthday, Abby,” Emerson says warmly, taking a sip of his drink.

  My body may still be reeling with having had a moment of contact with Emerson, but the mere knowledge that things between us are back on track is enough to keep me giddy. Besides, I’m here with my best friend and long-lost lover...who I’ve been carrying a torch for almost the entire past decade, despite our asshole parents’ one-day marriage.

  Happy birthday to me, indeed.

  The three of us settle down in the living room, Riley and Emerson catching each other up on their lives and careers. I can’t help but be wildly proud of these two. Neither one of them had any idea what they wanted to do with their futures as high school seniors, but now that they’ve followed their passions, they’ve made incredible lives for themselves. Hell, if anyone’s slacking on the whole Bright Shiny Future thing, it’s me. But maybe now that I’ve got my job at Bastian, things will start to take off for me, too. At least, I hope that’s the case.

  “I don’t suppose you keep in touch with anyone from high school, Emerson?” Riley asks, whipping us up a second round.

  “No one except Courtney Haines,” I tease, nudging him. We’re cozied up on the couch next to each other, casual as can be. Amazing how comfortable it is to be near him.

  “I don’t keep in touch with Courtney Haines,” Emerson laughs, nudging me back, “Or anyone, for that matter. I consider myself a bit of a hometown expat.”

  “That make three of us,” Riley replies, furnishing us with fresh cocktails.

  “In fact, if I hadn’t run into you two again, I doubt I’d ever have run into a familiar face from those glory days,” Emerson goes on.

  “Not even family?” Riley asks without thinking.

  I shoot her a look, and she realizes her mistake at once, but it’s too late now.

  “Well, Mom’s still more or less living in the rehab revolving door,” Emerson says, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “And my dad...He actually passed away, a few years after I left Connecticut with my mom.”

  This is news to me, and I can’t help but wrap my arm supportively around Emerson’s back. As if he needed any more pain to carry around on those broad shoulders of his.

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmur, “I know how hard that is, Emerson.”

  “I actually thought about calling you, when it happened,” he laughs shortly, “I knew you’d gone through the same thing. Couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to talk to more.”

  “You could have, you know,” I say softly.

  “Well,” Emerson sighs, shaking off the sadness of his father’s passing, “You’re here now, right? Guess we’ve just got some more catching up to do. All of us.”

  We all return to our drinks as the conversation resumes. I haven’t eaten a ton today, so my drinks are really doing a number on me already. Just as I start wondering whether we should order a huge pizza to soak up some of this vodka, I remember what tonight actually has in store for me.

  “Shit. What time is it?” I exclaim, standing up suddenly from the couch.

  “Just about seven,” Emerson says, glancing at his watch. “Why, what—?”

  “Oh god,” Riley groans, looking up at me, “Your grandparents.”

  “I’m not dressed. I don’t have time. They’re going to be here any second,” I cry, setting down my empty martini glass and setting off toward my bedroom to get changed. But the second I spin around on my heel, I hear the buzzer ring out.

  Frank and Jillian Rowan have arrived for the evening.

  “Well, shit,” Emerson laughs darkly, “It’s a family reunion! This should be fun.”

  “Relax, Abby,” Riley says, anticipating my panic. “You’re a grown woman. It’s none of their business who you spend your time with.”

  “Try telling them that,” I mutter, anxiously buzzing them up.

  “Look, I’m sure it will be fine,” Emerson sighs, starting to gather his things, “If nothing else, they’ve got that whole snobby, fake-polite thing going on. So it’s not like they’ll start anything with me. Rich people don’t do confrontation. It’s not proper.”

  I’m surprised to feel a twinge of annoyance at Emerson’s generalizations. My grandparents aren’t perfect, but they’re the only family I have these days. They’re the only people who have supported me through my life, even if that support has been more financial than emotional. I’m not OK with Emerson slamming them.

  “Aren’t you a rich person now, too?” I ask curtly, crossing my arms.

  Emerson raises an eyebrow, taken aback by my tone.

  “Sure. But I earned my money,” he replies. “I haven’t just been inheriting my advantages and coasting along.”

  “Like I’m doing, you mean?” I shoot back. Now I’m really getting pissed off. I thought that he, of all people, wouldn’t be judgmental about something like money. But I guess maybe I was wrong. Maybe having money has c
hanged him.

  “You know I’m not talking about you,” he says, actually shocked by my reaction. “Abby, you don’t coast. You work your ass off, you’re great at what you do—”

  “Well. When you spend your whole life inheriting your advantages, you have a lot of time to devote to your interests,” I say drily.

  “Don’t put words in my mouth,” Emerson says sternly.

  “Don’t spout orders at me,” I return.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Riley says, placing herself between us, “Back to your corners, you two.”

  “He started it,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

  “Excuse me?” Emerson scoffs.

  “Oh my god,” Riley groans, “Just because you’re in the same room again, doesn’t mean you get to revert back to your angst-ridden teenage selves.”

  Before I can reply, the doorbell chimes. My grandparents are right outside.

  “That’s my cue,” Emerson says, walking toward the door with me. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t—”

  “Me too,” I say quickly, pausing before the door. Riley is kind enough to go back into her room for the moment.

  “Can I at least give you one last birthday kiss?” Emerson asks, catching my hand and placing the ring box onto my palm. I nod, clutching the box to my chest. Emerson lowers his lips to mine, giving me a sweet, swift kiss goodnight. I pocket the box, giddy and flushed, and pull open the front door.

  My grandparents are revealed to us in all their finery. I watch them go stock-still, forced smiles paralyzed in place, as they see Emerson beside me. It takes them a moment, but recognition floods in at last. And the second it does, the goodwill drains from their eyes in an instant, replaced by sheer revulsion.

  “Is that—?” my grandmother breathes.

  “It is,” Emerson smiles, drawing himself up to his full, towering height. “Good to see you again, Jillian. Frank.”

  “What the hell is he doing here?” my grandfather says to me, refusing to look at Emerson for another second.