Love You...Never

by Francesca Penn

  “I get that. I’d missed hanging out with you, as well.”

  “You need to talk to her. Tell her how you feel. It might’ve had to happen this way. Maybe teenaged Emiliano was ready but not teenaged Caris. Maybe if you two would have gotten together then, happily ever after would not be possible now. You both needed to be the adults you are today.”

  “I don’t want to put myself in her crosshairs again. I was humiliated, and she’d just gotten meaner afterward.”

  Amy shakes her head. “Men. Remember the facts correctly Emiliano. She was jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  “Us! You two fell out on Valentine’s Day but avoided each other. The war didn’t start until we became a couple.”

  “You think?”

  “I know. You kissed me at your locker right before chemistry. You two had your first argument ten minutes later in class. Mr. Wiley partnered you so you two could learn how to work together.”

  “Hmm.” I roll a spoon for horchata ice cream around on my tongue – pretty damn close. “You’re saying each of our fights was directly correlated to us?”

  “Yes and no. It’s us because I was your only us. I think it’s correlated to you paying attention to any female but her.”

  “She didn’t know if I was single or taken when I showed up to her office.”

  “She also walked in on you calling her crazy.”

  “‘Evil psychopath and lunatic,’” I correct.

  “Whatever. That argument probably started because you hurt her feelings.”

  “You assume she has feelings,” I grumble.

  “Forget high school. Look at the present. After you told her to cooperate, she did, didn’t she?”

  “Grudgingly, but yes.”

  “You thought you two were at least getting along professionally by the end of the week, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “When did you two begin disagreeing again after that?”

  “She gave me the evil eye at her store, Saturday. Monday, I bought her coffee, and she insinuated I was trying to poison her.”

  “You were in the dressing room with your lingerie clad high school girlfriend, telling me my ass is awesome and I’m a sexy mutherfucker, Saturday…”

  “True…”

  “I invited her to dinner, and her expression said it wasn’t happening. I’m surprised they showed up.”

  “Connor only mentioned his wife was throwing a dinner party.”

  “Cher admitted that they were surprised because they thought we were a real couple, remember? I called you Mr. Forever Single,” we taste our other flavors then swap dishes. “That was Thursday, Milano.”

  “I know,” I say while savoring the white chocolate pretzel, “I might get some of this to go.”

  “Ugh!”

  “What?” Amy gets so emotional sometimes.

  “I need you to focus!”

  “I heard you.”

  She runs her fingers in her hair. “Well, think!”

  I replay the conversation in my head. My blood pressure spikes, and I dare to hope. I almost feel like I have a neon yellow light bulb shining above my head. Amy nods encouragingly for me to finish her thought. I chicken out and leave her to complete the thought.

  She rolls her eyes. Amy knows me well enough to know I don’t want to fill in the blanks. “Thursday, she finds out your single. Friday, she seduces you.”

  “I thought it was an in-the-moment decision.”

  “Right, because every woman has handcuffs in her office…” Amy moans when she tries the red bean. “And cancels focus groups for one man’s opinion about lingerie she’s modeling.”

  “Her assistant was present to take notes.”

  “Come on, Milano! Think of some of the shit we’ve cooked up as best friends. They’ve been BFF’s longer. They wanted to test your attraction to her.”

  I sit back and study her. I want to believe her, and I don’t want to believe her.

  “What did she ask you?”

  “When?”

  “Before you told her to go fuck herself.”

  I search my brain for the conversation. “We were working late; she asked if I was tired and if a woman was looking for me. I told her we’ve already covered that I’m single by choice.”

  I lean in and take a generous spoon of the red bean. “And?” Amy prompts impatiently.

  My heart beats faster with every sentence. “She asked me why, and if I had given up on love. I wanted to know why she cared. She claimed she was just curious…”

  The server reappears, and Amy requests a scoop of the popcorn flavored ice cream. It sounds gross to me, but I know she’s being an ass.

  “Continue,” she prompts when the girl returns with the scoop.

  “I told her to get the hell out of my personal business. Then she said, ‘Damn, she must have done a number on you.’ I maintained that she didn’t have the right to discuss my love life. I pointed out that her phone was silent then turned the statement on her.”

  “You asked if someone did a number on her?” I nod. “What did she say?”

  I feel like I’m her new soap opera. “She agreed and revealed that she still doesn’t know what she did wrong.”

  Amy's eyes increase in diameter again. She takes a bite of the ice cream and blinks, surprised.

  “This tastes way better than it sounds.”

  She pushes it over, and I take a tentative bite. It’s sweet, yet slightly buttery. Kettle corn.

  “You’re right. It’s pretty good.”

  “Back to the story, Señor.”

  “I told her she was probably being her usual annoying and insulting self.”

  Amy gasped like I’d sprouted the meanest sentence ever spoken. I push on before she can interrupt again.

  “Then she argued that at least she dares to admit it and doesn’t hide behind insults and deflection. I told her to go fuck herself.”

  “Milano!”

  “What?”

  “It’s confirmed we speak a different language.”

  “Who?” I polish off the white chocolate pretzel.

  “Men and women.”

  “Meaning?”

  “She was trying to broach the subject. She may not understand that she’s the woman plaguing you, but have you considered that you might be the guy she was talking about?”

  There’s that damn hope again pinging through my body. I drink more water and will my heart to slow down.

  “Think about it. If you’re the guy, when she confessed that she didn’t know what she did wrong, you told her she was annoying and insulting.”

  I experience a flash of regret. “If she was talking about me and I hurt her feelings, how did she end up naked and on top of me?”

  “I have two theories. One: If you are the guy she’s hung up on, she probably figured sleeping with you would help her get over you. You know, hoping you’d be bad at it or have a small penis kind of thing.” I chuckle, but she continues. “Or two: You’re not the guy she’s hung up on, but she wants to get to know you better. You shut her down verbally which resulted in her speaking the only language men tend to understand. Sex.”

  The skeptic inside me kicks the optimist. “Or she’s just horny, and my coldness towards her made her believe I’m perfect booty call material because I won’t get attached.”

  “But you are attached. You’ve never stopped wanting her. You don’t hate her. You were hurt by her rejection and angry you couldn’t have her.”

  January has been a month of truths, and Amy keeps hitting me with too many doses of it. I rather not focus on a possible missed opportunity to set us on the right path no more than I want to dwell on the feelings reawakening my heart. It’s just sex.

  “If your theory is correct and she was just speaking my language, didn’t I respond? What does she want?”

  “What I’ve been saying for at least seven years. You two need to talk! One of you needs to spill what’s in your head or heart.” Amy shakes her head at
me. “You’re so hard-headed.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not. Test my theory if it will make you feel any better.”

  “How?”

  Amy thinks while we finish the popcorn ice cream. “You’re not going to like it. Neither will she.”

  My stomach flutters uneasily. Amy gets carried away sometimes.

  “It’s a two-part plan. First, you need to work with her the next few days – not having Connor as a proxy – check the climate. If she’s not prickly, implement part two.”

  “Which is?”

  “Flirt with another woman.”

  I tap my palm with the tip of my fingers. “Time out. I’m confused.”

  “If you two are getting along fine and you go out with someone else, it will confirm my theory if she reverts back to your number one enemy.”

  “But I don’t want to fight anymore.”

  “You won’t have to. You’ll know the reason behind her sour disposition and act accordingly.”

  “If we’re getting along, I’m to pay attention to another woman and have the talk if she loses her shit?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wouldn’t that be considered playing games?”

  Amy’s hazel eyes moved heavenward. “Not a game. A test since you aren’t willing to jump. Go get your proof.”

  Chapter 15

  Caris

  “Eight more days until we launch Eros,” I chime as I push the conference room door open with my butt. Everyone looks at me like I’m crazy. “What? I can’t be in a good mood?”

  It’s Friday, and I’m choosing to be in a good mood. I was in my feelings yesterday when Emiliano failed to appear. I was convinced he’d ghosted me after getting his sexual revenge. It would’ve been the ultimate end to our war – turn my world upside down and never return.

  A long conversation with Cher and a bottle of wine later, I was singing a new tune. Emiliano and I may be in a weird place, but I’ve managed to have the most amazing sex I’ve ever had with a guy I’ve obsessed about in the past. Twice. Okay, maybe I’ve obsessed over him a little in the present, as well, but that’s not the point. The point is most people don’t ever have the opportunity to get the fantasy person even if it is for a moment. I decided to give Bitter Betty a break. I’m giving it a positive spin and worrying less about whether I get to keep him and celebrating the fact that I had him. How does that translate?

  “I’ve bought breakfast tacos for everyone. They are labeled, but we have brisket and egg, chorizo…” I look at Emiliano. “Did I say that right?” He nods. I ignore the fact that he looks utterly lick-worthy and continue my list, “Chorizo and egg, egg and cheese, bean and egg, and bar-bar-coa...”

  “Barbacoa,” Emiliano corrects.

  I stop for a moment. I don’t know if it’s because it’s the first time I’ve heard him speak since he’d taken me exactly where he’s sitting, or if I’m just in a good mood, but hearing him correct me on the pronunciation of a type of meat is far more arousing than it should be.

  “Thank you. Barbacoa,” I correct as I place the bag on the table. “I only got the green salsa because that’s what I prefer. I think they put one red one in there so fight over it if you will. There’s plenty green though. Wait! I forgot the beverages!” I stick my head into the hallway and call for my intern. I am not going back out there to get two gallons of drinks in stilettos. “Whitney! Could you be a dear and get the beverages out of my car? There’s a gallon of lemonade and a gallon of har-char-tra.”

  “Horchata,” Emiliano corrects me again. “The h is silent.”

  “Sorry, horchata. And the cups, please!” I pop into the breakroom, grab a bowl, and fill it with ice. I love crushed ice, and the machine was one of my first major purchases for the breakroom. I pop back in as Whitney is leaving. “Whitney, do you want some breakfast? There’s plenty.” She nods happily and retrieves a taco. “Come back in fifteen minutes to get the rest to keep or distribute. I don’t care.” She nods and bounces out the door.” I start humming as I make myself a cup of horchata. I don’t recall ever trying it, but they made it sound like the most delicious beverage known to man.

  “Are you humming Suavemente?” I’m slightly taken aback when Emiliano smiles at me.

  “Is that what it’s called? All I know is that taqueria’s music was poppin’ while I was waiting. It’s like they were starting the party early on a Friday. I almost ordered a margarita.”

  Emiliano laughs, and I hate feeling like I’d just achieved a great accomplishment. I take a sip of the drink and hum my approval. “Wow, this is good. I was skeptical when she said something about rice water.”

  “You live in Texas and have never had horchata?” Emiliano’s tone is skeptical.

  “Not until this moment, nope.”

  “Wow, it’s one of my favorite beverages. My mom makes an excellent one.”

  “Does she? How does this one compare?”

  I watch as he sips the drink and licks his lips. It’s going to be a long day. “Good, but not my mom’s.”

  “I could have bet money and won. Almost every man who truly loves his mother and her cooking says that! Geesh, I need to start cooking more. I want my son to be totally in love with me,” I muse as I grab a brisket taco and green salsa.

  “You want children?”

  The confusion in his voice has me looking at Emiliano. “Yeah. For as long as I can remember, I’d thought more about finding a husband and creating a family more than my career. Then love wasn’t happening, and I started creating lingerie pieces because I figured what heterosexual man doesn’t want a woman with a bunch of lingerie? Right?”

  “I agree. Thank you for Amy’s collection,” Connor says. “And she can’t wait for the Eros line to drop.”

  “Tell her she doesn’t have to wait if she calls me.”

  I laugh when Connor snatches his phone and begins typing like a man on a mission. My smile freezes on my face when I realize Emiliano is studying me. We’ve had more eye contact this morning than all the mornings combined since we’d teamed up. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but I’m positive I’ve seen some of the warmth return in his eyes.

  “If you keep feeding me like this, I won’t find my husband either,” Cher’s joke makes us laugh and kill eye contact.

  “Okay, the fashion show is next Friday, and we have model fittings coming up.”

  I jump back into business to give my heart time to slow to its normal rhythm. I am not ready for a casual setting with a relaxed Emiliano. I start imagining a future relationship we do not have.

  I agreed to be in a good mood. I did not agree to be delusional.

  Emiliano

  I’ve officially entered an alternate universe. Today was by far the most productive and jovial day we’ve had since the project started. I’m elated and confused. My heart doesn’t know which way to turn. I want to protect it from any further damage but seeing Caris today as she was in high school is giving it extra bass with each beat.

  We’d eaten delicious breakfast tacos while making succinct decisions that pushed us further ahead of schedule. We’d gone to lunch and had a few drinks. Pick your jaw up off the floor. It’s true. Caris, Connor, Cher, and I opted to spend more time together. We talked without insults, and she’d laughed at my jokes. I could get used to this.

  We wrap up at 4 PM. I whistle on the way to my SUV because I feel lighter than I’ve felt for years. I jump in on the driver side and wait for Connor to buckle up. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I hum to a song on the radio. The song is over when I realize Connor is staring at me. My eyes roam over his unbuckled person.

  “Did you forget something?”

  Connor shakes his head and slides on his seatbelt. “You slept with her. Didn’t you?”

  “Hmm?” I do my best to give him a blank look.

  “Come on, man! She’s all smiles, laughter, and good will. You’re whistling. We had lunch together. Both of you are humming!”
>
  He’s got me. There was no point in trying to deny it. “No. There was no sleeping involved.”

  “My god, Em! Are you sure about this?”

  “It’s done, Connor. Besides, she started it.”

  “But…you two argue like crazy over a high school misunderstanding. What’s gonna happen if you fall out as a couple?”

  “We're not a couple. We fucked twice. That’s it.”

  “Twice!” I shake my head. We really should have broken the golden boy into our brand of crazy slower. He’s more aghast than Amy, and she’s the one with ovaries.

  “And if she’s this big deal – the one who got away – why would use ‘fuck’ to describe it?”

  “It’s the only way to describe what we did,” I explain as I pull into traffic. “There were no declarations of feelings, no truce calling, no let’s go to dinner. The first time happened was after one of our usual arguments. The second time was because I needed her to get an understanding about the first time.”

  “Wow…I have no words.”

  “Yes, you do. Go ahead.”

  “It’s just…when is one of y’all going to be the real adult and try to actually fix it and not add more drama to your tumultuous relationship?”

  Cher and Amy have been involved in our muck the entire time. Neither one of them are surprised by the dramatic shift in our relationship – or lack thereof – but Connor is a true outside point of view. I have all these feelings in my chest that Amy knows to an extent; I never have to spill because she’s already aware. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn something if I unload on Connor.

  “Fine,” I retort as I pull into the lot of a nearby restaurant. “If you want to get all bro-mantic, we will need to sit down for drinks.”

  Once inside, our hostess/server tries her best to get one of our attention, but our minds are already occupied with the women in our lives. I do worry one of her boobs will fall out if she continues to press them together like that.