Her chest lifted and light reflected in the tiny pearls sewn into her dress in neat little rows. “Thanks. That helps.”
Snatching her drink, she slouched back on the couch and latched onto the straw like a baby calf to an udder. He grabbed his beer and joined her, digesting in the welcomed silence.
“Did anyone ever cheat on you, Riley?”
Even silence had a shelf life.
“I’ve never dated anyone long enough to give them the opportunity.”
The rattle of ice being siphoned up a straw accompanied her slurping. “You’ve never been in love?”
“No.”
“That’s sad,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“Not really. I’m fine with it. I mean, look at you. You were in love and now you’re sitting in a wrinkled wedding dress with Bride of Frankenstein hair and tearstains on your face. I don’t see the appeal.”
“It’s a gown, not a dress.”
“Whatever.” He sipped his beer.
She rustled around and gathered her puffy gown as she stood, swishing to the kitchen. He silently observed as she mixed another drink, not commenting when she annihilated the recipe, adding way too much rum.
“I would have made a good wife,” she enunciated the statement with a swish of her glass.
“And someday you will.”
“That’s right,” she decided, her enthusiastic agreement taking him by surprise. “Some guy will be lucky to have me.” She sipped her pale drink, never removing the straw from her lips as she spoke.
“Damn straight.”
“Because I’m fun and honest and nice and I can bake the fuck out of a batch of cupcakes!”
“You’re a modern day Betty Stewart,” he agreed.
“Yes—” She frowned. “Who?”
“The lady who calls everything a good thing.” Betty Stewart? Martha Crocker? Aunt Jemima? It was on the tip of his tongue.
She snorted. “You mean Martha Stewart.”
“Whatever.” Like it mattered. She got the point.
“Well you’re damn right!”
He jerked back as her voice abruptly got louder. She swished in a cloud of crinkled ivory across the room, one hand holding her drink, the other choking the bottle of rum.
“And let me tell you something else, Riley Lockhart.”
“I’m listening.” This was turning into quite a show. Apparently Emma couldn’t hold her liquor.
She kicked the trash off the coffee table and climbed on top, her bare feet perfectly proportioned to her miniature size. “I never cheated. Once there was this guy who asked me out and I said, ‘No way, José! I have a boyfriend.’ Well, I should have said yes—that’s what I should’ve done.”
“Should’ve.”
Finishing her drink, she unscrewed the cap of the rum and dumped more over the ice. It was coconut rum so it couldn’t be that strong, but Emma was rapidly getting wasted.
“Well, let me tell you a bit of news, mister.” Her fist holding the bottle lifted. “As God is my witness, I’ll live through this and when it’s all over, I will have sex again!”
Her recovery, though drunk, was to be admired. “You go, Hester Prynne.”
She wagged a finger, her eyes droopy. “I was doing Scarlet O’Hara.”
“Right.”
“And next time, I’m going to do it with the lights on and maybe even topless.”
He frowned. What kind of sex was she having before?
“I just have to find a sexable guy. Oooh! Or maybe a girl! Wouldn’t that be fun to make Becket think he turned me gay. If Rarity wasn’t with Lexi I’d totally have sex with her.”
“Ew.” He quickly erased the image of his sister in any sort of sexual context.
“What? Your sister’s hot, Riley. Do you know how many guys hit on her when we go out? Like seven.”
He had to laugh. “Seven?” Was that in total or per outing?
“Yeah.” She sipped, this time right from the mouth of the bottle. “And do you know how many guys hit on me?”
Probably more, especially if she was drinking. “How many?”
Her brows drew together as she pegged him with her doe eyes and her mouth lost all animation. “None.”
Her arms lowered, hands weighted by rum and ice. “No one ever sees me. Not the way they see your sister or other girls.”
When she looked at him again his heart pinched for the desolate longing in her stare and he wished he had the words to comfort her.
“Why is that, Riley?”
Shaking his head, he gave her honesty. “I don’t know, Emma.”
Lowering herself to the surface of the table, she bunched up the layers of ivory lace and sat cross-legged like a child. The white bottle lifted and she took a long swig. “Do you think I’m pretty? Be honest.”
He laughed. “You’re very pretty, Emma. Today you just look like Courtney Love on a bender, but usually you’re adorable. If guys aren’t paying attention to you it’s because they’re intimidated. That’s all. Don’t make what Becket did anything more than it has to be.”
She slouched. “You’re smart, Riley. You know what to say.”
“I think you’re drunk. I’m not even sure if what I said makes sense.”
With her head down, she raised her gaze and grinned. “Drunk s’okay. I deserve drunk.”
He held out his beer. “To drunk.”
“To drunk.” She clanked her bottle of rum to his Brawler and sighed. “I don’t want to hurt anymore, you know? It just hurts so damn bad and I can’t make it stop.”
“I believe in avoiding the tough feelings at all costs.”
“Yes,” she agreed, nodding heartily. “Screw feelings. They’re heavy and messy and make you fat.”
“I know you ate my ice cream.”
She smirked and met his stare. “I’m not even sorry.”
He gasped. “You bitch.”
“It was spectacular, all those pieces of toffee and chocolate fudge clumps. I hurt that ice cream.”
“You’re not right.”
She laughed. “Do you forgive me?”
“No. That was my ice cream.” Strangely, he wasn’t pissed about it anymore. At least she appreciated it when she devoured it.
“I wanna think like a man,” she slurred, easing her back to the coffee table and staring at the ceiling.
“I’m not hooking you up with my sister, so forget it.”
“No. Rarity’s in love with Lexi. I’d never take that from her. I mean, I don’t wanna feel all these girlie things anymore. I don’t wanna care.”
“But you’re a girl, Emma. You do care. That’s what makes you, you.”
“Tell me how to be someone else then. Just for a little while. Please.”
Though she was a far cry from her usual, put together self, she was still in there somewhere. Emma was a special breed of woman. She was soft and naturally feminine. Delicate. He didn’t pity her, because she was above being pitied. However, he sympathized with her.
“Don’t be someone else, Emma. All the someone elses in the world can’t compare to you. You’re a dying breed.”
“I feel like I’m dying,” she whispered, keeping her gaze on the ceiling, a tear sliding into her hair.
“Hey.” Leaning forward, all joking aside, he nudged her shoulder until she faced him. “We are who we are in this life. Pretending to be someone else never solves anything. Trust me. I’ve tried it.”
“I’m not sure who I am anymore. I mean, look at me, Riley. I’m lying on a table in my wrinkled wedding gown. I haven’t brushed my hair in days. My legs are hairy. There’s something sticky on my neck and my burps smell like Old Bay and coconut. No wonder Becket didn’t want to marry me.”
“Becket’s a douchebag. I’m not sure what you saw in the guy, but I never saw you get half as excited about him as you did over cake frosting or linen samples. Maybe all this disappointment really isn’t about him. Maybe it’s about not getting the perfect wedding or wearing the perfect dres
s.”
“It’s a gown.” She sniffled. “It’s really sweet of you to say all that—I think—but it’s also really sad because you might be right. What does that say about me, if I’d marry someone I didn’t even love just to have the perfect wedding? What kind of person does that make me?”
“You’re a product of our generation. We’re screwed up. It’s drilled into our heads that we need extravagant parties and SUVs with heated seats and coats that coordinate with each outfit. We are living in a material world and you are a material girl.”
“Are you blaming Madonna?”
“No. She just nailed the truth. The world changed before we were born and those who changed it blame us for meeting the standards they set. We’re messed up because of their rules. Everything has to be fancy and fast, but sometimes the simpler things in life are what make it beautiful. It’s crazy what things have become priority and how much of it is fake, superficial bullshit. You’re not the first girl to plan a big wedding with a man you’re not meant to marry.”
She pouted. “You’re right. It’s like I became obsessed overnight with things I never thought twice about. And for what? To marry someone I don’t love? It’s all so fake.”
“Yup,” he agreed. “The amount of money people waste on imitation is mindboggling. When did it become logical to spend a hundred dollars on a knockoff purse?”
She chuckled. “Yeah, you don’t need a purse after that, because you don’t have any money left.”
“And they’re spending that on the knockoffs. Quality’s a thing of the past. Everyone’s willing to settle for an impression of good, instead of waiting for what’s actually good. People get so caught up with what’s trending they all start looking identical. Everyone’s chasing the same fake bullshit.”
“Hair dyed to look like someone else’s natural color.”
“Exactly. New furniture that looks old.” It drove him nuts how people defeated the purpose of individuality, living like one big oxymoron.
She grinned. “Sunscreen for tanning beds.”
He laughed. “Medals for all the losers.”
“Ripping out half your eyelashes by gluing on fake ones.”
“Women do that?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. What were we talking about?”
He laughed again, the beer catching up with him. “I have no idea.”
Turning her head on the table, she grinned at him. “You’re a nice guy, Riley. Thanks for hanging out with me tonight.”
As much as he dreaded being exposed to her heightened emotions, he was actually enjoying himself. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“I don’t want to be the loser that gets a medal. What happened to me was real. My fiancé dumped me. That’s a big deal, but I don’t want to sit around and cry about it either.”
“Good for you.” This was an attitude he could get onboard with. He was all about encouraging the Anti-Cry Act. “Fuck Becket.”
“Fuck him,” she repeated, raising the rum bottle high. The liquid sloshed, announcing how much she’d drunk. “I’m not ashamed. I was a good girlfriend. Yeah, my fiancé dumped me. So what? He’s gonna wish he had me back some day. And you know what, Riley?”
“What?”
She rolled to her knees, nearly fell, stood, wobbled, and steadied herself like she was riding a surfboard. “He can’t have me, because I don’t want him.”
Her shoulders jerked as her neck did a strange pelican thing and she burped. Uh-oh. “You okay, Em?”
“I’m...” She did the hairball heave again and held up a dainty finger like she was at a British tea party. Her brows pinched as her mouth pursed.
“Emma?”
“I just... wanna say...” Hiccup. “You and I are officially frien-zuh—” The last word was cut short as she recovered her cup and vomited into it, quick and as feminine as puke could get. She pouted. “Ew.”
He drew back. “Yeah. Ew.” Girls throwing up equaled totally disgusting. “You okay, tiger?”
“I am a tiger! Rawrr—” Her roar was interrupted by another dry heave.
“Uh...maybe sit down for a minute. You want some water? Maybe a cracker?”
Lowering herself to the table again, she looked at him with glassy eyes and placed her cup aside. He tried to forget what was in it.
“I’m done caring now. I’m done worrying if I’m good enough to visit the Grayson’s country club or if my knockoff shoes are passable—because yes! I’m one of those losers that spent money on a knockoff.” She slumped to the left and pouted. “And the stupid strap broke.”
She held up a stern finger, her expression turning harsh. “Don’t you judge me, Riley Lockhart. That was the old me. I’m done. From now on, I’m gonna do what I want, when I want, because I’m a good person and anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve to have me in their life. You get what I’m sayin’, Ri?”
“I’m smellin’ what you’re steppin’ in. Go on.”
“I’m done,” she said, stabbing a finger in the air. “I’m going to forget Becket Grayson. Erase him from my life and move on. If it was meant to be, it would be, but it’s not gonna be so I’m meant to be somewhere else or something. You know?”
“Absolutely. Why don’t you lay down on the couch for a few minutes?”
“Well, okay.”
He stood as she rustled her way from the table and collapsed on the couch. Everything smelled like coconut.
“Promise me you’ll shower tomorrow. You’re getting a little rank.”
“That’s not nice,” she mumbled and shut her eyes. “But okay. I’ll do it for you, Riley Lockhart. Because we’re friends.”
He pried the nearly empty bottle from her fingers and covered her with the afghan. “Because we’re friends,” he agreed. “Goodnight, Emma.”
Chapter Two
Emma neatly tucked a sprig of basil beside the omelet and placed two pats of butter on the warm, golden toast. Perfect.
Lifting the tray, she nudged into Riley’s bedroom and carefully navigated her way around the laundry piles and numerous cassette tapes covering the floor. She wasn’t sure why he collected something as dated as cassettes, but it had something to do with the fact that people gave them away for free and he didn’t see the sense in wasting perfectly good music. The man didn’t own a single CD and forget about an iPod.
Fitting the tray of food on the nightstand was no easy task, with all the books and empty bottles. Once she had her hands free, she lifted the blinds and let in the early morning sunlight, bathing the dark space in immediate brightness. “Rise and shine—”
“What the hell?” He covered his face and rolled over as if he were a vampire. “What time is it?”
She frowned. “It’s nine.” Nine was an acceptable time for breakfast. She’d been awake for hours.
“In the morning?”
“Yeah.” Why was he so angry?
“Emma,” he said as though he were taking extra care not to freak out. “I have work ten hours from now. Why the hell would you wake me up this early?”
Didn’t he see the lovely breakfast she made him? “I just thought we could hang out.”
“I went to bed two hours ago. The only thing I want to hang out with is my pillow!” he snapped and she stepped back.
She hadn’t realized he was up so late. “I’m sorry. I’ll let you get back to sleep.” Guilt-ridden, she shut the curtains, and backed out of the room.
Damn it. She was such an idiot. The crushing sense of rejection locked around her heart again. She was being stupid and needed to go somewhere private—fast. Her vision blurred.
“Emma. Wait.”
Riley cursed and she winced, making a quick escape to the kitchen. Busying herself with the dishes, she tried not to get upset. She was annoyingly sensitive at the moment. Waking him as a distraction was inconsiderate and selfish. They weren’t close like that. She’d have to find something else to keep her preoccupied. It wasn’t R
iley’s job to babysit her.
A door creaked. “You made me breakfast.”
“It’s nothing. I just wanted to say thanks for last night.” Shutting off the faucet, she waited for him to say more, but didn’t turn around.
“You’re not wearing the gown.”
“It’s just a dress.” She had to keep telling herself that. Otherwise, that beautifully tainted dress would only symbolize her failures and barren future.
“Emma...”
Bracing herself and locking away all emotion, she faced him with a smile. “It’s okay. Really. I’m not going to break.”
He nodded and disappeared into his room. A moment later, he returned, carrying the tray of food. “Let’s eat.”
Touched by his easy forgiveness, she grinned, fought the urge to hug him, and walked to the living room.
“Hey, you cleaned up.”
“Step one of recovering one’s dignity: destroy all evidence that it was ever lost.”
He eyed her as he chewed on a slice of toast. Butter crumbs clung to his full lower lip as his mouth cocked to one side in a half grin. “I’m proud of you, Em. I wasn’t expecting this sort of transformation.” He took a sip of fresh squeezed orange juice.
“When I said I was done caring, I meant it. Today I’m going to look for a new job and tonight I’m going to have sex with a perfect stranger—” Orange juice sprayed from Riley’s lips, startling her to her feet. “Oh God!”
Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he cleared away the dribbles of juice. “What?”
“You got juice everywhere.”
“Emma, you cannot have sex with a stranger.”
She frowned, retrieving a paper towel from the kitchen. “Why not? Guys do it all the time.”
“Guys are different. We’re emotionally detached. You’re built differently.”
“Rarity’s had plenty of one night stands.”
“With women,” he argued.
“I’m a woman.”
“She’s different. She thinks like a guy. You’re not like that. You’ll sleep with some asshole and wind up getting hurt. I think it’s great you wanna get out there, but don’t rush into anything until you find your sea legs again.”