When the light of morning invades the room, peeking between the blinds, she is still in my arms. We practically haven’t moved. Our hands aren’t tangled anymore, but otherwise we are the same. I could get used to this, waking up next to her after a night like we just had. I know it wouldn’t be easy. I know there would be a lot of pissed off people, but … maybe.
Maybe it could work.
Maybe we could make it work.
I have to be sure, however. We both would have to be. We can’t just throw caution completely to the wind, say fuck it all, and do the white house with picket fence and kids without examining the situation on paper.
Speaking of kids, I dreamt about her last night. We were in the kitchen, making brownies, both of us covered in flour, being playful and fighting for the spoon. She had sucked brownie mix off my finger, and I kissed her before little feet pattered into the kitchen and grabbed at both our legs. When I looked down, it was the face of a child—golden ringlets popping up all over, bright blue eyes shining happily at us. I can’t remember if it was a boy or girl. Honestly, I don’t think I even knew in the dream. But it seemed real.
It felt like … a premonition almost.
I get out of bed, and stumble to the kitchen. From the cabinets, I pull two mugs, and prepare the coffee maker, then search through the fridge and decide on eggs and bacon.
I fry the bacon over a hot pan, and have the eggs going in a separate one. Emily’s mug is in place under the coffee maker, and I sip mine between pushing around the eggs and flipping the bacon strips.
A phone rings in the distance. I check my pockets and decide it’s mine. I’m still working out the kinks from not sending a file to my dad on time yesterday, so I rush quietly back to the bedroom. Deacon’s name illuminates the screen, and I wince before pulling my lips into a thin line. Emily hasn’t moved, and her breathing is still slow. Hurriedly, I grab it from the nightstand and jog back to the kitchen before sliding to answer.
Before I can say hello, Deacon blares through the speaker. “Yo, man! Where you at?”
“Still at the beach. What’s up?”
I move the eggs mindlessly across the pan with the spoon, and then grab a plate and dump all the bacon on it.
“I was hoping we could talk about the property in Blue Ridge. I just went and saw it. Fucking love it. Do you think...”
I don’t hear the rest of his question. It isn’t that he doesn’t ask it loudly enough. It’s that Emily suddenly speaks from close behind me, her face pressing into my back.
“Is that coffee cup mine?”
I jumped somewhere in the middle of her question, a fuck coming out of my mouth before I almost drop the phone.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says, pressing the brew button on the cup.
I wanted to tell her to be quiet, but it happened so fast.
A laugh on the other end of the line. “Emily?”
My body seizes in terror at his question. I spin around to her, and place a finger over my mouth, praying she won’t say anything else. I feel like I am going to be sick.
“Sounded just fucking like her.” He laughs. “She has a twin.”
My eyes close, and I breathe a sigh of relief, my shoulders slumping. I laugh, playing off his recognition, ready to blame a shit signal on having to end the call.
“I’m not kidding, dude. I wanna meet her. Soon.” My throat grows tight, but to my relief he changes the subject. “Anyway, I was thinking we could meet with Nancy tomorrow night to fill out the paperwork for the offer. Or I could do it. We don’t want to let this go. Seven couples have already looked at it, and one is supposedly putting an offer together.”
Emily’s hands find their way to my chest, and an involuntary moan leaves me.
“Dude, are you jacking your dick?” Deacon asks. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Super weird, bro. Anyway, talk to Nancy when you get a chance. Work it out. Quick.”
We hang up, and Emily says, “Who was that?”
“Who else?” I roll my eyes, and fill the plates a little too roughly.
“Oh.”
She takes her coffee, and I motion toward the table while carrying breakfast. I don’t know why, but I am annoyed with her. I know she didn’t know I was on the phone with Deacon, but I am worried maybe he will figure out that it really was her. I know that is inevitable if we are going to keep seeing each other, but there is a better way to go about it.
It would have to be a sit-down man-to-man chat, and even then, it wouldn’t go well. I know it wouldn’t, but at least it would be a tactful way to break the news to him versus, “Hey, Emily is here with me, and of course we fucked since we are at the beach together. Sorry, man.”
After a bite of eggs, Emily says, “Maybe we could go for a swim after breakfast?”
I drop my fork, and cut my eyes to her. Her makeup is a day old, her hair messy and wild, and she is wearing my shirt, and it is all fucking hot, and I hate that she has the power to distract me like she does.
“I don’t know. Deacon heard you. He even asked if it was you.”
Her eyebrows raise. She takes a sip of coffee. “Well, if he did, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
My eyes narrow in her direction, in awe of her complacency to the situation, but I try to remember she doesn’t see things from my side. To her, Deacon is an ex-boyfriend who didn’t work out. To me, he is my best friend—the guy I imagined would be at my wedding someday. The guy who can’t and won’t be there if she is the one waltzing in the white dress.
I suck down the rest of my coffee, occasionally glancing her way She picks at a cuticle on her thumb, and barely eats what is left on her plate. She must know that I am upset, and now she is, too. But I can’t hide my worry.
He said her name.
From the counter, my phone rings, and I gladly seize the opportunity to rush up and get it. Isabel.
“Hey, I’m gonna take a walk and answer this call. You mind?”
From the table, Emily shakes her head, but I see the opposition she is trying to hide.
Still, I answer it and walk out the door.
“Isabel. How are you?” I feel awful for not checking up on her as much as I should have been, but I have been so busy, and dealing with my own issues, too. Plus, the last time I talked to her, she told me not to treat her like a baby.
“I’m wondering why you haven’t called.” She laughs, and I want to laugh, because women always mean the opposite of what they say, apparently.
But I don’t, because I am worried as fuck right now. Any moment, shit could click for Deacon.
“Brooks?”
I don’t respond, but I look behind myself, searching to make sure Emily isn’t following before I jog down the hotel stairwell.
“Hello?”
I run quickly, each step disappearing behind me at lightning speed until I am two floors down. I feel safe finally, like I can talk freely without fear Emily will sneak up on me.
“Hey, sorry. Poor reception.” I find a bench near the elevator and sit.
“Yeah, right. I heard you breathing. What’s wrong?”
She knows me too well, and I desperately need to get this off my chest, so it erupts from my mouth in one spiel of uncertainty. “I fucked Deacon’s ex-girlfriend. I’m actually at the beach with her.” I sigh. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Whoa, whoa. You fucked Kara?” Isabel practically screams her name to the point that I flinch.
“What? No. Emily.”
“The girl from the church?”
My head juts back. I didn’t expect her to remember her name. Shit, I really hope she has never said anything to anyone. But obviously, she didn’t. “Yeah, that girl.”
“That’s wrong, Brooks.” Disapproval is thick in her voice. It unsettles me, compounds every hesitant thought I’ve had on my own.
“I know, I—it isn’t something I planned. It just happened.”
She laughs, one fast shriek of shock. “Nothing just happens, Brooks. Nothing. She is beautiful, and she seems like a nice girl, but that’s no excuse. You don’t go messing around with your best friend’s woman. There are plenty of women out there. Pick one of those.”
Her words split me, an axe right down the middle. But they bring the clarity of experience. Of course, it doesn’t mean I have to do what she says, but I should at least marinate on it.
“You’re probably right. I mean, I know you are. It just isn’t that easy now that we’re too far in.”
“That’s bullshit. The only thing you’re too far in is her pussy!”
“Jeez, when you say it like that...”
“Exactly! You know it’s wrong. You need to stay away from her.”
Dread hovers over me. Even though I know she is probably right, I need time to think. I can’t just make love to Emily, and then send her on her way. That would be as fucked up as anything else.
“Yeah.” I change the subject. “How’s your arm now? All better?”
She exhales, her breath rushing from her in one disappointed sigh. “It’s good. Anyway, I’ll see you when you get back. Do what you have to do. No, no … do what you should do.”
We hang up, and instead of heading back to the room, I choose what feels like the dick route and go to the bar across the street.