I stand on the edge of the bathtub. Turn and look at my ass. This is at least fuckworthy, I think. I couldn’t bear the thought of sailing through this magical night in shorts and a tank, so of course I opted for one of the gazillion dresses I brought. I purposely matched it to his eyes, that otherworldly blue that leaves my knees shaking and my heart racing.
But ugh, he’s mad at me. He’ll get over it, though. One look at me, and he’ll forget the entire incident.
I pinch myself. I just can’t believe this is my life today—here with Brooks, and he invited himself! I need to send the author of that Bitch book a fruit basket or some other token of appreciation—invite her to the wedding once we set a date. It feels like I took a shortcut in Candyland over the Peppermint Bridge or Gum Drop Mountains or some shit.
After adjusting my tits and giving my nipples a little squeeze, I hop down onto the tile, and press the makeup sponge to my face once more. Smile to the mirror as I fluff my hair. Flawless.
I open the bathroom door, ready for the night ahead. Pause at the tower of muscle and bones mere feet from me, his crisp white polo taut over that hard-earned physique—eyes glowing like a welcoming window sign that says Fuck Me. I smile at him, looking down at my bare feet before my eyes trail back to his. Fresh color blooms in his cheeks, and a corner of his mouth lifts—the makings of a smile that never comes to fruition before he turns away.
“You look nice,” he says, hand swiping his keys from the counter. But that’s it. No specifics, no Wow, Emily, your hair looks awesome or Damn, Emily, those titties are huge and perfect built-in travel pillows—only the generic response you’d dole out to any person who changed into nicer clothes.
And it isn’t enough.
I want more. More of the kiss from my old apartment. More of his fingers in my pussy and his cock in my hand. More of his cum on my fingers. I crave him, need him like a junkie needs suboxone. Only, they have swift access to what they require. I, on the other hand, feel as if I’ve been waiting an eternity. In truth, I’ve waited nearly two-thirds of my life. But tonight … tonight will make it all worth it, because I think by doing this, by coming on this trip … I think he’s earned a good fuck.
In the car, Brooks gets frustrated trying to navigate the busy strip—groups of people consistently crossing the street. Finally, he gets an opportunity, and he breaks the silence as our drive steadies.
“So, what’s the deal with your grandmother?”
My throat prickles. I bite the tip of my tongue, priming myself for disaster. “Oh, you know. Just the typical little old lady in a nursing home wanting a visit from her granddaughter.”
“Why Myrtle Beach? She didn’t live in California?”
I clench my teeth. Attempt to harness the dread in my throat and lock it away, but I can’t ignore the fact that I’ve gotten myself into yet another bad situation. “She did. Long ago. She and my grandfather retired to Myrtle years ago before it became such a party place.”
“Is he still around, or did he pass?”
The car slows in front of a place called Villa Romana, so I use it as opportunity to change the subject. “Have you eaten here?”
“No, but it has great reviews. We can find somewhere else, though, if—”
“No, I love Italian.” My hand naturally reaches for his arm as an offer of reassurance before I blush and smooth my hair.
I clear my throat, my fingers climbing the door to reach for the handle, but he stops me, his hand clasping my wrist. “Wait.”
He insists on opening my car door, and then again holding the restaurant door for me. Inside, the ambiance is perfect—quiet, dimly lit, a bit vintage and slightly stuffy. Exactly what I’d expect from an authentic Italian spot. We’re shown to a table in a corner, away from everyone, secure in our own little bubble of beach romance—safe from any outside predators. No sluts, no gold diggers, no ex-fiancées, ex-boyfriends, or nosy best friends.
Just us.
Brooks pulls out my chair for me, and hot damn, I think it’s real this time. A date—for both of us. Not simply in my head or my most treasured of fantasies, but in our flesh, our blood, and our bones. I lose myself staring at the air before me until his eyes invade that space as he sits down. We linger on each other a minute, a slow flutter dancing in my chest before he picks up the menu and tells our server we’ll need some time to glance over the selection.
When she comes back, I play it safe for breath’s sake. Order the chicken parmigiana and a water. Brooks orders the linguine with clams, so I guess he isn’t planning on kissing me, but then he changes his order to alfredo, and there’s hope after all. We pick at the bread, sailing through typical first-date small-talk until he gets back on the very subject I wanted to avoid.
“What time do you need to go to the nursing home tomorrow?”
I take a sip of water. Buy time. “Not sure yet.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t push, and changes the subject. “Cool. Look, I—there’s something I need to get off my chest. I wanted to apologize for what happened in the mountains.”
I shake my head as the wine is brought. “There’s no need.” I take a sip as he chews some bread.
“But there is. You didn’t ask me to kiss you. I just did it. I thought you wanted it, and in the moment—well, I am a guy, and you are...” His jaw tics, his lip pulling under his teeth as he pulls off another chunk of bread.
“It’s okay, Brooks. Really.” Why is he apologizing? It sounds like he regrets the entire act.
His eyes flick up to mine. Something filters through them—lust, adoration, excitement. But then he loosens his shirt around the neck, and his eyes go flat. “No, it isn’t. Everything with Eliza and Deacon and—anyway, it shouldn’t have happened, and I hope you don’t hold it against me.”
Our entrees are set on the table. A pause ensues as we each pick up our forks. “I don’t hold it against you.” I smile, wanting to shake him as hard as I can for regretting our beautiful moments. “I enjoyed it.”
He shrugs, a smile lifting half his mouth, but he gazes at some of the other patrons instead of directly at me. “Well, yeah. I could kind of tell.”
“Kind of?” My brows raise at him, my tongue sliding across my lips.
He lifts a shoulder. “A little bit.”
“So, why are you apologizing?” Boldness takes over me, and claws out of my throat. Fights to bring us together.
He rubs his chin before blowing out a long breath. “I don’t want to darken the mood. We can talk about that later.”
I want more than anything to be oppositional, demand answers from him. But I see the internal war raging within, simmering beneath the surface, and that’s good enough. When it comes to us, Brooks dangles from the edge of a cliff, unable to hoist himself back up to safety, but instinctively determined not to fall to his destiny. He doesn’t know what awaits him below is simply a warm lake of love and not a deadly pile of rocks that Eliza would have been. But he’ll see. All he has to do is let go, and tonight he’ll do that. He’s ready. So, I’m going to enjoy this, soak up every smile and laugh, commit every word to memory, because a first date should be treasured. Cherished.
“I saw her the other day, you know,” I say, ever the daredevil I am.
His eyes cut back to mine. “Who? Eliza?”
“Yeah.”
He asks why, where, how, and at first seems a little too interested. I gulp down half my wine before saying, “Lennox Mall. Smoking in the parking lot. Must have been shopping with her mother or something, and definitely must not have gotten the memo that you shouldn’t smoke when pregnant.”
His eyes narrow contemplatively, lips whispering out the word “smoking” as if he’s in shock. But I don’t worry about whether he’ll verify my claims. He’d trust me over her any day if he knows what’s good for him. A little plastic surgery and some lies to bring us together are so much better than Eliza cheating and getting pregnant.
I shrug. “Maybe she’s depressed.”
Finally, his head tilts as acceptance settles in. “I guess. We used to smoke together in high school, and sometimes we would go through a pack if we were drinking, but I wouldn’t think she would do it while pregnant. Sucks for the baby. Speaking of her—and I hate to bring this up—but I hope you don’t feel guilty about what happened in your apartment months ago.”
“I don’t,” I offer, albeit impulsively because I’m so grateful he didn’t ask for more details about her. It speaks to his lack of interest. “She’d already told me she cheated in the past. I didn’t know it was still happening, but I didn’t think she deserved you. And I don’t know, I—I did feel a connection. I guess it’s the same as Blue Ridge was for you. I thought you wanted it, so I did it.” A smile passes my lips before I bite it away.
He raises the wine glass to his mouth. Takes a long swig, dissecting my words, bouncing them from one lobe of his brain to the next. Examines them for truth. “Maybe I did. Maybe I just didn’t realize it at the time.”
My heart jumps. His admission scorches my cheeks, yet somehow chills me simultaneously. Actions speak louder than words, they say, but his calm fears, soothe old wounds, and give hope for a future. “Wow.”
“You sound surprised…” He sucks the rest of his wine in one gulp. Refills our glasses. “You act like you don’t know how gorgeous you are.”
I swallow. Shrug. “I guess not.”
“Then you’re too critical of yourself. But it isn’t just looks. You’re stunning, but there’s also something else.”
I tilt my head. “Something else?”
“I don’t know what it is, but it’s impossible not to notice you. You have this mysterious side that you keep hidden away.”
The forceful beat inside my chest seizes my breath as our server reappears to ask how the food is, if we need anything. We shake our heads in unison, mine shaky and weak. I’m unsure if it’s the wine or the changing direction of our conversation—the voluntary slip of his fingers from the edge of that cliff he’s on—but I suddenly feel drunk and like I should quit while I’m ahead. If the cackling group of women on the other side of the restaurant isn’t enough of a deterrent to getting drunk, I don’t know what would be.
He peers at me, leaning closer. “Did I say something wrong?”
My eyes flick up to him, my hand reaching to cover an emerging smile. “No. I just don’t know what to say, I guess.” I wish I knew the perfect response, but the book hasn’t adequately prepared me for this—for requited feelings, when you finally begin to get what you want.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I guess I just can’t understand how a woman like you is still single.”
Yes, why am I single, Brooks? Can you help me with that? I play with my wine glass. Move it in lazy circles, my eyes fixed on the swirling liquid. “I wish I knew.”
A pause. An alcohol-fueled admission. “If it weren’t for all the obstacles, I’d probably try to do the honors myself.”
I stare at him. His eyes bore into me, touching my hopes and dreams, coaxing them awake until they’re unwilling to go back to sleep. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” I gesture with my hands at the restaurant.
He opens his mouth to speak but stops. Rubs his neck. “Well, I couldn’t let you spend a weekend with some strange guy when I was going to be here buying a boat. Coincidence of the year, but a good one. Save the damsel in distress, get my boat. Two birds with one stone.”
If only he knew there was a third bird.
Full, but satisfied from the dessert, Brooks and I stumble along the sidewalk, having opted to abandon his car after having too much to drink, and Uber being a twenty-minute wait. The air is pleasantly warm, streets brimming with objectionable spring break sluts in cheek-revealing shorts and crop tops. We pass two mini golf places and approach a drugstore when he stops.
“Mind waiting out here? I need to grab something.”
I shake my head, leaning against the brick of the store while he’s inside. Scroll through my phone. A group of college-looking guys approach, all clad in customary neon beachwear, cocky laughter spurting from their mouths. I’m expecting them to bypass me, walk in the store, but the most attractive of the bunch halts before passing. I let my eyes fall back to my phone, intent on ignoring him.
“Excuse me, but uh … you smell like trash.”
Immediately, my eyes cut to him, and a light gasp emanates from my throat. “Pardon?” I adjust my footing. Stand up straighter, ready to sniff my armpit and introduce him to the heel of my shoe at the same time.
Mr. Bold licks his lips. “I said you smell like trash.” He takes a step forward, his head craning back to his friends before whipping back to me. “So, can I take you out?”
The radiance of carefree youth flashes through his eyes, and I almost smile. Almost. But his friends’ obnoxious sputters and giggles incite old memories, ones I don’t like. I don’t have time for this shit—I’ll be damned if I’m the butt of their joke.
“No. I’d rather smell, thank you.” My icy words turn their smiles into frowns.
“Damn. That’s cold. Well, what are you doing later?”
“Fucking my boyfriend. Seeya.”
“You’re fast. We just met, and I’m your boyfriend already?” he cackles. “Name the time, sweetheart, and I’ll be there. But you don’t live in the ghetto, do you? Cuz I’m ‘bout to ghetto hold of that ass!”
On the last word, his hand reaches out to presumably touch my ass, when suddenly he’s on the ground, his body grating against the loose pebbles in the parking lot, eliciting a physical cringe within me. I search for the source of the blow, my eyes landing on Brooks—his nostrils flared, jaw tight, lips in a thin line, and chest heaving.
“I dare you to fucking touch her!” He advances toward the injured douche, who is now backward crawling in an attempt to get up. His friends don’t help him, but they mumble obscenities directed at my man.
Douche wipes a spot of blood from his lip, smearing it instead of removing it. Stands and backs up, his gait wobbly at first before balancing out. “Fuck. You busted my fucking lip, bro.”
Brooks grabs me, his thumb likely bruising my forearm. “Good. Get the fuck out of here before I give you two black eyes to go with it, you fucking punk.” He releases his grip on my arm, and retrieves his wallet. Pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and casts it to him, the money floating slowly to the ground. “Take that. Fix your lip, and then buy yourself some pussy.”
We laugh all the way back to the house, and I’m on cloud nine—breezing through the sky with the most beautiful man on Earth. I think it’s safe to say he has officially let go now. All he must do is crash to the bottom and let me catch him.
“The look on his face,” I say as we approach the door, my heels in my hands. “I can’t get over it.”
“Anything to protect the ladies.” He winks. “Fucking your boyfriend, huh?” He nudges me with his arm.
“Oh God. You heard that? I didn’t mean—well, it wasn’t meant to—”
“I’m teasing you.” He holds up the drugstore bag that I never asked about and pulling out a flashlight, says, “I was thinking maybe we could walk the beach for a while. Look for shells or crabs or something.”
“Okay.”
I follow him to the shore, and we collapse on the sand. Sigh in unison at the Black Beauty of God that is the ocean at night. People are scattered about, but not close to us. We are, for all intents and purposes, alone. The wind blows my hair, gently ruffling it. From the drugstore bag, he pulls a large beer for himself and a couple frozen drinks for me. We stare at the massive sea before us—our toes squishing into the sand, broken shells pressing into my thighs—drinking our alcohol in silence, but that silence meaning everything.
I think I’ve finally pried open his little oyster shell.
The quiet is monumental—our souls speaking much louder to each other than they ever could with words. The comfortable vacant moments evolve into a peace I haven’t had since I began this journey. A feeling of faith, so strong, unbridled, and child-like. The supreme goal, the destination, of course, is to be his fiancée, his wife after we gaze lovingly at each other at an altar and recite vows, the mother of his children. But more than anything, above it all, I want to be his eternal love, and for the first time ever I can reach out and grasp something that before could only be admired.
“For the record,” he says, breaking our beautiful moment, “I’d have no problem with either of those.”
I meet his gaze. “Either of those...?”
“Being your boyfriend.” And a little quieter, “Fucking you. Making love to you.”
My eyes widen. “Oh yeah?” I can’t help it, but the question comes out in one of those 1-800 sex line voices. I can’t believe this. I cannot fucking believe this. He is actually saying shit. Poor guy is a little drunk, I think, but I take the words and wrap them over me like they’re a fucking mink coat.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying this stuff.”
“But you feel that way?”
A pause. “Yeah.”
I cross my ankles, though I should be spreading my legs, making room for its future sole occupant. I rub my lips together to ward off the smile. “What’s stopping you, then?”
He raises a knee. Shifts in the sand, his leg enjoyably coming to rest against mine. “I’d love to be with you, Emily, but we’re both smart enough to know that can’t happen.”
The alcohol fails me. I generously spew emotional vomit at him. “And why not?” I roll onto my side. Daringly trace a circle on his skin with my finger. “I mean, why do this, if there’s nothing between us? Tonight sure seemed like a date to me, or was it not?”
He looks at me, the starlight reflected in his eyes, the ones I refuse to ever stop seeing. I note the smoothness of his skin—poreless and perfect, but with creases of a blue blood who drinks stress and expectation in large doses. His throat tightens at the pain of his regret. “I didn’t intend for it to be, but yes, I think we both know it was a date. Is a date.”
Fireworks of elation erupt within me. Zip, crack, pop. I grab the bottom of his shirt, my pointer finger moving beneath it to dance across his skin and twirl through the hair that leads to a place no man has hopefully ever gone before. I smile inwardly at my fucked up, corny humor, as his face hardens with arousal.
In my buzzed stupidity, I only listen to my vaginaheart and not my head or the book. “Kiss me,” I whisper.
Hesitation lines his face, a sigh of uncertainty escaping his throat.
I sit up. Lean into him, our foreheads pressed together. “Kiss me,” I repeat. “Please.”
Another sigh. “I don’t want to lead you on, Emily.” He moves my hand away.
I pull back from him, tears taunting the corners of my eyes. “Lead me on?”
“If we sleep together, it’s going to be infinitely harder to stay away from each other. Look at us now. We’re at the fucking beach together.”
“Which was your idea.” Okay. Maybe I manipulated him a bit. I blink, the former mist in my eyes already having disappeared.
“I’m serious. If we sleep together, we’ll wish we hadn’t. It’s better to back off now before it gets any more complicated and fucked up than it already is. We could never be anything, and as much as we both—or … I—may want that, it isn’t an option.”
Goddamn Brooks. Goddamn him and his morals and goodness and friendship skills and thoughtfulness. I clench my fists, closing around handfuls of sand. Bite down hard on my tongue. If Brooks isn’t with me, then that means he’s going to be with someone else. I realize this. I know this.
I won’t let Brooks end up with someone else.
I won’t let Mrs. Jansen not be me. I especially won’t let it be the whore who’s after him now.
Not unless it’s over my dead fucking body.