Fuck it.
I hopped up on one leg, then had both knees on the bar. The people around me lit up at the sight of my tush, in tight denim, on full display. Laughing, I reached for Spence’s hands. He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me down, his arms curling around me.
My skin was sticky, I had dirty dish rags sticking out of my back pockets, and I was pretty sure my black tank was stained with various cheap flavors of rum. But he held me like I’d just put on the most beautiful ball gown and he was about to lead me into the first dance at the ball.
“Where are we going?” I said as he led me through the throng.
He found a small pocket in between the tables lining the back and the bar. “Right here looks good.”
“For what?” But I already had an inkling, with the way he hooked my waist and held one of my hands out.
He dipped his head until our lips met, and incongruously, it was the most tender kiss he’d ever bestowed. So much so that my knees turned to gummy bears, my arms to licorice, and my lips to cinnamon hearts. Sweet. Soft. Spicy. The sugar of tenderness coated my entire body as music thumped and people heaved and yells carried the thunder of the room, cracking lightning in the background.
“I want to dance with you,” he said when he pulled back ever so slightly.
With the way he studied me, the lowered lids, those lashes of his getting caught in his hair as he blinked, I couldn’t laugh or push him away, or say that was ridiculous—I didn’t want to.
And so, I gave into his sway, and we turned, and danced, molding together in a ribbon of curves and half-spins.
“You amaze me,” he said.
I paused in our dancing, my arms wrapping around his neck. “You said I could do anything.”
After a moment of hesitation, I lifted up on my toes and kissed him, but this time, it was his turn to become candy, to taste my sugar-sweet meaning and finally let him know what he’d been doing to me since the day I met him. I already had the building blocks, but Spence provided the liquid cement. He gave me the strength to pile my bricks and stick them in place.
I came down on my heels, and his eyes took a few seconds to open. They blinked with the stun of emotion I’d thrown behind that kiss.
I said, “I think I finally believe you.”
“Ems, your dad texted me,” Becca said the next day as I passed her in the den. She sat cross-legged with two shot glasses and a bottle of Maker’s Mark beside them.
“I assume those shots aren’t for you and your imaginary friend,” I said, my hands out as I spun around and searched for my purse.
“Not tonight, anyway. Jade and I are going out—probs we’ll hit up your bar and annoy you for free drinks.” She poured then held out a shot to me. “Want some salve before your shift?”
“I’ll be smelling that and then some all night. I’m good,” I said, now on my knees and checking under the coffee table. “Where the hell did I put it?”
“Your purse?” Becca asked. She pointed. “Dumped next to the kitchen sink. Don’t ask me why.”
I sat on my haunches. “How long have you known what I’ve been looking for?”
She shrugged. “Pretty much when you entered this room all frazzled.”
I sighed, but this time took the shot she offered. It coated my throat with acid that quickly turned into warm comfort. Coughing, I choked out, “Is this a sign of things to come?”
“Well, you definitely need to call your parents. The fact that your dad has resorted to me to check on your safety leads me to believe he’s reached desperate measures.”
I groaned. “I’ve been a horrible daughter lately.”
Usually, I called my parents weekly, letting them know what I was up to and that everything was fine. Both my dad and mom were born in middle America, and the thought of their daughter backing up and moving to a big, bad urban landscape gave them more crow’s feet than I think they’d bargained for. But, they allowed me to spread my wings, though only after I received a weekly lecture from my father in the month leading up to my high school graduation. His terms were that I provide proof of successful completion of self-defense classes and if not weekly, then bi-weekly, I would always call home. I’d missed three-and-a-half weeks.
My parents, over-protective Care Bears that they were, were some of the best around, and anything they asked of me, I usually tried to do. My dad worked hard running the local grocery store and my mom was responsible for the books. They labored hand-and-foot to give me the education and freedom they’d missed out on, and no amount of phone calls and “I love you’s” could truly express to them how much I appreciated it.
Which is why, right now, I sucked. They didn’t even know about Spence yet.
But—what could I tell them? Were we boyfriend and girlfriend? Exclusively dating? We’d never had that talk, despite us being glued to one another.
“As soon as you call, you know your dad will turn into butterscotch pudding again,” Becca said. She’d met Mr. Beauregard when I’d moved into the freshman dorms and Becca was my assigned roommate. He took one look at her motorcycle jacket, ripped jeans, and the lips of bottles poking out from under her dorm-regulated bed, grabbed my elbow and pulled me out of there.
Becca had probably taken one look at my sunflower-print sundress and single-plaited braid down my back before she’d called after us, “If I don’t corrupt her, someone else will!”
And that was the beginning of our beautiful friendship.
I’d eventually convinced Dad to come back into the room and that requesting another roommate would be a huge administrative headache that could take months. During that time I’d be stuck with this Rebecca Reese anyway. And so, Becca met my father’s grim fear with a bright smile and an offer to take us out to dinner to get to know us better.
There, she managed to regale my father with stories of being born and raised in Seattle, a place that seemed worlds away from a world I’d just mustered the guts to leave. She proved her smarts, explaining that she was on partial scholarship and was majoring in political science. I’d sat back with my diet coke and pondered my dad as he initiated an excitable political discussion, argued the law and regulations of New York and the benefits of a new governor with the need to protect civil rights, and my chin drooped in surprise. Jack Beauregard, a quiet man who preferred the therapy of stacking cans in alphabetical order to going to any social engagement and participating in small talk, was in an educated debate with my rebel roommate who more than likely would be feeding me shots as soon as his back was to us.
By the end of dinner, Jack was singing Becca’s praises and explaining to me the importance of not judging a book by its cover as I navigated through college. Becca had also ensured that Dad’s scotch never went past half-full.
“I agree, Dad,” I said, patting his arm lovingly. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay at the hotel with me tonight?”
My mother, though she couldn’t be here due to running the store, insisted that Dad book a hotel and stay at least one night with me, just in case my roommate made me uncomfortable and I wished for one more night with my family before my life changed forever.
“I’m sure,” I said to him while watching Becca walk ahead of us, humming a tune. “I think I like my new roomie.”
“You know what? Me too, darlin’”
“Love you, Pops,” I said, and laid my head on his shoulder as we walked.
He kissed the top of my head. “I love you, too. And I’m gonna miss you so much.”
That memory kept me on the floor in front of Becca, the guilt weighing heavy in my throat.
“Did the whiskey freeze you?” Becca asked.
I shook myself out of it and stood up and hugged her. “Lost in thought. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“With free drinks in hand, I hope!” she said as I rounded into the kitchen.
I pulled out my phone from my purse, scrolling and finding my parent’s number as I waved t
o Becca and left for the bar.
#
After a twenty-minute catch-up with my parents, I felt lighter. Things were good at home and I’d given them a hint of a boy I’d started seeing and was really liking—though not too much, because Dad had the nose of a bloodhound and before I knew it, he’d master social media and find Spence in a hot second. There was no way my father could interfere before I’d even be given a chance to figure out what he’d be interfering with. But after hearing their voices, sounds which brought memories of nights at the dinner table and homemade chicken pot pie, I’d been warmed to the core, despite the chilled weather and threat of rain as I walked to work.
Upon entering, Oliver’s was sparsely populated. I’d pulled the four-to-ten PM shift, one that most bartenders hated because it brought in the least tips, but since I’d been on the popular nights for the last couple of weeks, it was time to give it a rest. Plus, it gave me the opportunity to catch up on some readings for class, i.e: finalize the proposal for Ming before I emailed it to her and garnered her review.
A shadow covered the glare on the iPad I was working on, borrowed from Spence for the night. The words were out of my mouth before I bothered to look up. “What can I get you?”
“Hi, Emme.”
I blacked out the screen, registering who it was. “Ed. It’s been a while. Where’ve you been?”
“Around,” he said, and he didn’t break his stare. It reminded me of an unblinking reptile, the way he could hold a person’s gaze without his eyeballs ever seeming to dry out.
“Drink?” I said.
“Sure. Yuengling draft would be nice.”
I nodded, slid the iPad under the bar, and got to work. At the moment, Ed was the only one at the bar. He took a stool and made himself comfortable.
The drink’s head overflowed, spilling down the edges and dripping onto my hand. “Shit,” I muttered and grabbed the towel stuffed in the back of my jeans. I was conscious of his attention, the way he followed my every move. I looked up, taking extra time to clean up the rim, wishing more people were in the bar to keep me busy.
“Here you are.” I slid the beer over to him.
“I don’t normally drink Yuengling,” he said. His long fingers curved over the glass, pulling it closer.
“I know. Usually you’re a Bud Light kinda guy,” I said, then inwardly cursed. My habit of innocent small talk with regulars was coming through, despite the severe jeebies Ed’s presence was giving me. The way he’d shoved me the last time he saw me, the anger in those depths, had me mentally scolding myself to take a step back. He was not worth the tips.
“You know my drink,” he said, glancing up from the swirls of foam. He brightened with a smile, a flash of white before he chugged down amber.
“Uh, sure I do,” I said with a careless shrug. “Wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t.”
“I know people’s drinks, too,” he said once he’d set his pint down. “I know yours. You like tequila, even though you told me before your favorite was whiskey.”
I took out my towel again, wringing it in my hands as I rested a hip close to the bottles stacked on the wall. “How would you know that?”
“You lied to me. Last time I saw you, you were letting all these guys take shots with you.” Ed pinned me with a look. “You don’t remember?”
The night I’d stomped over to Spence’s. I remembered it, all right. It was one of the best and worst nights I could’ve given myself. “I do,” I said, and licked my lips. “I just didn’t know you'd stuck around.”
“I did.”
Awkward. That was how I’d label Ed Carver. I prayed someone would wander in and order a drink soon.
“I’m here a lot.”
Aiming for a light-hearted smile, I responded, “You’re a true regular.”
“And this,” he held up his beer, “This is your boyfriend’s favorite drink.”
I stiffened.
“I thought I’d give it a try, see why he likes it.” Ed grimaced. “It’s very strong. I’m not sure why he likes this, Emme. I’m not sure why you like him.”
“That’s…that would be my business, Ed.”
“Yeah,” he waved me off, but wasn’t drunk at all. “You’re different now. Now that you’re with him. Getting drunk off tequila, crawling over this bar, dirty dancing with him despite all your customers watching you. Next thing I know, you’ll be offering to carry his watermelons.”
I scrunched my brows.
Ed sighed. “Youth these days.”
“You want to switch to Bud Light?” I asked and gestured to his almost-empty glass.
“I think this is the very…” Ed paused to drag his tongue across his teeth. “This is the very spot you went on all fours for him.”
Oh, Jesus. I quelled the disgust creeping along my expression and turned away from him. “Enjoy your drink, Ed. I have to go to the other side of the bar, now.”
“I didn’t meant to upset you!” he said, too loudly. “I’m only saying, you’re a good girl. You’re sweet. Kind. Always nice to me when nobody else is. I’m trying to protect you because I don’t think he likes you the way—the way you deserve to be liked. He needs to be gentle with you, to handle you with precious care…the way you—”
“Ed.” I moved closer to him, the heebies I felt with him flying out the window the instant he insinuated that my finding myself could only mean I was whoring myself out. I bent close to his face, catching the scent of his stale breath. His mouth parted at the proximity. “Have you ever considered that idea that I don’t want to be a good girl?”
Ed’s face lost color. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m no china doll.” A sick motivation in me was relishing this, the horror in Ed’s expression, the very idea that the Emme he idealized wasn’t even close to the real thing. The shove, the strange entitlement he had to knowing things about me, the judgment that followed my decision to date who I wanted to date—I was over that shit. “Maybe he’s turning me bad but I enjoy every minute. Every night I spend with Spence, every second he has with me, he shows me things I’d never even dreamed of.” The next part, I whispered. “I like what he does to me.”
He inhaled severely. “You don’t mean any of this—”
“Enjoy Spence’s beer, Ed. It’s on the house.”
Ed stumbled to a stand, the stool falling behind him and sending a crashing sound in the quiet bar.
“I’m—I’m going,” he said, hands up, though his eyes pled with me. “Stop changing, Emme. Just stop it.”
Ed stumbled out of the bar, and I tracked him until he was well and truly gone. Once assured, I grabbed glasses out of the dishwasher and dropped two right in the spot where the rubber mat didn’t fully cover the tiled floor. They shattered and I swore.
“You okay, miss?” someone said, leaning over the bar to see me as I bent down and started cleaning. He must’ve come in when Ed exited.
I stopped, using the towel to cover my shaking hands. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Happens all the time.”
“All right, then.”
It didn’t take long for the trembling to ebb, but the weight against my chest remained the entire shift. Ed could come through those doors at any second, he could pin me with that unnatural stare of his, sputter information about me that I had no idea he possessed, shout at me, reach over and grab me, anything. I’d never felt more exposed. I’d never appreciated the consequences of baiting someone the way I did now.
Yet, I didn’t text Spence. He was supposed to pick me up after my shift, but I didn’t want to give him any reason to come sooner. He’d begun studying for the LSATs and was taking a few practice tests this evening. Spence had tried to hide his nerves and stress, but I saw it in the corners of his eyes, his mouth. This was important to him, and a text from me freaking out about a weird—but harmless—conversation with Ed Carver wasn’t worth distracting him. Spence would come in seconds, he’d hunt down Ed, ensure he never backed me into a corner again, but that wasn’t wh
at I wanted. I wanted to protect myself. And I could handle this. In fact, I did handle it. Ed was gone, I was finishing the remainder of my shift, and while Ming’s proposal would not be worked on for the rest of the night due to being unable to get out of my own head, I still had the morning to complete it.
I could do this. I could handle another asshole.
When ten o’clock hit, I handed the reins over to Carlo and Enrique. I slid on my jacket, pulling my long hair out of its hold, and shouldered my purse.
As soon as I stepped through the increasing crowd and to the door, I’d finally noticed just how bad it was bucketing rain out. Strangely, I hadn’t received a text from Spence warning me about the weather. If he was out there waiting, I would’ve expected him to say something, whether it be a sexy, I can’t wait to see you wet, or a practical, hope to hell you brought an umbrella because I’ve only been able to find parking two avenues away.
But, nothing.
Using the small awning as protection from the rain, coming down so hard it was white paint streaks against the light behind me, I called him, but only got his voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m outside but don’t see you. Are you here?”
I hung up, sent a follow-up text, then waited with my arms crossed against the cold. Unlike Spence’s imaginary text, I did not remember to bring an umbrella. When ten minutes passed with no call back, I tried again, but got his voicemail once more. Resorting to Plan B, I checked Uber rates, but damn it, the surge pricing was insane. And all yellow cabs would be taken at this point, due to the problem of pelting ran = pedestrians scrambling = no vacant cabs for Emme.
My apartment was only a fifteen minute walk away.
If I stuck to busy streets and utilized a combination of running and jay-walking, I could make it home in ten. Should I wait for Spence to call back, suck up the pricing with Uber, or spend ten minutes in the rain? The latter sounded the most promising, because it meant a hot bubble bath would come immediately after, hopefully including Spence. There was no telling how long Spence would be or how long a summoned car would take.
From This Day Forward Page 15
