“I’m almost fine. Please be my shield,” he says.
I hear all sorts of voices as we pass. Smith ducks into the bathroom, but the whispers do not stop.
Were they kissing?
Didn’t she quit?
Is anyone going to tell Daniela?
I knew there was something going on with them.
I can’t believe I kissed him.
I can’t believe it was that amazing.
My hair in my face annoys me, so I pull out my emergency hair tie and my phone.
I don’t care it if it’s a wedding and I just got a blowout. I do my best thinking with my hair in a messy bun.
My hands tremble as I re-buckle my shoes, and my legs are still unsure as I stand up on them.
Usually Vincent would be sliding up a chair to get all the details, but the DJ has cleared the dance floor for him and his love. I will probably get lots of text messages at two a.m.
“Mr. and Mr. Ricci-Jones are about to start their first dance, so gather around them to feel their love,” he announces.
Quentin, Smith’s best friend and fellow partner, looks dapper in his navy blue plaid suit as he offers a hand to his groom. Vincent’s baby blue plaid suit compliments his new husband’s as they embrace and sway to Etta James’s “At Last.”
I watch Quentin’s mother and aunts, draped in gold and navy, swaying as they watch him happy, at last. I watch Quentin’s father standing next to Vincent’s father, clinging to each other, both so proud and happy. Vincent’s mom has passed, but I know she’s looking down at him, proud of his baby boy.
Quentin looks at my best friend like he hung the world, and I feel an ache in my gut.
I realized long ago that romantic love might never happen for me.
I’ve been disappointed too many times. With a long-term relationship that failed, with all those dates that never went anywhere. With short relationships that fizzled and ended for so many different reasons. How I begged men to love me and they called me crazy.
As the song builds to a crescendo of violins and emotions, I see Smith walking out of the bathroom, buttoning his jacket.
Our eyes catch, and his mouth flicks to a smirk, disarming me. The memory of his lips on me send pulses of heat throughout me.
I can think of a million reasons it won’t work with him.
Nessa appears in front of me, cutting off Smith’s prowl. He turns around quickly in such a dorky, cute way, I can’t help but grin.
“Spill,” she says. “How was it?”
The best kiss I’ve ever had. My chin still stings with his scruff burn, but if I close my eyes, I can still feel his fingers on my face.
I could orgasm at least every day for a week replaying that over and over.
My hopes are reaching new heights, and it’s best I just cut it off at the knees now.
All I see with Smith is a big, future broken heart.
“I need to get out of here,” I say. Nessa’s black eyebrows knit together in confusion.
“Why do you want to leave? Vincent says they’re going to play ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ soon. For you.”
That is my jam. I bite my lip.
“Also, the cake. White cake with lemon filling. Vincent promised me that was one of the options. Our favorite.”
God, I love that too.
“I just…um…”
I’m so scared. Smith is the epitome of everything that has hurt me in a man, in an irresistible, virile man package.
The only way to stay happy is if this never happens between us.
“Oh my God, he’s coming,” I say as I dunk behind her and under the table.
“Why are you acting like you shoplifted?” Nessa asks. “It looked pretty hot in the elevator.”
It was. It really, really was.
“Cassie,” Smith says, and I say dammit under my breath. I stand from my crouching position behind my friend.
“Why are you hiding?” he asks.
“I dropped…my eyelash.” I pinch my left eyelash set and smile. “All better.”
“I’m glad we got out,” Smith says. He looks down and then back up again.
“So am I,” I agree with a fake laugh and a dismissive hand flip.
Please leave. You look way too good, and I want to eat your face again.
“I have to go,” I blurt out, and I immediately flip open the Uber app. At this moment, I regret getting rid of my car. Right after I quit the firm, I sold it to save on expenses. I now rely on public transport and Ubers, and it’s never been a problem. Until now.
“I have my car. I can take you home,” Smith offers.
“No!” I yell. I will straddle him again in his driver’s seat in some parking garage, I just know it.
I wander over to the gifts and guest book table, scribbling my well wishes on the guest book picture frame and dropping off my card in a flower-adorned wicker basket. Smith, unfortunately, follows me.
“Total Eclipse of the Heart” begins playing. I will not turn around, Bonnie Tyler.
“The wedding isn’t over,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I know. But I have to go,” I say.
“That kiss was really, really nice,” he whispers, leaning in as we walk at a mall-walker pace toward the stairs. I’m not getting in an elevator right now, possibly not ever again. “More than nice.”
His voice burns my skin like hot metal, and I need to remind myself to breathe.
I reach the stairs. Now I’m in an impossible situation. Stairwells have always creeped me out, since the lighting always casts low-budget horror movie feels and who knows who is lurking, waiting to snatch me. The only way I’m getting out of a kidnapping is talking, and I’m too exhausted to talk right now.
My need for security trumps my desire to avoid Smith so I don’t tell him to get lost.
We are quiet for two flights of stairs.
He’s the first one to speak. “I would like to see you again. After the wedding. Preferably not in an elevator.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
The stairwell echoes with my heels as I try not to hold the decrepit handrail, probably lined with hepatitis. He follows me at four steps behind.
“I’m not following you. I’m just making sure you get into the car safely.”
When we reach the ground floor, I breathe a sigh of relief to feel the warmth of the lobby, with its gold details and high ceilings, and tourists milling in and out. There is a family at the entrance, standing there to absorb the splendor.
I turn around, facing Smith. His hands are in his pockets again. His salt-and-pepper hair a mess, probably from my hands.
I outstretch my hand to shake so there is no confusion. “It was a pleasure to see you again. I forgive you.”
“You forgive me?” he asks with a smirk. That devilish tweak of his mouth could liquefy me into goo, but Uber saves. My phone vibrates that my car is approaching.
“My car is here. Gotta go, bye,” I say, running past the family. I practically dive into a Nissan Altima.
“Are you Carlos?” I ask, remembering the girl who ran into the wrong car and then was taken somewhere and murdered.
“Yes. Are you Cassie?” he asks. I nod and look back. Smith is standing outside, the light of the hotel illuminating him, making him a shadow.
A new cocktail of relief and sadness fill my chest as we drive further away from the Octavo.
“Are you having a good night, Cassie?”
I still look back although I lost sight of Smith three blocks ago. “I got stuck in the elevator for an hour.”
“Oh my God, that’s crazy,” he says. “I hate small spaces. That would be my nightmare.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” I say.
My fingertips go to my lips, where Smith’s lips were just a few minutes before. They are still warm to the touch, and my body still remembers what it felt like.
His hands on my waist. His fingers in my hair. His lips so close to my breast so I’m now bre
athing hard in this Uber.
“Are you okay? I can turn on the air,” Carlos offers.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Except the inside of me is screaming.
If I decide to get back out there in the dating world, Smith is not the man I should choose. He is twelve years older than me, broken, cheated on. Newly divorced. Lonely. Nothing worse than a brooding, sensitive, great kisser when I’ve had a long, storied history with that type and had sworn them off until about ten minutes ago.
I need our group chat. My best friend, Erin, myself, our married friend Sarah, and Raegan, our newest friend.
Me: I need brunch tomorrow ASAP.
Erin: I love brunch. Done.
Sarah: Let me see if Jin has anything going on. What time?
Raegan: I’m in!!!!!! 10?
Me: That sounds great. How about Home Plate?
Erin: YES. Bottomless mimosas. ALL THE YES.
Raegan: Can’t wait.
My friends will help me figure this out.
For now, I have a date with a British baking show, a bottle of white wine, and my strongest lip mask to remove the memory of Smith’s lips from mine.
“I cannot believe you, Cass,” Erin says, tilting back her mimosa. “I cannot.”
We sit under the big chalk menu as we pound mimosas. I usually choose health, but today is all about the baked goods. All the scones and pancakes.
My friends represent the sliding scale of relationship status. Sarah has been shackled up for years, marrying her high school sweetheart at twenty-three and immediately popping out one kid and then another a few years later. Erin recently started dating Landon, an app tycoon whom she met on an airplane. Raegan is a relatively new friend who fits in easily with my OG crew; I met her when we bonded over a rather awkward yin yoga class where the lady in front of us broke wind very very loudly…and then proceeded to give a five-minute apology in the middle of downward dog, blaming it on prunes.
I just told them everything. The run-in, the elevator, the kiss.
“What does Smith look like?” Sarah asks, typing into her phone and barely looking up. Her husband Jin is alone with the kids and cannot find their daughter Emma’s favorite toy, a stuffed rabbit, and supposedly she is losing her mind. The way Sarah’s phone is going off, Jin’s losing his mind as well.
I pull up a photo from the firm’s website and show it around the table.
“Holy shit, Cassie, he is hot!” Raegan says. “Was he not a good kisser?”
“He was excellent,” I say.
“And he didn’t ask you out or get your number or anything?”
I would like to see you again. After the wedding. Preferably not in an elevator. I shake my head.
Erin looks at the photo and leans back. “Wasn’t he married?”
I shake my head. “They got divorced. She cheated on him.”
“I cannot believe you. You kiss possibly the hottest man I’ve ever seen and don’t follow up for a phone number, a handle, nothing,” Erin says, popping the raspberry garnish into her mouth. “Is he actually terrible?”
I cross my arms. “No, he’s…”
Dorky. Thoughtful. Sexy.
Screams “pain, heartache, and bad decisions.”
“Oh no, I know that look,” Erin says, pointing a finger at me.
“What look?” Raegan asks.
Sarah doesn’t look up from her phone. “Here we go again.”
Raegan looks confused.
One of the most refreshing things about Raegan is she’s only known me single. She doesn’t know how needy I can be, how insane I felt when I was barely treading water in the dating pool.
How my friends saw the red flags of every man I dated and I ignored each one. How I fall hard and get hurt even harder.
Nothing like a huge dick against my lady parts to awaken the dumb bitch within me.
Sarah drops her phone in her purse and opens her hands. “Okay, I think Jin found Emma’s rabbit, so we’re good. Now, single people problems.”
“Why not pursue Smith then?” Raegan asks.
“Don’t encourage her,” Erin says, pointing with a finger. “Trust me.”
“I’m better now,” I say. “I’ve had three years in my single detox. Maybe it’s not Smith, but maybe I should get back out there again.”
Erin and Sarah give each other a look.
A flash of me on Smith’s lap, kissing him until my lips hurt, is summoned like a demon from the Hellmouth.
Raegan claps her hands together. “Perfect! You can come with me to a singles’ event next weekend. It’s on a boat.”
“I don’t know…” I literally just started considering throwing my hat back in the San Francisco dating scene.
“Oh, come on,” Raegan says. “My friend from work bailed, and I have this extra ticket. I can’t go alone. It will be so fun. It’s all-you-can-drink, and I’m pretty sure there will be crab cakes.”
I pause. I love me a good crab cake.
“Please?” Raegan asks. “You’re my only other single friend. You can be my wing woman.”
Raegan has been a great friend ever since Erin started dating Landon and spent most nights of the week with him. She has also been an incredible sport, letting me brush her hair for ASMR videos. Raegan frequently dyes her hair fun colors, so I’ve used her on my channel liberally.
Her green eyes plead with me. “Fine. I’ll go.”
“Yay!” she cheers.
We order, and they make fun of me for how I dismissed Smith for the rest of the brunch.
I am firm in my decision. Smith is not the one. Definitely not the first one to get me back out there.
Still, I remember the way his eyes lit up when he talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, how he looked so hurt as he talked about how his marriage fell apart.
The way his fingertips felt on my neck as we kissed.
That kiss didn’t mean anything. We were simply stuck together in an elevator, in peril, after a lengthy, in-depth conversation that mimicked intimacy and feelings.
As I sip my mimosa, as my friends complain about their significant others and Raegan details yet another date where she disqualified a guy for a silly reason, I wonder if Smith is just as fucked up from our time in the elevator as I am.
6
“This is promising,” Raegan says as she steps onto the huge boat hosting the singles mixer. The night is chilly, the sky an inky blue, and the sparkle of downtown glows in the distance. The boat sways gently, docked at the marina so singletons can hop on, hoping to find the love of their life. It’s bright and full of promise, but I have one mission only.
I’m going to find my friend some dick.
Not me. Kissing Smith freaked me out so much that I’m safe back in my single-lady cocoon, warm and content.
I’m down to thinking about Smith maybe five times a day. It’s been four days since I looked at his picture on the firm’s website.
I feel like I’m cured.
“Do you see anyone interesting?” she asks. I look around. No good prospects for Raegan yet. And definitely not for me.
“I need a drink,” I proclaim, and Raegan follows me into the galley, up to the bartender clad in a white shirt and black vest.
“One gin and tonic,” I say.
Instead of Raegan giving her drink order, I hear a man’s voice, running my blood chunks-of-iceberg cold.
“Make it two,” he says.
When I turn around, I grab my chest.
Smith Cooper Kennedy, looking way too good, standing right in front of me.
“Who is this, Cassie?” Raegan says, stabbing me in the side with her sharp elbow.
“Raegan, this is my old boss Smith Kennedy. Mr. Kennedy, this is my friend, Raegan.”
“You’re back to calling me Mr. Kennedy,” he says. “Interesting.”
I swallow the hard lump in my throat. Smith looks sexier than ever, wearing a fitted gray shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of black pants fitting
him too well.
I can see the outline of the impressive bulge I’ve felt, and I have to look away.
My body used to tense with disdain, but now it’s tensing for another reason. I want to jump him and eat his face.
Raegan leans in. “Oh, is this the one? You know, the elevator?”
I want this boat to sink right now because yes, Raegan, this is the man I’m trying to forget.
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Raegan says, shaking his hand. “Are you also looking for a special someone?”
His eyes drill into me. “Just one.”
I slap my hand on the counter of the bar to steady myself. Did he get more good-looking? I want to pull him into a closet or a bathroom and have my way with him. Then I remind myself why I’m here: Raegan needs a wing woman. That’s my only mission tonight.
“Just one,” Raegan repeats. “Is that, by chance, Cassie?”
“Shut up, Raegan,” I seethe.
“Maybe,” Smith says, tucking a twenty in the tip jar.
He’s a good tipper too? Consider my panties officially wet.
The bartender sets down two gin and tonics and a Moscow Mule for Raegan. I sip the drink immediately, hoping the gin can knock some sense into me.
Smith is not a viable option.
Broken.
Recently divorced.
Might still be an asshole.
Dick might be too big for me.
I wince. The last one is not a good excuse.
“Well, we better go and mingle. I would hate for women to think you’re interested in us,” I say, pulling an unwilling Raegan away.
“What if I am?”
“Have a wonderful night!” I say, pulling a protesting Raegan away from that conversation.
“He’s even better-looking than his photo,” Raegan says, looking behind her. “Are you out of your mind, Cassie?”
“I am not. I am level-headed. I cannot start something with that man.”
“Why not?” Raegan asks loudly. I slap my hand over her mouth.
“Like I said, I’m only here for moral support. I want to find you a boyfriend.”
“You were game at brunch last weekend, and now you’re running away from that?” Raegan says. “He’s the kind of good-looking that you know he has a shit ton of money. Like a shit ton.”
In Case of Emergency Page 4
