“Another offer to sleep with you? How sweet. I’m flattered. Have you forgotten what I told you last time?” It’s almost impossible to associate this Brooke with the girl she was when I met her. Almost.
“I remember.” I saunter closer, but she doesn’t budge. She’s always been tall and thin—willowy, George would say. When I was fourteen and she was fifteen, we were almost eye to eye up close. I’ve got several inches on her now. With her arms locked under her br**sts, the view from my vantage point is greatly improved. “I also remember what we were like together, even if we were just inexperienced kids.” I shrug. “Well, one of us was inexperienced.”
She’s silent, but her eyes are furious. Every time we start to get into it, I want her to feel what I felt when I saw the photos and read the story that ended us. But that’s not possible. She has no heart, and she managed to stomp the shit out of mine years ago. I’m playing games with a viper and I damn well know it. I should feel sorry for Graham, but I don’t really know him, he’s got a girl I want, and I’m in the mood to be petty.
“Look. We’ve got time before the premiere. She and I have an interview schedule from hell, but that means we’ll be around each other, a lot, without Graham’s interference. I suggest you work on him from the same angle. He can’t hang around LA—he’s got school. Isn’t he graduating or something? Why don’t you show up in New York for that. Hang around after.”
She nods, her poker face firmly in place. “I’d already considered doing that.”
“Good. Let’s do it, then. Divide and conquer.”
She’s so outwardly cool, but her breaths are too shallow. “I still say don’t push her until I get to Graham. She’ll turn you down on principle.”
“Gotcha.” We’re six inches apart, and still she isn’t backing away.
“I’m serious, Reid.” She puts one hand up, to stop me, I suppose, but her hand is on bare skin and her eyes widen and I know we both feel the surge.
“So am I.”
She stares up at me like I’m some sort of twisted riddle, and then a knock sounds on the door and she jumps, muttering, “Jesus,” under her breath.
I button the shirt as I walk to the door. There’s something gratifying about making an ex want you, even for a second.
Chapter 13
GRAHAM
I didn’t sleep in Emma’s room last night.
There were no let’s-get-hammered games in Reid’s room since we have the final photo shoot today, but Brooke had no trouble convincing Tadd to man the bar and shake up margaritas. Even though straight-up shots were out, everyone had enough tequila to tamp down inhibitions and loosen tongues. And Emma and I had just enough to be hazardous.
I took one look at her half-mast eyes and knew I’d fail any test of having her in bed with nothing but boxers and t-shirts between us. Worse? I wanted to fail it, and we’d spent the whole evening not touching.
My sexual history began with Zoe, followed by a self-imposed dry spell waiting for Cara to be born, and Zoe to come back around—which didn’t happen. Next up, a sampling of indiscriminate college hookups. Nothing has been ultimately satisfying, and while I was capable of feeling turned on and wanting a physical connection, I never felt anything more intense. Nothing deeper, nothing emotionally linked. Not until Emma. By the time I left her standing in that airport last October, I wanted so much with her that it scared the hell out of me. I hoped it would fade with time, and after the VF photo shoot in March, I felt confident I was getting over it.
And then there she was, a month later—standing in that damned coffee shop, our eyes locked over Cara’s head. My daughter had demanded hot chocolate after her dance rehearsal, shoving her cold little fingers under my sweater to prove her need for it. If we’d not stopped exactly there, exactly then, Emma and I would have never crossed paths when I didn’t have my guard up. I’m not sure if I believe in fate, but this could be evidence of it.
They call it falling in love because it’s less like stepping and more like tripping. Tripping is the part where you’re still trying to remain upright. I hadn’t fought it with Zoe. I just fell right in, head first. With Emma, I fought it all the way down, and now, I’ve lost.
Emma: Are you sleeping here?
Me: Not a good idea tonight
She didn’t answer for several minutes, during which I called myself all sorts of idiot, because that was an open invitation, as was the progressively unreserved look in her eyes all evening. I only wanted to be sure of her feelings, not make her wonder about mine.
Me: This has nothing and everything to do with how much i want you. If i was in your bed tonight…after the alcohol…i want you. Trust me.
Emma: I kind of feel like a hussy now
Me: NO, that isn’t what i mean. It’s me. It would be too difficult. Tomorrow night, no drinking, and i can be good.
Emma: Well dammit you should have told me this before margaritas. I would have practiced my just say no. To alcohol that is. :(
Me: God how do you make me laugh through this. Hussy, indeed. I’m one nudge from coming to your room and ravishing you to hell.
Emma: I want you to
Me: OMG emma…
Emma: I’m sorry
Two rings. Three rings. Please don’t go to voicemail was running through my head. She answered talking. “Graham, I’m sorry, really, I—”
“No, please don’t be sorry. That’s why I’m calling you.” I lay back on my bed, eyes closed. The alcohol buzz was diminishing but not gone. “Don’t be sorry, Emma.” My voice was almost a whisper. “Do you remember those things I said I wanted to do to you?” A few of our calls and Skype conversations over the past couple of weeks had reduced both of us to mush.