After All: A Hate to Love Standalone Romance

by Karina Halle

“You did get laid,” Carla says, patting my leg. “Good for you. With who?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

  “You know I’m gullible,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Do I need to get a coffee for this? Popcorn? Pot cookies?”

  I bite my lip, buying time while I figure out what I should say. There are no secrets between Carla and I. It’s hard for there to be when you’re both like-minded people sharing a 600 square foot apartment. Whenever we come home from our dates or hook-ups, we give each other the play-by-play.

  But this time it feels a bit different. Not because I don’t want to jinx it or anything. Honestly, I’m not planning on seeing Emmett again. Hell, we didn’t even exchange phone numbers and I was completely okay with that.

  It’s just that…Emmett isn’t anonymous and I’m not a star fucker. I mean, I’m anti all that shit (not that this opportunity has ever come up in my life before). Carla knows that too, which is why it all feels so weird.

  Plus, there’s the fact that he totally screwed me in public. I’m obviously not shy when it comes to sex and one-night stands but I’ve never had sex in public like that. A locker room in the yacht club where any drunken sailor–or wedding guest–could come in and see us with my legs wrapped around his ass, his thick cock driven deep inside me.

  Fuck. I’m throbbing between my legs just thinking about it. I have a feeling once I start moving I’m going to be sore, like his body has made its mark on me.

  “Alyssa,” Carla says slowly, studying my face in such a way, like a detective, that I know there’s no point in lying.

  “Okay but promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  She rolls her eyes, throwing up her hands. “Who am I going to tell? Don’t take this the wrong way, but my friends don’t care about my roommate’s sex life.”

  I tilt my head. “Well, they might.”

  Carla just stares. “Spill the beans or no pickle juice for you.”

  “Jeez, hard bargain.” I take in a deep breath and try to say it as normally as possible. “Did you ever watch Degrassi?”

  She’s totally puzzled. “Yes…wait, the new or the old one?”

  “The new one.”

  “Then yes…why? Why?! Did you sleep with Drake?!”

  I have never seen her look so excited before.

  I shake my head. “You know that stupid superhero show, Boomerang?”

  “With the hot Aussie? Yes. Alyssa…what are you…”

  And then she starts to put it all together, her brow furrowing, her mouth gaping slightly.

  “Oh my god. You didn’t…you didn’t sleep with that other guy, did you? What’s his name? Cruiser McGill!”

  I shrug. “Less sleep, more straight-up fucking.”

  “Noooo,” Carla says in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

  I raise my hand, dip my head. “Guilty.”

  “What’s his name again? Emerson?”

  “Emmett.”

  “How did that happen? I mean…he was at the wedding?”

  “One of the groomsmen. Will’s best friend, other than Ted of course.”

  “Hold up,” she says, pulling out her phone and Googling his name. “This guy.”

  Of course it’s a pic of Emmett from Degrassi, when he was all fresh-faced and floppy-haired. It was almost impossible to picture him as the man that fucked my brains out last night. The man from last night knew exactly what to do with my body, playing it like a fine-tuned instrument, even if we only had a few minutes with each other.

  “He’s all grown-up, Carla,” I remind her. “And he is packing heat.”

  She gives a giddy squeal and starts pulling up more photos. One of them is from a recent photoshoot where he’s shirtless. I’d felt those muscles under my hands last night, how hard and big and toned he was. Though he was clothed with me, the picture of him here doesn’t even encompass everything he is.

  Watch yourself, a loud voice in my head sounds off. You’re starting to sound like you’re crushing. I make an attempt to rein myself in.

  “So where did it happen?”

  “In this room with all these tiny wood lockers where rich yachtsman keep their liquor bottles.” I go on to tell her how persistent he was all night with me, not to mention the stuff that kept coming from his lips. I have never in my life been around someone more forward. In fact, it was borderline off-putting.

  Okay, it should have been off-putting. Maybe that’s why this thing bothers me a little bit. It’s not that I slept with Emmett Hill, it’s that I slept with a guy who knew he could get me into bed and had no problems acting like it. I don’t mind honesty in people but in some ways I wish I hadn’t succumbed to someone so outright cocky.

  When I’m done describing the night, Carla lets out a low whistle. Only she can’t whistle so it comes out as a high-pitched squeak. “I’m not exactly up-to-date with celebrity rumors but I guess what I’ve heard is kind of true.”

  “Which is?”

  “Manwhore about town.”

  I sigh. “Yeah. Well…obviously I’m one of his victims.”

  “Oh come on,” she says, getting off the bed. “You needed a good romp and you got it. You came right?”

  “Hell yes.” My voice is blissful. “Haven’t come that hard in forever.”

  “TMI,” Carla says. “Didn’t need the details. But seriously, who cares if he’s a manwhore? You got your fun. You’re not going to date him, right? Now you have a fun story to tell and you got the dick you needed.”

  I guess the real problem here is, it is a fun story but one I wouldn’t repeat. If I had slept with like, I don’t know, Chris Evans, I’m sure it wouldn’t stay a secret. It would feel beyond special. But Emmett Hill? He’s probably with someone else tonight, maybe even right now.

  “Wow,” Carla says as she stares down at her screen, scrolling around. “He broke someone’s phone last night. A fan or something was trying to take his picture.”

  “Actually it wasn’t a fan, it was a dickhead who was stalking him and putting it on his Instagram, live video, trying to trip him up.” I’m strangely defensive.

  “Oh okay, that sucks,” she says, reading something. Then suddenly her eyes bug out. “Oh my god!” she exclaims.

  “What?”

  “Oh my god, Alyssa! Look!” She shoves the phone in my face. “Am I that high, or is this you?”

  It takes me a moment to adjust, my eyes tired. What at first looks like a random couple kissing comes into focus and I realize it’s not a random couple at all.

  It’s me.

  And it’s Emmett.

  At the wedding, when we were hanging out in the hallway after we had sex. That limbo period where we drank the rest of his Crown Royal and just acted like…well, like a couple.

  At the time I had remembered that it was strange to go from hooking up to kissing and hanging onto each other like we knew each other well. Strange because it was both a foreign feeling and something that somehow felt right.

  But whatever it felt like didn’t fucking matter because holy crow, there are pictures of us kissing.

  I snatch the phone from her hands and start violently scrolling down. There are pictures of us holding hands, me leaning into him, another with his arm around me and he’s laughing. It looks far more intimate than it was. I just remember being drunk and laughing a lot. That’s it.

  Hell! And the pictures are on Perez Hilton of all things.

  “Alyssa,” Carla says.

  “I know, I know, what the hell.” My voice is shaking, my heart racing. I’m sure some people dream about making Perez’s radar but I certainly don’t. Thankfully as I read the short article, Perez calls me a mystery blonde.

  Then he goes on to mention that it’s nice for Emmett to find a girl who is, and I quote, “a nice, curvy, normal looking girl, not those gorgeous, young actresses he’s always with.”

  I’m stewing over that too much to even realize that Perez is painting the scene about us as if I’m Emmett’s girl
friend instead of a hookup. Right. Because Emmett would never just have sex with someone as big and “normal” as me.

  “This isn’t good,” I tell her, my hand starting to shake.

  “I wonder who took the photo?” Carla says. “Whoever did it probably got a lot of money for it. Was there paparazzi at the wedding?”

  I shake my head, trying to think but the pounding in my brain is back with a vengeance. “No. I don’t think so. Maybe? I mean, I didn’t recognize everyone. Will has a hell of a lot of contacts and many are in the film business, so it could have been anyone.”

  “You should find out. And then set the record straight. Email Perez and tell him you’re the mystery girl.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I dunno. Because Perez Hilton, like, the most popular celeb gossip blogger in the world, is implying you’re a couple and you’re not a couple. Unless you want to keep up the charade…”

  “God no,” I tell her quickly, trying to imagine what my sisters would say. God, I would never hear the end of it. We don’t keep in touch much but they would surely reach out over this shit. And then there’s everyone at work. And Jackie and Will.

  Oh my god, Jackie and Will.

  I have to tell them. They have to hear it from me before anyone else. They have to know the truth, especially after they specifically warned Emmett to stay away from me.

  If only he listened. I knew I was showing too much cleavage last night. I practically lured him between my legs.

  I put my head in my hands, tossing the phone on the bed. “Aaaaargh,” I moan. “I don’t know how to deal with this shit. Usually my sex life stays pretty damn private.”

  “Hey, at least there isn’t a picture of you actually having sex,” she points out. She picks up her phone and starts going through it again for a minute while my brain stutters, trying to figure out what to do. “Just Jared is reporting it. And so is TMZ. They’re following Perez’s lead and saying you’re, well…anyway, a new girl and it could be something serious.”

  “Oh my god!” I exclaim. “How are they getting that info? We hooked up. End of story!”

  “They’re spinning stuff, this is what they do. Everything that gets reported in the tabloids and shit are half-truths.”

  “Well what is this half-truth?”

  “It’s not like it’s not what it looks like. You did sleep with him right and did all this cuddly shit after. That’s the half-truth. They’re just stretching and speculating. You know most people don’t believe everything they read.”

  I wish that was true but it’s only getting worse these days.

  “Anyway, what’s the worst that can happen?” Carla asks.

  “You just said I needed to set the record straight,” I remind her, exasperated.

  “Just trying to figure this out. If you look at it from another angle, it’s actually pretty cool. Or at least funny.”

  “How is it either of those things?”

  “Because you’re on all the gossip sites because you had sex with Hollywood’s current bad boy and now everyone in the world thinks you’re his girlfriend. It’s pretty fucking funny.”

  But I’m not even amused in the slightest. Carla decides to make me breakfast to wake me up and help me cope and while she does that, I frantically try to get a hold of Jackie or Will. But of course they’re on their honeymoon to Mexico and are probably in the air.

  “Maybe no one will notice,” Carla says as she watches me shovel bacon into my mouth. “And it will all blow over. I mean, do you even remember the names of the girls that Emmett’s been with before? No. There’s always someone else. I’m sure in a few days there will be some other girl he’ll be caught sucking face with and it will all be over. Plus, they don’t have your name. So there’s that.”

  I think about that for a moment. It doesn’t necessarily sting. I knew that it was a one-night stand but again it makes me feel utterly disposable. And I’m starting to think that there’s a good chance they could get my name. Obviously whoever was at the party and took the photos could find that out pretty quick.

  Shit. What if it’s someone I actually know. Like, personally.

  As in, someone I work with.

  Casey. Fucking hell, it’s probably Casey. Casey who seemed way too interested in us on the dance floor. If he found that part interesting, I’m sure he’d do the same if he caught us kissing.

  Then again, I have to be sure before I make any accusations. As much as I don’t really like Casey, especially as I’ve been brushing off his sleazy advances as of late, and as much as I feel like firing blame at the first person I can think of, I know I have to hold off until I know for sure.

  “So you don’t have Emmett’s number or anything?” Carla asks me, reaching over to pour me a cup of coffee. Usually she’s not this doting, it’s like I’m sick or something.

  It’s not far off. My hangover is still lingering and I’m sick to my stomach over the fact that there are secret photos of me circulating the entire world.

  “No we didn’t exchange numbers,” I tell her. “What was the point? It was what it was.”

  “And apparently a hell of a lot more to the rest of the world.”

  “We’ll see,” I say with a sigh just as my phone beeps. It’s a text from Tiffany.

  All caps.

  OMG YOU’RE FAMOUS! DID YOU SEE?!

  And then she sends a million links and screenshots of the infamous pictures.

  When it stops I text: Old news Tiffy. Now I need you to find out who took those fucking pictures! Do you know who it could have been?

  NO IDEA! She replies. BUT LET ME PUT ON MY THINKING CAP.

  Tiffany’s thinking cap isn’t always screwed on properly, so I’m staring at the phone for a few moments, waiting for her to reply and come up with something when there’s a buzz at the door.

  I glance at Carla. “Are you expecting someone?”

  She shakes her head and goes over to the console on the wall, pressing the button. “Who is it?”

  “Is this Alyssa Martin?” A raspy voice says.

  The same raspy voice that told me I was gorgeous when I came. Who told me he wanted to fuck me hard with his tongue.

  Oh. No.

  “No this is Carla, who is this?” Carla says, obviously not recognizing Emmett’s voice like I do.

  “Does Alyssa live there?”

  “Who is asking?” she volleys back.

  Meanwhile I’m staring at her with wide eyes, not sure what the hell I’m going to do. I’m at least out of my bridesmaid dress but I haven’t showered, I’m in just a baggy t-shirt and shorts and my hair and leftover makeup is a greasy gross mess. I am not the girl from last night, not by a long shot.

  “It’s Emmett. A friend of hers.”

  Carla lets go of the button and gasps. “Oh my god, Alyssa!”

  “I know!” I yell right back. “We aren’t friends! What do I do?”

  “You let him up!”

  “Why?!”

  “Because you need to figure this shit out with him. You’re in it together.”

  “But–” I start to protest but she’s jabbing the button forcefully.

  “Come on up!” she yells into it then whirls around, clapping her hands together. “This is going to be fun.”

  “You’re worse than Tiffany,” I tell her with a groan.

  “For shame,” Carla says. “I’m just glad that things will be sorted out. I didn’t sign up for a famous roommate. By the way, you should probably change.”

  I glance down at my wanton bralessness and know I look like a hot mess. I know I want to go change, make myself look presentable, then I remember I shouldn’t care what Emmett thinks.

  And there’s also not enough time. Our apartment is on the ground floor and now Emmett is knocking at the door.

  Carla goes to answer it but I quickly brush past her. I don’t even know if I want Emmett in the apartment not with everything that’s going on, and Carla would probably sit him down and start cookin
g him breakfast too, telling him my entire life story and especially all the embarrassing bits.

  With my hand on the knob, I take in a deep breath and open the door.

  And there he is.

  I hoped, hoped, hoped that it was the excess alcohol and the sappiness of the wedding that skewed my memory of him, making him more attractive in my head.

  But that is not the case at all.

  Here, today, in the sobering light of the hallway, he’s tall and deliciously broad-shouldered, in a faded charcoal t-shirt and dark jeans that look as fantastic on him as the suit did. Maybe even more so because now I can make out the hard lines of his chest, the bulge of those huge biceps and thick forearms, the very arms that held me up last night like I weighed nothing at all.

  And then there’s his face. It’s absolutely boyish with that wide, cheeky smile of his, his blue eyes twinkling. My stomach shouldn’t be doing flips at the sight of it and he certainly shouldn’t be smiling given the circumstances, but this is what’s at my doorstep today.

  To think I didn’t want to open the door.

  “Hey blondie,” he says. “Can I speak to you for a second?” And before I can say anything he looks me up and down. “Rough night?”

  “Why are you here?” I manage to say, ignoring his comment. “How did you find me?”

  “You really don’t know why I’m here?”

  “How did you find me?” I repeat.

  “I have ways,” he says, his eyes flitting over my shoulder to Carla. “Hello,” he says to her cordially.

  “Hey,” she responds in a voice that tells me she’s trying hard to play it cool.

  “So can I come in?” he asks, looking back to me, brows raised, creating lines across his forehead. Somehow it makes him look even more adorable.

  I know I have to let him in. That we have to talk about what happened, especially since he went out of his way to find me. But still, I don’t move for a few seconds, the two of us locked in some kind of staring contest.

  Finally, Carla clears her throat, breaking the tension. “So, thou shalt not pass or what?”

  I give Emmett a slight nod of approval and step out of the way, letting him into our place. As he passes by me I get a whiff of his smell. God, it’s like an instant aphrodisiac, a lightning bolt of lust straight between my legs. Flashbacks from last night crowd behind my eyes.