Chapter 2
Cole tossed his sweaty t-shirt onto the kitchen table, unloading the pockets of his running shorts next to it. The cord of his headphones was tangled into a knot and he’d sweated through the scrap of paper with the number of the blonde he’d met while running along the lake.
It was sweltering outside, but he’d needed to run before heading home after being cooped in his office researching all day. He scanned the sparse contents of his refrigerator, wondering how long it took for Chinese takeout to become inedible.
He was so hungry he didn’t think about it for long, and he pressed the flashing light on his answering machine before flopping into a chair in the living room to eat.
“Cole, it’s Mom. How are you? We haven’t seen you in so long. It’s been more than a month. I know you’re busy, but we’d really like to see you. We’re having dinner at the Carsons’ house this weekend, and Eliza said you’re always welcome. They’d like to see you—”
The message cut off as he picked up the phone to call his Mom back.
“Cole!” Her enthusiasm brought on a wave of guilt. He hadn’t spent much time with his parents since moving back to the city.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?”
“Pretty good. How’s work?”
“It’s busy, but I like it,” he said. “Sorry I haven’t been over. I’ll come to dinner at the Carsons’ this weekend. Who else is coming?”
“Oh, just Shawn and Eliza and the girls. Layla will be there. I’m so glad you’ll come. It’s Saturday night at six.”
“What’ve you and Dad been up to?”
“We just got back from Indianapolis,” she said, sounding weary. “It was a really hard trip. Things have gotten worse. I just don’t know—”
“Mom, I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”
“Okay.”
He sighed and hung up, another wave of guilt punching him in the gut. He hated cutting his Mom off, but it was hard to hear his parents talk about their trips to Indianapolis. It never failed to drag him down and remind him how out of control everything had been in high school.
He switched the channel to ESPN in search of baseball highlights, his mind wandering to the dinner he’d be going to Saturday. He hadn’t seen Layla Carson for years, but he’d heard she was working at a downtown firm. And Emma …
He wanted to see her again. Her smile and the light fragrance of her hair he’d inhaled when they collided had stayed with him. She was off limits, as the younger daughter of his parents’ longtime friends. He knew his Mom still harbored a hope that he and Layla would get together, and it would be awkward for him to show an interest in Emma instead. But it would still be fun to see if he could make her blush like she had when she’d run into him.
***
The sound of her Dad’s loud chanting from the back yard made Emma run outside to join him.
“Go, go! Go hard!” he yelled at the small radio playing inside the garage. He didn’t just love baseball, he specifically loved the Chicago Cubs, and Emma had always liked listening to games on the radio with him. There was something magical about only having the words of the announcers, and forming the images in her mind.
“What’s the score?” she asked, curling up in a chaise lounge.
“5-3. Bottom of the eighth. We need this run.”
Emma sank back and listened, basking in the warmth of the sun and the sweet, spicy aroma of barbeque pork chops. She’d been up late painting the night before, and was about to drift off to sleep when she heard commotion inside the house.
She moved toward the voices in the living room, hearing Layla’s excited chatter. When she saw Cole, Emma’s breath caught with excitement. She often saw Tom and Jenny Marlowe at her parents’ weekend dinners, but Cole hadn’t come with them since he was in high school.
“Emma,” he said warmly, crossing the room to embrace her. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” she said, her mind spinning from the feel of his body and his warm, clean scent. Neither of them mentioned running into each other a few days ago, and the moment passed. Emma pulled away self-consciously, not wanting to let go of him.
“Cole, you’re so handsome and grown up!” Emma’s mother gushed as she offered him a bottled beer.
“Thanks, Mrs. Carson,” he said, grinning boyishly and accepting it.
“You all sit and catch up while I finish up dinner. It’s almost ready,” she said.
Emma took a seat in a recliner and Cole sat down on the adjacent couch. Layla was on his heels, sitting right next to him while their parents all wandered toward the kitchen.
“So how’s Murphy and Kline?” Layla asked. “Are you billing 200 hours a week?”
“Pretty close.” Cole laughed. Emma’s eyes roamed over his face and the arm muscles that strained the sleeves of his worn t-shirt. As Layla laughed at something he said, she grabbed his thigh, and Emma had the familiar sensation of being invisible in her sister’s presence – at least when men were involved.
They talked about the work of being a new attorney, and Emma got up and wandered back out to the deck to listen to the game with her Dad.
“All tied up!” he cried with excitement as she stepped out the door. But it wasn’t enough, and they listened with disappointment to the end of the game just as her Dad was taking the pork chops off the grill.
Emma stopped by the kitchen and grabbed a pitcher of lemonade, sitting it on the dining room table and taking the last open seat. Layla was chattering next to Cole, and Emma met his eyes across the table. They were warm and playful, but the seductive sensation she was feeling had to be her own wishful thinking. Just knowing he was looking at her made her cheeks warm, and she looked down self-consciously.
“My firm has box seats at Wrigley,” Layla said to Cole. “We should go sometime.”
“You haven’t even taken your old man to a game in those seats yet!” their father protested.
“We can go anytime, Daddy. Let’s go this week if you want to.”
“Their pitching hasn’t been worth watching lately,” Cole’s father grumbled.
Emma listened to the conversation with half an ear, mostly focused on the way Cole’s intense gaze was making her feel hot all over. He almost looked amused, and she forced herself to look away, sure he was aware of his effect on her.
After dinner, she stole a long glance at his defined back and shoulders while he helped her Mom wash the dishes. Even 50-year-old Eliza Carson giggled like a schoolgirl when he grinned at her. When he said his goodbyes, his final look at Emma made her skin tingle. She crossed her arms over her chest, praying he hadn’t seen her nipples harden. What was it with him, anyway?
She wondered for most of the ride back to her apartment with Layla, as her sister went on and on about how well he would fit into her plan. Emma listened, lamenting the idea of Cole Marlowe becoming her brother-in-law.
“I think I’d do ‘Layla Carson-Marlowe’,” Layla said thoughtfully. “I like the sound of that.”
I hate the sound of it, Emma thought. But what Layla wants, she gets, so maybe I’d better learn to like it.
***
There were 17 different versions of a logo for a startup company whose campaign Emma was working on. The company’s name, Mojo, was clean and simple in all of them, but there were different design elements to each one.
She backed away from the samples, scrunching her eyes to see which one stood out the most. She sighed, frustrated. It was hard to choose just one sometimes, but ultimately it would be the client’s decision anyway.
“Stop obsessing,” Brian said from his desk. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry. I just can’t decide if these are ready.”
“They’re good. Don’t worry about it. What’s with the anxiety, anyway? You’re usually cool and collected.”
“Oh, I guess it’s this guy I’ve run into a couple times,” Emma said. She didn’t elaborate, and Brian glared at her as he waited.
“The highlight of last night for me was discussing Caroline’s yellow poop with Julie,” he said. “If you have something interesting to say, please do.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s interesting … just this guy who used to be my neighbor who I had a huge crush on. I haven’t seen him in years, and I ran into him the other day. Then he went to my parents’ house for dinner the other night, and I saw him again.”
“Bet he went just to see you,” Brian said.
“No, more likely my sister. They went out a couple times in high school.”
“Hmm,” Brian said skeptically.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. I don’t know you well enough to comment.”
“Come on, Brian. Just say it,” Emma insisted.
“Well, based on your phone conversations with her, your sister kind of sounds like a bitch.”
“She’s a hot bitch,” Emma corrected.
“A bitch is a bitch. I think that’s inscribed in hieroglyphics on a pyramid somewhere. And hotness does not make up for it. If he ran into you, and then he showed up for dinner, he wanted to see you.”
Emma considered Brian’s words. He’d become a friend over the months they’d been sitting next to each other at work, and she liked hearing a man’s take on things. But he had to be reading too much into this one. Cole wouldn’t have shown up just to see her.
“I’m going on a coffee run, want some?” she asked.
Brian nodded wordlessly, and Emma grabbed her phone as she left her desk. A waiting text message caught her attention, and she clamped her hand over her mouth when she read it.
Hey Em, it’s Cole. Are you free for lunch?
Her wide, goofy smile faded as she considered that he might want to discuss the best way to get together with Layla. She wrote back.
Sure. Hannigan’s, 12:30?
So she would get to see him again, in just a couple hours. Emma eyed her outfit, glad she’d worn a dress. Her legs were toned from hours of walking in the city, the one upside to not having a car.
Though she was prepared for the conversation to be about her sister, she couldn’t help harboring a secret hope that Cole actually wanted to see her. It was too good to be true, but just the possibility made her feel light and hopeful.
***
Cole tapped his foot under the table, taking a deep breath. Why was he so nervous?
Because Emma Carson knocked me on my ass Saturday. God, she’s grown up.
His attraction to her at the coffee shop hadn’t been a fluke. The shy, awkward girl with big glasses was now stunningly beautiful. He had never really noticed her large, brownish gold eyes until seeing her without glasses. And her long, lithe body had left a lasting impression. It wasn’t just her looks, but the air of confidence and sensuality she now possessed, that left him unable to stop thinking about her.
Emma had always seemed to live in Layla’s shadow. Her older sister was spunky, smart and gorgeous. Cole had even taken her out a couple times in high school. When he’d been at their house with his parents or to mow the grass, anytime he’d tried to talk to Emma, she’d flushed and stammered and fled as quickly as possible. He’d figured she was uncomfortable about a boy three years older than her trying to make small talk with her.
When he’d heard she was going to college in Paris, Cole had admired her for it. Moving to the other side of the world was a gutsy move for an 18-year-old. He figured she wanted to escape the stigma of being Layla’s little sister. After a quick stop at her high school graduation party with his parents, he hadn’t thought about her. He’d been 21 then, living the life of a carefree college student.
Life wasn’t so carefree anymore. He’d been working his ass off at Murphy and Kline for the past three months. His days started at eight and usually ended 13 hours later. Sometimes they were even longer. The junior attorneys in the firm had to bill obnoxious hours, but he liked the work.
His work schedule left little time for a social life, but Cole was adjusting. He’d been with one woman or another throughout law school, and it was nice to have some space for a change. There was a paralegal at his firm, Jen, who made it clear she was available for no strings sex anytime he wanted. In the midst of a long sexual dry spell, he’d considered it a couple times, but was leery of any involvement with a co-worker. Maybe the dry spell was why just thinking of Emma left him shifting uncomfortably that morning as he got hard sitting at his desk.
He had the same sensation when she walked into the restaurant. Her long, silky dark hair hung over one of her shoulders, emphasizing the arch of her graceful neck. Her sleeveless dark turquoise dress was just short enough to allow a view of her long, lean legs.
“Hi,” she said, flashing a smile she probably didn’t realize was sexy.
Fuck me. I’m in trouble, he thought as he looked at her. God, he wanted to be responsible for that light flush on her ivory cheeks.
“Hi. I love this place, I’m glad you picked it.” He had been to the sports bar once, and he didn’t remember what he’d eaten.
“They have great chicken strips,” she said, piling a bulky canvas bag and her purse into an extra chair. He glanced over at the seat silently.
“Drawing supplies,” she said, grinning. “Sometimes I walk down to the park on lunch and draw.”
“Can I see something you’ve done?”
“Sure,” she said, reaching into the bag. Cole admired her pride in her work. He couldn’t believe this was the same woman who had been unable to say hello to him as a girl.
“This is a man I see in the park a lot,” she said, flipping the pages of the spiral bound book to a soft pencil drawing of an older man with a sad, lined face.
“That’s beautiful, Em,” Cole said, awed by the life she’d infused into the drawing. “I had no idea you could do that.”
“I couldn’t have done anything like this before art school.” She smiled as she closed the book.
“How was that, living in Paris?” he asked.
“I loved it. It took some getting used to, since I didn’t speak the language, but it’s an amazing place. I took train trips to Italy, England, Germany…”
“Were you anxious to get back here when you finished school?”
“I had mixed feelings about it. I considered staying, but my parents really wanted me to come back here. I missed them and Layla. A friend of mine in Paris, Andrew, lost his mother during our last year of school, and I realized then that nothing lasts forever.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“How do you like being close to your family again?” Emma asked, skimming the menu.
“It’s nice to be close, but not too close.” He smiled.
“You live downtown?”
“Yeah, in a high-rise a couple miles from here.”
A blonde waitress strolled up to the table.
“Know what you want?” she asked.
“Why am I even looking at this?” Emma said, laughing and closing the menu. “I want the chicken strips.”
“Me, too,” Cole said, passing his menu to the waitress. When she left, he looked at Emma intently.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.
“Oh, no. No, I keep pretty busy with work and painting. How about you?”
“No, I’m single. I work a lot.”
“Well, you always had someone on your arm in high school. I don’t imagine you’ll be single for long.”
From her, the words were a sweet compliment. Cole tried to banish the mental image of her on his arm. Emma Carson wasn’t even an option. A break-up would create awkwardness between their families, and the Carsons were his parents’ closest friends.
The thought didn’t keep him from noticing Emma’s alluring habit of toying with the curl at the end of a strand of her long hair, or from feeling a flicker of excitement every time her light brown eyes met his. The lunch passed quickly, and he was sorry when she said she had to get back to work.
“It was great seeing you again,” she said as they parted ways outside the restaurant. “I know Layla was glad to see you Saturday.”
“Sure,” he said, unable to feign enthusiasm. Layla wasn’t the Carson sister who would be on his mind all afternoon.
Then – 11 years ago
Emma rolled her eyes when she looked down. One of her tennis shoes had stuck in a caramel colored stain on the concrete floor just as she was about to reach the gap of sunshine between the bleachers above her. She pulled her sole off the sticky spot and went the last couple of steps, staring into the slice of open space. The grass of the football field was an even brighter shade of green from this angle.
“Eww … I stepped in gum,” Dani muttered with a frown.
“Shh!” Emma warned, turning toward her. A janitor had caught them under the bleachers the last time they’d hidden there to watch football practice, and she didn’t want it to happen again.
“Sorry,” Dani whispered, shaking her shoe vigorously in an effort to get rid of the gum.
Emma scanned the players on the field, unable to tell any of them apart since they all wore the same uniforms and helmets. But she knew how to find Cole. He was number 25 — she’d memorized it when the team’s photo was in the newspaper.
She spotted him just as he was taking his helmet off to tip a water thermos over his mouth. He let the water splash over his face and into his hair, drops flying as he shook his head.
“He needs a haircut,” Dani whispered. Emma gave her a look.
“I like his hair,” she said.
“Long hair on boys is girly,” Dani argued.
“Not on him. And it’s not even that long. It’s not like he could put it in a ponytail or anything.”
Emma’s attention went back to the field as a coach blew his whistle and the players ran to huddle around him. She couldn’t see Cole anymore, so her gaze drifted to the other side of the field, where cheerleaders were practicing. Layla was there, her dark curly ponytail bouncing as she went through the steps of a cheer.
Layla broke away from the group, running to gain speed for a back flip. Her body gracefully arched again and again, and the other cheerleaders clapped and yelled out how many times she had flipped. After number seven, Layla stopped, laughing as she ran back to the group.
Layla had attracted the attention of several football players, including number 25, to Emma’s dismay. Emma sighed, wondering how she could be related by blood to anyone who could do seven back flips.
I wish I was her. I can’t even do a cartwheel.
“Did you see that?” Dani whispered with excitement.
“No … what?” Emma said, following her friend’s gaze.
“Cole just caught the ball right before it hit the ground. He fell and rolled a couple of times, but he kept it!”
Another player had stretched a hand down to help Cole up, and Emma sighed as he pulled his helmet off, shaking his hair away from his face.
“He’s so cute,” Emma said softly. “Isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Dani agreed. “But it smells like stale popcorn down here and it’s hot, can we go?”
“Yeah … I guess,” Emma said wistfully.
“You see him all the time, he lives across the street from you,” Dani said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go to the library.”
Emma followed Dani away from the crack of light in the bleachers, wishing she could stay. She did get glances of Cole when he was coming and going from his house, but this was the only time she got to look at him without worrying he’d notice her staring. Or worse, that Layla would.
Now
Emma knew it was no accident that Layla dangled her long, bare legs over the side of her barstool that faced a nearby table of attractive men in suits. She had an internal radar that allowed her to attract men without conscious thought.
“It might not have been so bad if he was saying, ‘Great job on that brief, sugar’,” Layla said thoughtfully. “I actually find ‘Bring me some coffee, sugar’ to be impressively insulting. He has an assistant for that kind of thing. I didn’t work my ass off in law school to fetch anyone’s coffee.”
“Maybe he was saying he wanted sugar in the coffee,” Emma offered. Layla rolled her eyes.
“No. When I asked if he wanted anything in it, he said he wanted it black.”
“Well, there’s your mistake. Next time he asks you to get his coffee, fuck it up. Take a really long time, make sure the coffee’s cold and spill it all over him. He won’t ask you after that.”
It was the perfect opportunity to bring up her own coffee mishap with Cole, but something made her remain silent.
Layla casually made eye contact with one of the suits, and Emma glanced at her phone, her heart skipping a beat when she read the waiting message.
Hey, it’s Cole. Are you free for dinner Friday night? It was great seeing you today.
She grinned, unable to contain her happiness. Just as she was about to tell Layla, Emma turned and reached for her drink instead.
“What? You were about to say something,” Layla said.
“Nope. Just got a text from a cute guy at my office is all.”
“Good. You’ve been celibate for months now. You’re making me look like a whore.”
“You’d look like a whore with or without me,” Emma said sweetly. Layla extended her middle finger as she finished her drink.
“I might be using my key to your apartment over lunch soon,” Layla said.
“You want to have lunch at my dumpy apartment?”
“No, I want to fuck Chad at your apartment. It’s closer to my office than mine is.”
“Chad who?”
“I don’t even know his last name, and I like it that way. He’s the one from that band I saw with Court a few weeks ago. He’s really, really hot.”
“Are you putting your Layla Carson-Marlowe plans on hold?” Emma asked wryly.
“No. What’s wrong with having a little fun in the meantime?”
“That’s a little creepy, Layla. I could go home and lay down in God knows what after you rendezvous with some stranger at my apartment, and not even know it.”
“We won’t use your bed, we’ll use the couch.”
“Oh, good, because I don’t mind having a strange man’s semen on my couch.”
“Lighten up, Em. It’s for a good cause. You know how bitchy I get when I’m not getting laid.”
“Seriously, Layla, don’t be a slut.”
“Did you just call me a slut?”
“No, I said not to be one, which is different than saying you are one. You say you want to get married, and you aren’t going to fuck your way to a good husband.”
“Oh, I hold out on the ones who are marriage material,” Layla said. “Chad’s strictly for sex. Are you jealous because you aren’t getting any?”
Emma rolled her eyes, pushing her plate aside as she finished eating.
“I’m happy with my life the way it is. I don’t need a man taking up the time I want to spend painting and reading and doing whatever else I want.”
“You certainly ran through plenty of men in Paris.” Layla gestured to the server for another round of drinks. Emma smiled at the memory of her time abroad, where she’d discovered that she was more than just Layla’s shy, awkward little sister.
“That was different. I’m feeling settled now,” Emma said.
“You haven’t met any men you’re interested in here? Other than the office guy who just texted you?”
This is my opening. This is when I tell her I had lunch with Cole Marlowe earlier. I can tell her right now.
“Nope.” Emma shrugged, her heart picking up speed as she lied. Layla was the one person she was always completely open with. But something was making her hold back. She felt a stab of guilt at knowing she didn’t want Layla to go after him. Cole had never looked at Emma, actually looked and seen her, before their recent run-in. It had been an innocent lunch anyway. And dinner Friday … that would be innocent, too.
The mention of the text she’d gotten made Emma grab her phone and write back.
Sure, call me. Great to see you, too.
The casual tone of her message belied the way she felt about seeing him again. Cole and I are just old acquaintances, nothing more. We’ll hang out and that’s it. So why don’t I want Layla to know?
She realized with another flare of guilt that it was because Layla would manage to insert herself and join them for dinner, and she would command Cole’s attention. Emma had spent years longing for his attention, and even if it was just over a casual dinner, she wanted to feel those blue-gray eyes seeing her – really seeing her, again.
“I’m picking you up for dinner at Mom and Dad’s Sunday, right?” Layla asked.
“Yeah. Remind me to give back that jacket I borrowed from you.”
“I’m going out with Kim and Lane Friday night, want to come?”
“No, I’m planning to paint,” Emma said, the stab of another lie making her look away from her sister. “And if you use my apartment for your hook-up, will you please leave me a note so I can avoid sitting in any wet spots you leave behind?”
“At least someone will be leaving wet spots on your couch.”