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Riley didn’t get home from the bar until almost five in the morning. When he woke up sometime the next day, the loft was quiet and he took full advantage of the unusual privacy.
After a lengthy shower and a silent cup of coffee, he settled in with an old, battered copy of Great Expectations, refreshed and ready to start the day. But his focus was continuously interrupted by curiosity. Where was Emma?
Tossing the book aside, he went to her bedroom door and knocked. “Emma?”
The door glided open and he stilled, certain it was bad roommate etiquette to visit a roomie’s room without an invite. “Em?”
Glancing around the empty area, he slowly pivoted. Whoa. This was definitely not common area loft space. Her bed, which was made, sat against the exposed brick wall, dressed in vibrant floral prints. Why had she made it? Was she expecting company?
Pictures of girlie shit like birdcages and pearls were everywhere. She had fresh flowers on her nightstand. Who took the time to buy fresh flowers? Unless they’re from Becket. He scowled at the flowers.
Cracking open the closet, he noted how orderly all her dresses were hung. Emma wore a lot of dresses, not the trampy kind, but soft cotton ones that smelled like sunshine and came in Easter colors. They reminded him of that laundry bear that giggled and bounced on fluffy towels.
In the back of her closet was the dress, still wrinkled and hanging like a forgotten dream. He gently touched the delicate beadwork at the hem.
Becket was an asshole.
Riley hadn’t realized how cool Emma was until recently, but he hadn’t asked her to marry him. Becket had to know the cool girl he was giving up.
Shutting the closet and checking to make sure everything was as it should be, he left her room and wandered into the kitchen. The front door opened and he immediately smiled. “Hey, stumpy. Where you been?”
Emma’s steps slowed and she pursed her lips. “What did I do to you that you have to call me the most insulting nicknames?”
He scoffed. “They’re terms of endearment.”
“So far you’ve called me Stumpy, Piggy, Ma ‘goats, and Tiger. How flattered should I feel?”
She was in a feisty mood today. “You’re short. There are too many compact names I never get to use. I’m trying them out, sugar pants.”
“Sugar pants?”
He took in her short white shorts and blue striped shirt. Her hair was tied back in a white cotton headband. “Where were you?” Yachting?
“The roof. I came down to grab more sunblock. Wanna join me?”
“Sure. You have music?”
She disappeared in her room and returned a moment later lathering sunscreen on her shoulders and neck. “Only my iPod, but I’m not into music right now. Everything’s a love song and most songs remind me of Becket.”
“You’re listening to the wrong genre. I’ll grab my boom box and meet you up there.”
After selecting some cassettes he went to the roof. Emma lounged on a sunny yellow chair in her shorts and a red bikini top. Nice jubblies. Stripping off his shirt, he popped in The Cure and collapsed on the blue chair beside her.
“How was work last night?” she asked, her face veiled by her oversized Jackie O. sunglasses.
“Work was work. The inn’s always busy on Sunday nights, so I made good tips. You enjoying your sabbatical?”
“Yes. I found two places looking for PA’s. I’m going to apply to both of them.”
“Good for you.”
Her brow wrinkled above her sunglasses. “What are we listening to?”
“The Cure.”
“I said no songs about love.”
“Ah, but this is classic 80’s, a time where love was deep and real, not the shallow impression we accept today. Embrace it. Learn from it, grasshopper.”
“Were you even alive when this was written?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. Now stop talking. You’re spoiling The Cure.”
The warm August air heated his skin as he shut his eyes and breathed in the moment. The entire first side of the album played and when the cassette needed to be flipped neither of them seemed eager to get up and do the job.
Silence settled over them as the hum of far below traffic drifted in a hushed whisper to their ears. It was a comfortable backdrop.
“That’s the problem with vintage,” she said. “Who’s going to flip the tape?”
“I will in a minute.” He released a deep breath, relaxed and at peace with the calm surroundings.
“Riley?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think you could fix me up with one of your friends?”
Calm feeling gone.
Lifting his glasses, he peered at her. “Seriously?”
She shrugged. “Why not? You have plenty of them.”
He groaned. “But if they’re an asshole to you I have to cut them off. You’re my little sister’s best friend. That puts you in sister territory and the same rules apply.”
“But I’m not your sister. I’m your roommate.”
“And as roommates, we sometimes have to witness the aftermath of breakups—example, couch zombie bride. I don’t want to see you crying over something my friend did. It puts me in a bad position.”
She was silent for a few moments. “Fine. I’ll just find someone on my own.”
Relieved she understood, he agreed, “Good.” She seemed disappointed, but he had valid reasons. “Wait, where are you going to find someone? There are a lot of douchebags out there, Emma.”
“Which is exactly why I asked you to fix me up with someone you know.”
Grumbling, he contemplated his selection of friends, ticking each possibility off in his mind. “No, they’re all douchebags too.”
Her palms slapped the arms of the lounge chair in humorous frustration. “He doesn’t have to be perfect. I’m just looking for...a rebound.”
Again, he faced her. “Sex?”
“Maybe.”
“You want me to set you up on a booty call?”
The pink on the bridge of her nose traveled to her cheeks. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to put it to your friend in those terms, but yeah. I don’t like having Becket as my last when Goldie was his.”
“Who cares about what or who Becket’s doing? We’ve already established he’s an idiot. That’s not a reason to sleep with someone. You’re not cut out for casual sex.”
“Why not?”
Giving the topic the respect it deserved, he sat up. “How many people have you slept with?”
“Three.”
Huh, he’d actually been expecting her to say Becket was her first. “Okay, who were they to you?”
“Well, you know Becket. Before him was Matt Sinclair from high school, remember we dated for a while after I graduated? And then there was Tim Jones, who I lost my virginity to.”
“And how old were you when he punched your V-Card?”
“Can we not call it that? I was eighteen. It was senior prom.”
He shot his finger at her. “Bingo.”
“Bingo what? I’m not innocent if that’s what you were trying to prove.”
“You lost your virginity after prom, Em. How much more cliché can it get?”
“So? Would it be better if I slept around in high school?”
“No, but most girls get more experience than that. You were an adult.”
“Again, so?” She sat up and propped her glasses on top of her head. “Maybe if I hung around with a different clique I would’ve been more high profile in the sex department, but my best friend’s gay and we spent our time going to concerts and traveling. I don’t see that as a reason to penalize me now when I want to be a little adventurous.”
His blood pressure started to rise. It was like he was dealing with Rarity only his sister never encountered these issues.
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t rush into anything. This is your body you’re talking about. What happens if you pick some guy based on looks and wind up getting pregnant and he turns out to be a total dipshit.”
“Oh my God, forget it, Riley. I asked you as a friend, not because I needed a lecture and a chastity belt. I’ll wait until Rarity comes back and she’ll go out with me.”
“Fine.” He didn’t want that sort of responsibility anyway. Emma was too sensitive for casual sex. She was delicate and the marrying type. He understood she wanted to push her limits and break out of her comfort zone, but having sex with a total stranger could break her.
She gathered her sunblock and book. “I’m going in.”
As she abruptly stood, he shook off his thoughts, putting all logic aside to understand her very illogical mood shift. “Wait, are you mad?”
“Of course not.” She snatched up her top and towel. “You don’t think I’m good enough for any of your friends. Why would that make me mad?”
“That’s not what I meant! It’s them that aren’t good enough for you.”
“Whatever,” she carried her stuff to the stairwell door and let it slam behind her.
“Damn it.” Women.
She can be mad. I don’t care. I’m not going to follow her around like some puppy just because her feelings got hurt from hearing the truth.
Grinding his teeth, he glared at the silent radio. His foot tapped as he stewed. “Son of a bitch.”
Leaving his crap where it was, he followed her. When he found her she was in the kitchen at the counter making a sandwich—looked like a BLT.
“You know, Emma, friends look out for friends. I’m not going to fix you up with some scumbag who’s going to use you and never call.”
She shoved the frying pan onto the burner. “If they’re scumbags then why are you friends with them?”
“Because I’m not in it for their values on monogamy. They’re my guy friends. Their credentials include an ability to provide beer, remark judiciously about superior tits and ass, have access to sports channels, and being available to do nothing at a moments notice.”
“Are my tits not remarkable?” She held out her arms, still in her bikini top, as bacon sizzled on the heated pan.
He turned away. “Whoa! Don’t do that!”
“Why? I’m a girl, Riley. I have breasts and feelings and urges.”
The bacon snapped as he held out a pleading hand, but kept his eyes averted. “Look, I really don’t want to discuss your urges. Could we please talk about something else? And put a shirt on before the grease hits you.”
Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. “My God, you can’t even look at me. I’m sorry you find the fact that I’m a living, breathing woman with adult impulses so distasteful.”
This was why he hated girls. “You’re twisting everything I’m saying around to make me out to be a jerk.”
“You make me out to be some desperate sleaze because I want to meet someone. I was just dumped by the guy I expected to marry, Riley. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
“No!” He had no clue why he was yelling.
“Horrible. I feel ugly and unattractive and dull and sexually stunted. I just want to feel like a woman. Is that too much to ask? I’m not looking for fiancé number two. I’m only looking for enough attention to erase the memory of my last sexual encounter and possibly repair some of my broken pride. I want someone to make me feel pretty and good enough for one measly night.”
“Shit,” he muttered, now understanding why this was so important to her. How could she think she wasn’t good enough? She was too good. “I’m sorry, Em.”
The bread popped from the toaster, but she didn’t move to grab it. “I just...hurt. It hurts knowing the person you trusted picked someone else over you. I know a one-night stand isn’t real. I’ve had enough reality lately. Maybe that’s why people act fake, because the real stuff makes them feel too much. I’m only looking for an escape. One night of being put first. I’ve never had that and I want it—even if it’s gone by morning.”
Yeah, he could understand how that might help her ego after being sacked by a guy like Becket. If she were one of his guy friends he’d advise her to get laid and move on. Fair was fair.
“Fine. You’re off for the next few days. Come to the inn and hang out at the bar. My friends are there all the time. If you see someone that catches your eye... I’ll introduce you.”
Her smile was slow, but so worth the wait. “Thank you.”
“Now, you’re making me a BLT too, right? I mean, that is the going rate for pimping out friends these days.”
“Mayo?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods? Yes, mayo. Lots of it.”