“Emily, won’t you play with me? No one else will.”
Louie might look like a two-hundred-pound cherub, but Michael recognized the devil beneath the wide eyes and dimpled cheeks. He shook his head as the cameraman tried to hustle Emily.
“Aw, why won’t anyone play foosball with you?” Emily asked.
“Because he’s a shark, that’s why.” Michael tapped Louie’s chest in accusation. “Anytime the crew comes to the Arcade Bar, Louie finds a new victim. He’s cheated everyone here out of hard-earned cash. The man should go to Vegas and make a living out of it.”
“It’s foosball.” Louie threw up his hands. “How can I cheat at foosball? Either the little man hits the little ball or he doesn’t.”
Michael laughed. “Don’t believe him, Em. He’ll ask you to make a small wager to make it interesting and next thing you know, you’ll be out front in tatters, crying, ‘Alms for the poor.’”
Emily grimaced. “Too rich for my blood. Sorry, Louie.”
“I’ll take you on.” Eli downed the remains of his Molson’s Canadian and stood. “I need to get you back for the last time you swindled me. Let’s do this, big guy.”
A few from their team went to cheer Eli on as he confronted Louie the Foosball King.
“Thanks for saving me,” Emily said to Michael. “With this renovation, I don’t think I can afford to lose.”
“What about a game of Skee-Ball? My treat.”
“This place has Skee-Ball too? The Arcade Bar is officially my favorite hangout now.”
Michael pointed to the far corner of the pub. “See the red lights?” He elbowed her. “Think you can beat me?”
She put down her empty glass. “Oh, I know I can beat you.”
“Them’s fighting words, woman.” Michael led her over to the Skee-Ball station. Luckily, the bar was quiet this evening. He had been hoping to isolate Emily so he could talk about what he’d witnessed earlier in the day. Call him suspicious, but he just didn’t trust Trent to tell her the truth.
He put a couple of coins into the coin dispenser and motioned for Emily to take the first round. It wasn’t just chivalry that prompted him to offer her the first turn. For the most part, he also wanted to choose his words.
She bent over and picked a ball.
Taking the second turn also allowed him to check out her hot body undisturbed.
She held up her ball like a professional bowler and narrowed her eyes at the target. “Watch me now.”
“Oh, I’m watching.”
“I’m going to get a hundred points.”
Stepping back, she tossed her ball up the lane. The ball dropped into the lowest receptacle, earning zero points.
“Oh, shit!” Emily covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. “That was a practice shot.”
“Of course, it was. Feel free to take another.”
“Let me guess. When it comes to Skee-Ball, you’re another Louie?”
“I’ve had my moments, but I won’t embarrass you just yet.” As she continued to play, Michael decided to forge ahead. He couldn’t ignore the issue of Trent cheating any longer. It weighed him down more than a concrete hat. Even Emily’s gorgeous curves would only distract him for so long. “Em, there’s something I want to say to you, and I’m not sure how to say it.”
“Seeing as the Skee-Ball scouts aren’t headed my way any time soon to offer me a professional Skee-Ball job, I guess I can take a minute to hear you out.”
“I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.”
“Is it something to do with the renovation? Let me guess. A sponsor pulled out.”
“No, everything at the house is good to go. It’s about Trent.”
As soon as he said those words, her face changed and the light went out of her eyes. “I figured as much. What’s he done now?”
More like who has he done? “I went looking for him earlier today and overheard him on a phone call. I didn’t hear much, but I heard enough to know Trent isn’t being honest with you about something important.”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” She put her ball down. She took a deep breath and cracked a smile. “Michael, I’m having a really good time tonight, the best I’ve had in a while. In fact, I’m not ready for it to end.”
“I can understand that.”
“Then I hope you’ll understand I’m not trying to play ostrich here. I’m not the sort of person to run from my problems, but the fact is I’ve had nothing but problems lately where Trent is concerned. I don’t think I can process another one just yet. At least, not while standing next to a Skee-Ball machine.”
“Okay.”
“Does Trent know you heard his conversation?”
“Yeah. I spoke to him and told him he needed to talk to you or I would.”
“And he obviously hasn’t spoken with me.” Her nostrils flared. “I’ll just ask you one thing. Did you overhear him on the phone with his doctor? Is he dying?”
It figured she’d be worried about him. “No, he’s not dying, at least not that I know.”
“Okay. Here’s what I’m going to do. Whatever it is, I’m going to give Trent some time to tell me. He’ll get the benefit of my doubt for now. But Michael,” she said, laying her hand on his arm, “whatever it is, I won’t forget you came to me first.”
“I was hoping he would have by now.”
“I appreciate that, and I’m sorry he put you in a position, but can we just forget about Trent right now?”
He wanted nothing more. “You bet.”
She handed him a ball. “Here. Take your best shot.”
Michael smoothed his fingers over the ball, wishing he could touch her cheek instead. His attraction to her kept popping up, distracting him like the rodent in a Whack-A-Mole game. He turned to the lane, readied his shot, and tossed the ball.
It hopped into the one-hundred-point receptacle. Great. He still felt like a big, fat zero. At least he received some satisfaction in imagining the ball was Trent’s head.
“Look at you.” Emily bumped him with her hip. “You’re on your way to being the big winner, after all.”
Oh, yeah. Huge winner. He might win the game, but Emily would still go home to Trent tonight. She would slide into bed next to that ingrate, wrap her body around his and whisper ‘I love you,’ before falling asleep in his arms.
Somehow winning a round of Skee-Ball didn’t feel like much of a consolation.
***
“Are you ready to take down a wall?” Michael walked up the driveway toward Emily the next morning.
“Yes, sir.”
If anything, Emily was ready to take down the whole freaking neighborhood, Hulk-style.
Trent hadn’t called all night long, not to tell her about his mysterious conversation, and not even to let her know how his networking went. She’d awoken in a fury after very little sleep, and was now of the opinion she’d already lost too much sleep because of her fiancé.
Thank heavens the universe had provided an opportunity to smash something today. It was demolition day at the house, at least for one of the interior walls, and she couldn’t wait to get started.
If anything, her anger at Trent made her more aware of Michael’s charms. She tried not to stare openly, but he commanded her gaze with his confident stride and molten-chocolate eyes. He was wearing the same sort of outfit he always wore on Handymen. Jeans that fit well, work boots, and a long-sleeved tee that did nothing to camouflage his muscles. Despite the casual wear, he stood out and claimed her attention. Everything and everyone around him seemed to fade away.
Liberace, in all his glory, could have flounced past, waving a candelabra, and she would not have noticed.
Michael came to within inches. Only then did she spy the concern in his eyes. “How was your evening?”
“Quiet and long.”
“Is Trent here?”
“Not yet.”
“And he hasn’t been in touch?”
“Nope.”
“I’m sorry, Em.”
“Yeah. Me too. How was your evening?”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“Oh, Michael. I’m sorry if this kept you up.”
“Thanks, but it wasn’t just the issue with Trent. I haven’t been sleeping well for a while.”
Upon hearing this, her worries about Trent flew out the window. There was a tightness at the corners of Michael’s mouth. Something inside her chest tightened in response. “Anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I hope you sleep better tonight.”
“Thanks.” Michael grinned. “Let’s head inside.”
What would cause Michael to sleep poorly? She hoped it wasn’t stress over her renovation. He claimed it was going smoothly, but perhaps it was just too big a project.
Giving herself a mental wrist slap, she tried to stop obsessing over Michael’s lack of sleep. She didn’t have the luxury of sorting out his problems when she could barely sort her own, never mind Trent’s.
She checked her phone for any last-minute messages from her fiancé, but there were none. He should have been at the house by now and he certainly should have spoken to her about his conversation with Michael. What could Michael possibly have overheard? Emily realized now she shouldn’t have avoided the issue at the bar the previous evening, but something had told her it wasn’t good, and she just hadn’t been prepared to hear it.
But after a fitful sleep and hours of wondering, she was ready.
Only now, as they were about to demolish a wall, she had to banish her curiosity. As soon as Trent arrived and they found a quiet moment, she’d confront him and demand answers.
For now, she had to devote her attention to the task at hand. Michael’s plan involved a demolition of the interior wall that separated the foyer and the living space. When her grandmother’s house was built, it was before open-concept floor plans were popular. As a result, the main floor, with its enclosed rooms, felt tight and cramped by today’s standards. The floor plan might have worked for a house, but would never do for a retail space.
Emily had already discussed the demolition of the wall with Michael weeks before, but now that the hour was upon her, old nerves resurfaced. Although the Handymen crew knew what they were doing, she still had visions of her grandmother’s house tumbling down around them, pinning her under like the Wicked Witch of the East.
Michael recognized her fears then and he saw them again this morning. He pulled her aside. “Before I allow anyone in the crew to pick up a sledgehammer, I’m going to prove to you the house won’t collapse. Come with me.”
After grabbing a quick coffee and bagels at the craft service table with the rest of the crew, Michael led Emily upstairs, to the room directly above the wall. “I’ll show you how I know this isn’t a load-bearing wall. First of all, we have open space above the wall we want to demolish. This tells me it’s not supporting any beams or other walls.”
“That makes sense.”
Emily would have taken him at his word then, but Michael didn’t seem content to stop there. He led her back downstairs to where he’d stowed his copy of the original blueprints to the house. He set it on a work table and flipped to a page entitled Main Level Framing Plan. “See these lines going back and forth? They indicate floor joists. A load-bearing wall will often be perpendicular to the floor joists. These are parallel to the wall in question.” He smiled. “So you’re safe.”
With me. She could almost hear the words he hadn’t voiced.
Don’t be so silly. You’re getting carried away by being on a TV set. This ain’t The Bachelor and you’re not holding a rose, sister.
Standing so close to him, Emily had yet another chance to admire his eyes. Dark brown and warm, the skin around them crinkled when he smiled.
She’d always been a sucker for a good eye crinkle.
“Thanks, Michael. I appreciate your explanation.”
“No sweat.”
He had taken a few minutes out of his hectic schedule to let her know he cared what happened to the house and to her. Meanwhile, her fiancé couldn’t even call to say hello. Emily couldn’t disregard the fact Michael and Trent inspired very different feelings in her. Trent left her out in the cold and caused her to worry and wonder. Michael made her feel safe, even after a short acquaintance. Trent made hurtful remarks, even if he didn’t mean to. Michael leapt to her defense and told her she deserved better than a man who pointed out her flaws. The discrepancies between the two men, now glaring, made her want to imagine things were different. She couldn’t help wishing the spark in Michael’s eyes was more than friendliness and professionalism. It certainly seemed that way when she caught him looking at her.
“I hope you feel better about the demolition,” he said, interrupting her reverie.
“I do. You’re a good guy, you know that?”
“Just doing my job.”
He hadn’t just been doing his job when he rescued those children in that daycare a year ago. Although Emily had read all the reports in the papers, she remained intrigued, especially now that she’d met the man. She didn’t have the heart to ask him about the incident. After all, a woman had been killed. It was bound to be a difficult topic for him. Michael could have been shot as well, but he’d overpowered the assailant before he could do any more damage. Anyone involved would no doubt still feel the effects of the tragedy. Did Michael? Was it why he had trouble sleeping? Emily wished she could inquire, but didn’t want to overstep.
She supposed all she really needed to know was a good man had been there at the right time and had done what he’d needed to do.
The more she considered it, the more she came to the conclusion Michael was probably much more than a good man. He might actually be better than most.
Her feelings for him, her curiosity, had started to scare her. All last night, while Trent kept her in the dark, Emily had been tortured by thoughts of Michael as well. The worst part was seeing a matching curiosity in his eyes and not being able to do anything about it.
She’d tried several times to convince herself the heat in Michael’s eyes was mere friendliness. However, not every friend looked at her the way he did. There was something more in his gaze than mere consideration for another human being. She spied genuine interest. God only knew she felt it in return.
That heat scared her. She barely knew this man and she felt consumed, blistered, by attraction. All day yesterday, it had taken all her fortitude not to stare dreamily at him, and all while her fiancé stood in the next room, sulking by the craft service table.
By the time everyone was ready to start the wall demolition, Trent still hadn’t arrived. Emily had texted him several times to no avail.
“I can’t wait any longer,” Lacey finally declared. “Guys, take the wall down.”
Mortified because the demolition was just one more thing she had to do alone, Emily inched closer to Michael.
“It’s okay.” He put a hand on her lower back. “I’ll help you through it.”
“Thanks.”
He handed her a pair of safety goggles and helped her adjust them over her head, doing the same with his own pair. “Your bangs are caught in the strap. Let me fix it.”
His fingers loosened the strap so he could free the strands of hair. Although he had large hands, roughened by hard work, they felt soft against her skin. Gentle and kind, like him. Michael gazed into her eyes as he fixed her hair around her forehead and her breaths became shallow as she met his gaze.
“There.” He grinned. “You look like Mr. Magoo when he puts his glasses on.”
“Perfect. That’s just the look I was going for today.”
“Don’t worry. Mr. Magoo was never as hot as you are.”
She laughed out loud, but mostly because her gelatinous legs wouldn’t allow her to concentrate on being called “hot” by one of Canada’s hottest men.
For the cameras, everyone would take a swing with the sledgehammers. Because Emily owned the house, Michael had invited her to take the first shot, handing her a daintier implement, one that wouldn’t wrench her arm out of its socket. As Emily contemplated the wall, Michael positioned himself behind her.
He put his hands on her shoulders, helping her square them, and then lightly rested them on her waist. “That’s it. Feet apart. Back straight. Now give it a good whack, Em.”
As Michael stepped back, Emily’s body betrayed her. She hoped her boobs wouldn’t end up in the shot because she was sure her nipples were poking through her shirt. Hearing him voice her nickname gave her an intimate thrill, but his touch had proven even more explosive.
She wanted him to touch her again and hated herself for wanting it.
Annoyed at her warring emotions, she swung and landed a resounding crack on the wall. The drywall crumbled and the crew let up a whoop. Elated, she took another swing. This time, a piece of the frame came loose.
“Yes!” When Emily shouted in joy, everyone laughed. She looked around, embarrassed but thrilled. “Maybe I should stop while I’m ahead. This is a little too much fun.”
In truth, she’d hurt her shoulder on the last swing. When she rotated it, it popped as new muscles were strained. Emily put the sledgehammer down but she couldn’t stop smiling.
Michael was right. Demolitions could be therapeutic, although perhaps it was a bad idea to envision Trent as she drove a heavy implement into the wall.
The cameras picked up the action as Michael took a turn at the wall. He picked up a heavy-looking sledgehammer, pointed his finger at a spot of drywall like Babe Ruth preparing a hit, and swung. As he moved, his shoulder muscles danced. Emily had to force herself not to stare at his toned physique.
Lacey wanted footage of all the Zorn brothers attacking the wall, no doubt to appease all their respective fans with displays of unrelenting virility. When Michael was done, Eli and Nick prepared to take swings, donning safety goggles.
In the meantime, Michael returned to Emily’s side. He must have noticed her rubbing her shoulder and pulled her out of frame. She raised her safety goggles.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
His lowered voice made every hair on her arms stand on end. She gulped, suddenly thirsty. “No. I think I just used a muscle I never knew I had.”
His generous lips spread in a smile. “Yeah, you might feel that tomorrow.” He stood behind her and raised his hands over her shoulders. “May I?”
Emily nodded, swallowing. Why couldn’t she ease her thirst? The production assistant made sure everyone stayed hydrated.
Lacey called “cut” for a moment to answer a crew member’s question.
Michael began to massage her shoulders. “Demolition work is tough, but it’s a good burn.” His deep tones caressed her exposed skin, making it break out in goose pimples. “It reminds us our bodies were meant to be used and stretched, that we need to be pushed to our limits sometimes. What do you think, Em? Can you take more?”
She couldn’t even formulate a thought, never mind making her lips and tongue work. While Michael was breathing on her neck, whispering words that sounded naughty even though they hadn’t been meant so, she couldn’t voice a response.
He continued to rub her shoulders, his large fingers moving in slow circles. He stood so close behind her, too close. His presence rattled her brain. His soapy clean scent made her dream. His voice sent the most wonderful chills down her spine.
This man…he made her feel things she hadn’t felt in a long time.
She turned abruptly. “I’m fine now. Thank you.” She stepped away.
Michael didn’t react, but his lack of a reaction said more than any words might have said.
Lacey finished with the crew member and action resumed. Eli and Nick continued to take turns bashing what was left of the wall.
Trent chose that moment to arrive, a full hour late. He ploughed inside the house, not watching where he was going, and almost headed straight into Eli’s flying sledgehammer. Eli had to pull back quickly. As he did, his arm snapped back and he dropped the heavy tool. He let out a stream of curses.
Lacey stood. “Cut! Jesus Christ. Are you okay, Eli?”
The set medic, a retired nurse, ran forward and began to examine Eli’s shoulder.
Michael ran to his brother’s side. “You okay?”
Nick joined them. He pushed up his safety goggles, his face marred by concern, and moved Eli’s sledgehammer out of the way.
“Yeah.” Eli grunted as the medic manipulated his shoulder muscle. He turned to Trent. “You can’t just run in here when we’re doing a demo.”
“I didn’t know the demo had begun.” The petulant tone in Trent’s voice put Emily on guard.
“If you’d been here on time, you would have,” said Michael. “You should have been here with Em, instead of leaving her to tackle this on her own.”
One of Trent’s eyebrows arched. “Seems to me, Em had a lot of company already.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Emily moved to Eli’s side, dismayed at Trent’s comment. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“He’ll be fine,” said the medic. “But Eli will need to go home to rest and apply an ice pack.”
Eli winced as he rotated his shoulder. “It hurts like a sonofabitch.”
“Go home,” Lacey ordered. “Rest up and see how you feel tomorrow.”
“I’m so sorry, Eli.” Emily had no choice but to apologize on her fiancé’s behalf.
“You have no reason to apologize,” said Michael.
Trent let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, and I do?”
“Why come back anyway if you were going to walk in late?” continued Michael. “Do you even want to be on this show?”
“Do you want the truth?”
A collective gasp went up among the crew.
Emily’s entire body flagged. It was all she could do not to hang her head. Trent’s words made her want to disappear. She wanted to crawl up the stairs to Nonna Olivia’s old bedroom and huddle in the closet. How could he be so ungrateful?
“Dude,” said Nick in a quiet voice. “Do you even hear yourself?” He put an arm under Eli’s shoulder.
“I’ll drive Eli home.” The production assistant, Franka, joined the brothers at the door.
“Well,” said Lacey, “at least the demo is mostly done. Let’s just clear the garbage away, guys.”
The crew members set to work removing the bits of drywall and old wood moldings, taking care to discard bent nails along the way.
Lacey nodded at Michael. “We still need to tape a segue. Once the guys clear out the debris, we’ll put you over by the site of the demolished wall.”
Michael didn’t respond. Emily could see he was too busy throwing imaginary death lasers at Trent’s head. She was trying hard to keep from doing the same thing.
“Earth to Michael,” persisted Lacey.
“All right, all right.”
Once the crew discarded the rubbish, Lacey turned to Emily. “Hun, could you please stand next to Michael for this shot?”
“So where do you want me?” asked Trent.
Lacey turned her megawatt smile on him. “Actually, Trent, you’re fine over there by the door. Thanks.”
Out of the camera shot, Trent glowered.
Although Emily had only felt chilly vibes from Lacey so far, in that moment, she could have hugged the other woman. Trent’s behavior had been inexcusable. It was one thing to make an honest mistake and unwittingly hurt someone, but Trent’s lack of remorse sat in Emily’s gut like a hunk of moldy food.
Emily ignored Trent’s expression and took her spot next to Michael. His face creased in concern, and she knew it was concern for her, as much as for Eli. Emily couldn’t look at him. If she continued to look at him, she’d say something completely inappropriate. Michael tore down her defenses, as easily as the crew had torn down the old wall. For some reason, she wanted to ask him for a hug, but suspected any hug between the two of them would eventually turn into heavy petting.
This is so wrong. You’re making it worse with your stupid day dreams.
Conflicted and hurt, Emily tried to smile for the camera. It was a good thing Michael had all the lines in this segment.
As Lacey gave him his cue, he inhaled and smiled. “We’ve had an awesome demolition day, but there’s a lot more work to be done. Stay tuned. We’ll be starting drywall soon and Nick will give us a peek at his plans for the new deck. We’ve worked up a sweat here today, but the shower will have to wait until tonight.”
Lacey held up a hand. “Michael, could you do it again for me please?”
“Why?”
Lacey lowered her voice. “Because you look ready to murder someone. Say the last line again, but remember what I said about being playful. Maybe you could elbow Emily and wink at the camera.”
Michael gawked. “That’ll make it sound tawdry.”
“You say tawdry. I say sexy.” Lacey pretended to balance invisible scales. “Say the line, please.”
He glanced at Emily. Her nerves erupted in a crazed giggle. “It’s okay. It won’t bother me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go ahead. I could use a laugh.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed, then launched into the short monologue. When he repeated the last sentence, rather than winking at the camera, he turned to Emily instead. “We’ve worked up a sweat here today, but the shower will have to wait until tonight.” He waggled his brows, like a cheesy villain standing over the heroine he’d just tied to the train tracks.
Despite her ornery mood, Emily cackled and snorted. All her pent-up nerves exploded from her in raucous laughter. The noise succeeded in making Michael burst out as well. To egg him on, Emily waggled her own brows. Michael put a hand over his mouth but his shoulders moved with silent laughter. Lacey didn’t seem to mind. She rotated her finger in the air, a signal to Louie to keep filming. Once Emily and Michael were weeping in mirth, Lacey finally called an end to the shot.
“That was the most genuine moment you’ve had on camera in ages, Michael,” said Lacey. “Weird, but genuine.”
The contractor shook his head as the redness disappeared from his cheeks. “I haven’t laughed like that in ages.”
Emily wiped her eyes. “You have no idea how much I needed that. You’d make a great vaudeville actor.”
“I won’t give up my day job.” He bit his bottom lip. “I’d better go check on Eli. I hope you enjoyed the demolition.”
“I did. Thank you.”
They stared at each other for a moment and then Michael turned and headed toward where Eli was gathering up his things.
Emily glanced at Trent.
Her fiancé had already gone.
***
“Another cup?” the coffee shop waitress asked.
“No, thanks.”
The waitress walked back to the counter and Emily turned her attention toward her cup, stirring it again, even though the coffee and the cream had blended long ago. She inhaled the scent of its Irish Crème flavor, wishing it was the genuine article. She could use something stronger right now, although she doubted a shot of Bailey’s would fix her problems.
After the day’s shoot, Emily hadn’t been able to face her empty condo, and so she’d wandered toward the coffee shop down the road. She’d grabbed a seat near the window, away from the other patrons, a loud group of women comparing nail jobs. In her corner, she huddled, holding her cooling mug and staring out the window.
Trent had left in a huff after the sledgehammer incident, once again choosing not to share his whereabouts. No doubt he wanted to make her feel she’d done something wrong. That was his forte, letting her stew in her own juices.
Emily refused to do it anymore.
Trent should have apologized to Eli, plain and simple. Would it have killed him? She was tired of making excuses for his comments and childish behavior.
She was tired of him, period. Even without having discussed his conversation with Michael, Emily knew she was at a point of no return. She didn’t even care where he was or who he’d been with all those times he was supposed to be with her.
She just wanted out now.
Unfortunately, in order to end their engagement, she needed to be able to pin him down for five minutes.
Shouldn’t I give him a chance to come clean first?
After all, Trent had lost his job and he believed life sucked right now. Still, she’d been going out of her way to support him through the ordeal, both emotionally and financially. What more did he want her to do?
Perhaps he was receiving emotional comfort elsewhere.
The thought Trent might be cheating had haunted the periphery of her consciousness for some time but she hadn’t wanted to admit it. Now she had no choice. The man was distant, distracted, and had mysterious phone calls when she wasn’t looking. He treated her with disinterest at the best of times and downright belligerence at the worst of times.
Although he hadn’t been willing to respond to many of her texts lately, she took a chance he would answer this final one.
Are you cheating on me?
Emily put her cell phone down on the café table and watched the display screen for a reply, but there was none.
The question should have caused Trent to reply quickly, giving her assurances he wasn’t betraying her. Such a message, left ignored, spoke volumes. She knew for a fact even though Trent didn’t respond to all text messages, he always glanced at the screen to see them.
She could almost hear Michael’s thoughts on the matter.
Michael.
“Stop thinking of him,” she murmured. Her obsession with the contractor wasn’t helping things.
Neither was her inner voice. With increasing regularity, her instincts sent her messages, and each one flashed as bright as a Las Vegas casino sign.
Dump Trent’s ass. He makes you unhappy. What more do you need to know?
Determined to drive to Trent’s condo and finally have it out, Emily stood and picked up her purse. Planning what she’d say to him, she took her first steps toward the door. When she glanced out the picture window near the entrance, some movement outside caught her attention.
Trent emerged from the sports bar on the corner, one of the places where the two of them used to grab quick dinners. At first, Emily wasn’t sure it was him, but of course she’d know him anywhere.
He wasn’t alone.
He walked outside, looked around, and a woman followed him out. They were holding hands.
Emily’s gaze traveled slowly from their linked hands to the woman’s face. Veronica. The owner of the bar, the friendly one who always used to chat with them when they visited. The one who always seemed so interested in Trent’s cooking experience.
Trent looked down the road, in both directions, and grinned at Veronica. He led her a few steps away from the bar entrance, leaned her up against the brick wall, and kissed her on the mouth.
Emily couldn’t drag her gaze away, locked on the sight in morbid fascination as all her suppressed fears came to life in vivid Technicolor.
Trent kissed Veronica as if he received his life’s breath from her, and the woman smoothed her hands down his back to his backside. He hadn’t kissed Emily like that since…had he ever kissed her like that? She must have grabbed the nearest chair because the coffee shop waitress hurried over.
“You look light-headed. Do you need some help?”
Emily shook her head, but couldn’t stop looking at her fiancé.
The coffee shop waitress glanced out the window. “Boy, some people, huh? Maybe someone should tell those two to get a room. You sure you’re okay, hun?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Trent and Veronica ended their kiss, but snuck a couple more. He said something to her and backed away. Veronica blew him a kiss, pouted, and opened the bar door. Trent turned, but Veronica let go of the door and hurried back to him, flinging her arms around his neck. He grinned and they began necking as if they couldn’t drag themselves away from each other, like two rebellious teenagers whose parents disapproved of their relationship.
Something about their passionate clutch roused Emily out of her stupor. The desperate nature of their kiss brought her inner hellion to life. All of a sudden, her rage had a soundtrack, and it was written by a young Alanis Morissette. She wanted to stomp and scream and start an uproar.
Two years with this man. She’d shared her time, her finances, her fucking soul. Even though she’d begun to doubt his fidelity, having proof made the contents of her stomach turn over. It gave her as much pleasure as deep-throating a vomit popsicle.
Her feet led her outside the coffee shop, instantly picking up her pace, and it was a good thing, because she didn’t feel in control of her movements right now. If anyone had asked her how to place one foot in front of the other, she would have stammered, unable to come up with instructions. She passed one store front and then another. By the time she’d passed a couple more buildings, she was running.
She needed to tell Trent…tell him what exactly? That she hated him? That she wished he and his redhead arm candy would die painful deaths, preferably in the mouth of a volcano?
All she could see was her fiancé, the man about whom she’d worried so much, embracing another woman. How long had it been going on? It was possible Trent and Veronica had already been lovers when he took Emily to that bar the first time. She supposed anything was possible now. Had they traded looks behind her back, or maybe even snuck a grope or two when she went to the bathroom?
They’d probably laughed at her.
Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she hauled her slipping handbag back over her shoulder. She would not cry over this man.
She. Would. Not.
“Bastard.”
When Trent and Veronica turned toward her, Emily realized she’d said the word aloud.
“Oh, God, Em.” He turned the color of aged concrete.
As Veronica moved away, Emily reared back, funneling all her anger into the swing of her arm. Blind with fury, she punched Trent in the face. Pain shot up her arm and exploded from her in a shout. “You heartless fuck!”
When Trent went down, it was probably more out of shock than pain. A couple of teenage boys across the street hooted with mirth as his ass hit the pavement.
Emily cradled her aching hand, astounded at what Trent had done, but even more so at what she’d done. Why had no one ever told her how much it hurt to hit someone? Surely that sort of information ought to be relayed to everyone who came of age. When Emily first had her period, her mother bought her a book entitled Because You’re A Woman Now. She should have found one called Punching People Hurts Like A Bitch.
“I’m calling the police,” said Veronica, pulling out her cell phone. “You assaulted him.”
“Call them. Call the goddamn Mounties, for all I care.” Emily turned to Trent. “Let’s hear what Trent has to say. What do you think, babe? Care to press charges?”
“Put the phone away, Ronnie.” He scrambled to his feet.
“Ronnie.” Emily cackled. “That’s rich. Hey, thanks for your cooperation, Ronnie.”
Trent rubbed his cheek. “I deserved that one.”
“You deserve another one. No, several.”
“I’ve been an ass. Let me explain.”
“Please do. I’m in desperate need of entertainment.”
His blue eyes seemed so cold as he finally met her gaze. “What did you expect? Did you think it was easy for me to see you with those Zorn brothers?”
“What exactly do you think I’m doing with the Zorn brothers? We’re fixing a house, not having a goddamned orgy.”
“I’m not stupid. I see the way Michael Zorn looks at you.”
“Wait…”
“And I see the way you look at him.”
Emily had to shut her gaping mouth. “You’re actually trying to blame me for your indiscretion. This takes the cake.” She turned to Veronica. “From one woman to another, please, how long have you been seeing him?”
She glanced at Trent and then at the floor. “About six months.”
“Thank you.” Emily turned back to Trent as she wrenched her engagement ring from her finger and tossed it to him, not caring when he dropped it and it rolled perilously close to a sewer grate. Maybe if she prayed hard, the tacky bauble would fall into the drink and be lost forever in an abyss of shit and piss. A girl could hope. “Go to hell, Trent.”
“Em, please.”
As Emily walked away, she spoke to Veronica once more. “I liked you, so I’m going to offer you a bit of advice.”
“There’s no need.”
“Too bad. You’re going to listen. He cheated on me. He’ll cheat on you too.”
“Trent loves me.”
“No, sister. Trent loves himself.”
With one last glare at her ex-fiancé, she turned and marched down the street toward her condo. She didn’t stop moving until she was in the building and past security. If she stopped moving, she’d burst into tears and she would not allow it. Seized by a moment of weakness in the elevator, Emily’s eyes watered, but she blinked the moisture away. Too bad she couldn’t swallow the lump of burlap in her throat. She pounded the button for the tenth floor and thanked her stars no one else got in the elevator with her. Once she was on her floor, she sped toward her door and unlocked it.
Emily walked inside her unit, numb, and tossed her purse on the hall table. She closed the door behind her and locked it, wanting to lock out the world.
Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater. Had a fiancée but couldn’t keep her.
She’d been foolish. What an idiot.
When her cell phone rang inside her purse, she jumped. Emily gawked at her handbag, wondering if Trent might somehow burst from it. It figured he wouldn’t leave her to her misery. He refused to talk to her for months and now he wouldn’t leave her alone. How had he ever managed to drag himself away from his girlfriend in order to place the call? What a multitasker.
She marched over to the table and yanked her phone out of her purse, not even sure what she would say. She read the display.
It was Michael. Guilt, anger, and relief waged war in her stomach. She tasted her coffee again but it had soured.
It rang two more times. She picked up. “H-hello?”
“Hey, Em. It’s Michael. I wanted to make sure you weren’t sore after teaching that wall a thing or two.”
If only he knew she’d taught Trent’s face a thing or two. “I’m…um. How’s Eli?”
“He’ll live. He’s tougher than he looks.”
She wanted to laugh but couldn’t. All the Zorn brothers looked tough. “Good.”
“The medic made him ice his shoulder and is forcing him to lay off the heavy lifting for a couple of days. I’m sure he won’t listen. Anyway, it could have been worse.”
She nodded in acknowledgment, even though she knew Michael couldn’t see her.
He didn’t need to see her. After a pause, he responded. “Something’s wrong. You sound like someone just steamrolled your pet kitten. Are you okay?”
“Do you want the truth or the polite answer?”
“I’d like the truth even more now.”
“I’m not okay. Oh, and I think I broke my hand.”
“What? How?”
“Actually, I don’t think it’s broken but the color is weird. Should blood under the skin look red or purple?” Her voice went up in pitch with each syllable. She was just about ready to lose her shit big time.
I see the way Michael Zorn looks at you.
“Where are you?”
“My condo.”
“Alone?”
“Oh, yeah.” She snickered like the crazy lady who lived in the subway station, arguing with the walls. “Definitely alone.”
“I’m coming.”
Another lunatic laugh. “But you’re a big TV star. You shouldn’t care about my little people problems.”
“Fuck that shit. Where do you live?”
“Southport Street.”
“Really? I live on The Kingsway. We’re practically neighbors.”
“The Kingsway. La dee da. I’d better break out the fine china.”
“Well, I am a major TV star.”
She wanted to laugh at his joke, but tears swarmed her eyes. As her last shred of loyalty to Trent dissolved, a sliver of relief infiltrated her darkness. She had to talk to someone or she’d burst. Her brother would only lecture her and rightly so, but she couldn’t listen to him right now. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to talk to Michael either. She liked him a little too much, but had stopped feeling tortured about it the moment she set foot outside that coffee shop. “I’m at number 60. Unit 1013. I’ll buzz you up.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, Michael. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have any gauze, would you?”
“I think I can spot you some gauze. Be right there.”
He ended their conversation, but it was a whole five minutes later that Emily realized she was still standing in the hallway, cushioning her sore hand, staring at the closed door, waiting for answers that refused to materialize.