Between the Pages: A Novel

by Amanda Richardson

  “Emerson,” she says with thin lips and wild eyes, “umm . . .” She looks like she’s seconds away from bursting out laughing.

  I sigh because her face gives everything away. “She already knows, doesn’t she?” I should be furious because it’s a huge violation of the contract, but I can’t help but laugh. “Note to self: Finley Matthews can’t keep secrets.”

  She cackles and throws her head back. “I’m sorry. My best friend is immune to liability, I guess.” I love it when she laughs like that. It’s so uninhibited and free. I wish she laughed like that more often. She looks at me and shrugs. I casually put my arm around the back of her seat, and she surprises me by nuzzling her head into the crook of my shoulder. “I drank too much,” she whines, closing her eyes and sighing.

  “You gonna hurl?” the driver asks, eyeing us in the rearview mirror with a panicked look.

  “No,” Finley says. “Everything’s just a little . . . dizzy.”

  “’Kay,” the driver answers suspiciously.

  “Why don’t you take a nap?” I suggest, and she nods slowly.

  “Yeah . . .” she trails off. “Isaac is nice, by the way.” I tense. She must notice because she sits up and stares at me curiously.

  “Yeah. He’s a nice guy,” I answer as impassively as possible.

  “Is he single?” she asks.

  I grit my teeth together. “Yep.” It’s the truth, but I hate that it’s the truth.

  “Hmm.” She leans back into my arm. I turn my head slightly and smell her hair. Coconut. “If you don’t want me to date him, just say so,” she says quietly.

  I formulate an answer before responding. “He’s just kind of a slut. I don’t want you to get hurt. It might . . . complicate things.”

  At first I think she’s fallen asleep, because she’s quiet for what seems like several minutes. Then she sits up once more and smirks.

  “Emerson, he won’t complicate things. We might, though.”

  I study her face, hoping it will reveal how she feels about her statement, but she seems impressively neutral. She’s right—we almost did something stupid tonight. There’s no point in denying it anymore, but we can work together to prevent it from happening again. The first thing that has to go are those lacy shorts.

  “Yeah.” My voice is hoarse. I look away. “I think we should stay sober around each other from now on,” I suggest, and I feel her nod against my arm. I take a deep breath, relishing in the feeling of her against me. It may be the last time.

  “I agree,” she whispers sleepily. Soon, she’s fast asleep.

  I watch the other cars drive past us. I study the shore until it disappears, replaced with industrial buildings, and as we get closer to the city, lights and traffic. I haven’t been back to the city since the day I had breakfast with Finley at the diner. I tend to find the vibrant go go go of New York far too distracting to write. I need silence—I need the ocean. Though I do miss my one-bedroom in the East Village, I prefer the house at the beach most of the time.

  When we get to Finley’s apartment, I wake her gently by nudging her. She sits up and looks around, confused.

  “That was fast,” she slurs. “Oh my God, I’m still drunk.”

  I laugh. “You were asleep most of the drive. And yeah, you are still drunk.” I look at the driver. “We’ll be back in a bit. Please keep the meter running.”

  “Right on,” is all he says, turning his emergency lights on and pulling a book out of the glove compartment. I glance at the cover and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Do you like the book so far?” I ask him, and Finley glances over my shoulder. Her eyes go wide.

  “Eh. It started out slow, and now I don’t really know what’s happening.”

  I frown. “Well, Kate is depressed. That’s pretty clear from the get go. You see, you have to understand how it—”

  “Let’s go,” Finley interrupts. She pulls me out behind her as we trek up the steps of her apartment building. “You can’t get defensive about your work. He bought your book. Just be glad he’s reading it.”

  I pull my head back in surprise. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

  “Please tell me you’re not one of those authors who read all of their bad reviews,” she groans, and we walk to the elevator. I stay ashamedly quiet, and she giggles. “Focus on the positive, Emerson. Don’t worry if someone doesn’t like your book. Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion. The world remains beautiful and diverse because of that.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” We step into the elevator, and without thinking, I push the number three.

  Finley stiffens next to me, and her eyes slowly travel up to mine. “Emerson, how do you know what floor I’m on?”

  Shit.

  “Uh . . . you mentioned it once. Number 304, right? I assumed it was the third floor,” I say quickly, shrugging nonchalantly.

  “Yeah,” she answers skeptically.

  She crosses her arms and when we get to the third floor, we step out. I see her reach into her purse and pull out her keys. Before she turns the lock, she pulls back. “Shh.” She places her ear against the door. She listens for a few seconds. “Geoff is in there!” she hisses.

  I take initiative and throw open the door, startling Finley and the two people on the other side of the door. We step in and Hannah is sitting on the couch with her legs pulled into her chest. She’s crying, and a young guy with a poorly executed man bun is threateningly standing over her.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Finley asks, directing her anger at Geoff. I’m not going to lie, seeing her like an angry momma bear is a huge turn-on. Hannah jumps up and walks over to Finley, who envelops her into a tight hug.

  “You have weird tattoos on your body,” she blubbers. “Please tell me the one on your neck is fake.”

  Finley laughs and squeezes her tighter. I look over at Geoff and glare at him.

  “Hannah, this is Emerson,” Finley says, introducing us. Hannah pulls away and shakes my hand.

  “Hi. God, I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she says, tears streaming down her face. She’s beautiful despite the crying.

  “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” I add, shaking her hand.

  “What’s going on with Geoff?” Finley whispers, and I turn my head in his direction with what I hope is my best menacing stare. He looks away nervously and puts his hands in his pockets.

  “I-I dunno,” Hannah stutters. “He showed up like twenty minutes ago and started yelling at me, begging me to take him back . . .” Her voice breaks on the last word. Finley pulls her into another hug and glares at Geoff.

  “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” She narrows her eyes at him, and Hannah goes to stand by the door, trying to clean herself up. While Finley reprimands Geoff, I walk over to Hannah.

  “Hey,” I say gently, smiling. “I was wondering if you wanted to come back to the Hamptons with Finley and me? The cab is outside.”

  Her brown eyes widen. “What? Are you serious?” I nod. “But I . . .” She looks around at the apartment and shrugs. “Fuck it. Okay,” she says, sounding a tiny bit excited.

  “Why don’t you go pack? We’ll get rid of Geoff.”

  She nods and bites her lip. “Thanks, Emerson.”

  After she retreats to her room, I turn to find Finley standing in front of Geoff with balled fists at her side.

  “Just leave, okay?” she says, exasperated.

  “This is ridiculous. It’s between Hannah and me. You’re always getting involved in our issues. Just stay the fuck out of it, Finley.” His tone of voice raises my hackles. I don’t like the way he’s talking to her. I slowly walk over to them and put my arm around Finley. Geoff looks from me to her, and back to me again. “What, are you two a couple now?”

  Finley tenses. She shakes my arm off. “He’s my boss, and he gratefully offered to come rescue Hannah from your cheating ass.” She looks at me with fierce eyes, and then turns back to Geoff. “Oh, and by
the way, I’m totally changing the locks tomorrow. So you better grab all of your shit and leave. Or I’ll call the cops.”

  “Dude,” Geoff hisses, shaking his head, “you’re such a bitch.”

  Now I’m the one balling my fists. “Geoff,” I say sternly, “I think it’s best if you leave.”

  Geoff once again shakes his head as he paces the living room. “Fine. But none of this was my fault,” he explains.

  What the ever-living fuck?

  “No? So your coworker’s vagina just fell onto your cock?” Finley retorts.

  I cover my mouth to keep from laughing. Remind me never to get on Finley’s bad side. Fuck, she is fiercely loyal.

  “Whatever. You don’t know the specifics.” He watches me before saying the next thing, as if he knows he’s crossing a boundary. “Honestly, are you even surprised? Hannah is so fucking obsessed with making it big. We never have sex anymore. I bet she didn’t tell you that part.”

  Finley blinks twice, and I take a step away. “Are you saying Hannah deserved to be cheated on?” Finley growls, and this time, she’s flexing her hands as if she’s ready to punch Geoff. She would never do that.

  Would she?

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” Geoff replies boldly. “Maybe if she weren’t so concerned about her career, she would’ve seen the signs.”

  I don’t even see Finley’s fist moving forward. My eyes don’t register the quick movement. But I do hear the sickening sound of Finley’s fist making contact with Geoff’s nose. It’s the most satisfying sound I’ve heard in a long time. I leap forward to grab Finley before he retaliates. Geoff bends in half and moans.

  “Leave,” I bark, holding a squirming Finley in my arms so he can’t hurt her. He doesn’t seem the type to hit a girl, but you never know.

  “What the fuck?” Geoff yells, using his sleeve to stop the bleeding. “You’re such a cunt.” He grabs a duffel bag before walking to the door.

  “I may be a cunt, but at least I don’t have a small dick.” She’s breathing heavily as she puts her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about that.” She points to his crotch and swirls her hand around.

  Geoff just shakes his head and leaves, swearing under his breath. When the door closes, I hold my hand out.

  “High five, you badass.” She giggles. We slap hands quickly, but she yelps in pain.

  “Ow! My fist hurts,” she wails before running to the kitchen and grabbing some ice out of the freezer. Hannah comes out of her bedroom with a large, bright-pink tote bag.

  “What was all of that commotion?” she asks, eyeing me first and then Finley. “What happened to your hand?”

  “Finley punched Geoff,” I say proudly.

  “You what?” Hannah shrieks, and then jumps up and down.

  “And she told him he has a small penis,” I add, and Hannah grins widely at Finley. I see it then—the love they share. I remember how Finley described her—how she’s always felt the need to take care of Hannah. And now I can see that Hannah gives love just as freely as Finley. It’s an equal friendship, but in a way, it’s deeper than friendship. They’re like sisters. I can understand this. I feel the same way about Isaac and even Brady.

  I walk over to Finley and examine her fist. “Does it hurt to move your fingers?” I ask, taking an ice cube and running it gently over the broken skin. She hisses in pain.

  “No. I think it’s just a cut.” She looks up at me and I take her hand, studying it closer. I lace my fingers with hers, moving them around. She doesn’t make a sound, but her eyes darken at the contact. Hannah clears her throat. I release her hand.

  “Yeah, I don’t think anything’s broken. Where are your plastic bags?” I ask. Finley points to a drawer next to the sink. I rummage around, finally finding a large, gallon-sized one. I walk to the freezer and fill it with about ten ice cubes. I grab a dish towel and cover the bag, handing it to Finley. “Let’s ice it on the way. When we get back to the house, I’ll put a bandage on, okay?” She nods, and Hannah smirks. I catch Hannah’s eye, and she immediately looks down.

  As we all pile into the cab with Finley in the middle, the driver turns around quickly and eyes me up and down.

  “Dude,” he says, holding his hand out as a peace offering. “I had no idea you were the author. I’m such a dick. I didn’t figure it out until just now. Loving the book. Can you please sign it for me?”

  “Hey, man,” I say, chuckling. I take the book and sign with a pen that he hands me. “It’s fine. Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion.” I hand the book back to him.

  As we begin our two-hour drive back to the house, I look over at Finley. She just smiles and rests her head on my shoulder.

  Things may have changed between us, but I’d like to think it’s for the better. On some level, I think Finley and I belong together. Though she may not see it that way yet, I do. Everything happens for a reason. I’m not sure if meeting Finley was fate, or just a funny coincidence considering my past, but somehow, she makes me want to believe in something. And for once in my life, I feel hope.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Finley

  Hannah stayed for two glorious weeks. I scheduled the locks to be changed, and despite the years she gave to Geoff, his cruel actions and words did their job in breaking through the hurt. She spent time at the beach thinking through his betrayal and lack of respect and realizes she is worth more. Thank God. She deserves so much better than that scumbag. It’s been amazing to watch her transformation, and I’ve loved my friend all the more for it.

  The best part of her visit was how she diffused the tension between Emerson and me, effectively ensuring a repeat of the tattoo night didn’t happen. The worst part? She’s totally seen through our façade, and has called me out on it multiple times.

  Today she leaves to go back to the city and pulls me aside as we wait for the taxi.

  “Finn,” she starts, placing her hands on my shoulders and staring at me intently, “I know you won’t admit it, because you deny it every time, but something is a-brewin’ between you two.” I open my mouth to argue, but she holds a hand up to silence me. “I’ve watched you guys for fourteen days now—even when you didn’t know I was watching. The long glances, the quick smiles, the way your face lights up when you’re around him . . . I’ve never seen you like this. Not with any of the guys you’ve ever dated.” A few seconds later, Emerson jogs up to us, and she smirks knowingly. “Hey,” she says casually.

  “Hey,” he says, patting her awkwardly on the arm. “It was nice having you. Come back anytime.”

  She nods and blushes. No one can escape the charm of Emerson Whittaker. “I’ll definitely take you up on that.” She turns to me. “Be good.” I lean forward to hug her. She takes the opportunity of close proximity to whisper in my ear. “I don’t care what you decide to do. I just want you to be happy.” She pulls away and smiles before turning to Emerson. “Take care of her,” she instructs.

  “I will,” he answers, gazing at me. It’s been two weeks since we almost kissed, but I’ve been just as aware of him throughout that time. The pride I saw in his face when he told Brady about how I punched Geoff did a lot for my wounded heart—both my pain for Hannah and also the way Geoff blamed me for the relationship issues. It still stung a little. Emerson eased that pain for Hannah and me with his charismatic jokes and delicious buttermilk pancakes every morning.

  Emerson and I worked separately throughout the days, but dinners had been fun. Easy. I was learning more about him during the days, but also seeing more of him in his relaxed banter at night. He was less of an enigma, but more attractive as a result.

  Having girly time with Hannah over a glass or two of wine each night has been crucial, and made me realize just how much I’ve missed her since I’ve been gone.

  In Emerson’s gaze I feel . . . safe. Wanted. Yet it’s still too intense, so I have to look away.

  The taxi pulls up. “You’re crazy for calling Uber,” she calls over her shoulder
to Emerson. “I probably owe you like a thousand dollars.” She waves and the driver piles her suitcase into the trunk.

  “I’ll bill you,” Emerson jokes, and she flips him off playfully. She gets in and waves again, smiling widely. The taxi pulls away, and the farther away it gets, the more panicked I feel.

  Emerson and I are alone for the first time since the night of the power outage. In fact, those “temporary” tattoos hadn’t proven to be very temporary. I tried washing them off, but they don’t want to budge. It’s like they want to continue presenting themselves as evidence of that night. Even today, the neck tattoo is still a fading, decomposed blob of a memory.

  When I look back at Emerson, he’s watching me intently. Is it just me, or was he looking at the tattoo on my neck?

  “So,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

  “Better get writing,” I say, brushing past him and going into the house. I hear him follow me inside.

  “Finley.” Why is it that whenever he says my name like that, all gravely and hoarse, it makes me want to forego all rational thinking and strip my clothes off?

  I turn around reluctantly, unsure of how I’ll react when I see his face. When my eyes meet his, I grip the bannister for support. He’s watching me hesitantly, as if he’s just as unsure about all of this as I am. He licks his lips and furrows his brow, taking a step forward. A smile dangles from the corner of his mouth, and the muscles holding me up begin to weaken.

  “Yeah?” I ask, my voice high and quiet. I swallow once. I reflexively take a step backward, away from him and his powerful pheromones.

  “I’m going to send you chapter eight,” he says steadily.

  “Oh,” I say, nodding. “Sure. I’ll start working on it right away.”

  He smiles and walks past me, pinning me against the wall on the stairwell. He doesn’t say or do anything, even though the close proximity sends me reeling.