I don’t lie to girls like Macy (whose name is Tracy, by the way—I was close). If she goes into something like last night assuming a relationship might come out the other end—and I don’t care if we’re talking about me or John or any guy—she’s fooling herself. It has nothing to do with a lack of respect or any of that shit they try to scare girls with. It’s way more simple than that.
If I met you last night, and brought you back to my place, or followed you to yours, and we had sex, that’s what we asked for from each other. It’s what I got, and what you got. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Thanks for playing, and we’re done. If by some fluke anything was said at some point during this entire exchange that made me curious enough to see you again, I would.
Has that happened before? A couple of times. Did it last? Clearly, no.
*** *** ***
Emma
Graham and I barely spoke yesterday morning while we ran, and at lunch he was running lines with MiShaun while I worked with Tim and Leslie. I don’t know what he did last night while the girls went out.
This morning, he hasn’t spoken since murmuring, “Good morning,” in the lobby, and we’re almost halfway through our regular trail. In contrast to our comfortable silences, this quiet is awkward, as though there are words in our mouths, trapped. There’s no sound beyond our separate strides synchronizing to a singular, rhythmic footfall, the reverberations from the engine of a small plane circling above—a car dealership ad promising NO DOWN PAYMENT! undulating behind, and the drone of cars on a nearby street.
After another five minutes, I can’t take the disconnection any longer. Any conversation, no matter how dull, would be better than this uncomfortable void. “Any nicotine cravings yet?”
I read relief in his glance, in the way his shoulders relax, like he was waiting for me to speak while I was waiting for him. “I’m actually still buzzing from the patch.”
“Where’d you put it?”
He pulls back the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal the patch, stuck to his more-muscular-than-I’d-realized-before bicep. “I’m supposed to put it in a new spot every time, I guess to give the skin a rest.”
“Huh,” I say, hearing myself the second it leaves my mouth. A moment passes, and I wonder if he’ll say anything.
“You’ve grown careless in my absence. What are we up to now? Forty or so?”
I shove him, inexplicably pleased that he hasn’t given up teasing me, and he laughs, swerving off the path for no more than two steps. “Peace, girl, chill! You’re still under ten. But we’re on the honor system here, so you’ll have to let me know if you start racking up penalties when I’m not around.”
I pretend to scowl.
“Hey, you know I’m just messing with you, right? I really don’t care if you use ‘huh’ in every third sentence.”
“I don’t know,” I pout. “Seems like it really bugs you.”
He smiles. “Nah. It would take a lot more than that for you to get on my nerves.”
***
We exit the elevator on the fourth floor to the energetic banter of our costars, who’ve returned from the tubing trip. Quinton is kneeling on the floor, digging through his bag, clothes strewn all around it, while Reid and Tadd stand nearby, watching him. “I know that damned card is here somewhere.”
“I’ll call down to the front desk; they’ll send someone up with a new one,” Tadd offers.
“Dude it was just here, I saw it this morning as I was packing…”
When Graham and I come into sight, Reid’s more tanned (somewhat pink) face lights up. “Emma!” he says, as though we haven’t seen each other for weeks.
He walks straight over and puts his arms around me, twirling me around once, leaving one arm around my waist as he says, “Hey, Graham,” and sticks out his hand. Graham shakes it without comment. “Too bad you couldn’t make it, man, it was awesome. Nothing to do all day but drink and float.”
He looks down at me. “Aren’t you the cutest thing in this little tank and shorts combo. Out exercising early, eh?” Before I can form an answer, he leans in and kisses me.
The kiss isn’t more than a peck, not more than a split-second meeting of our lips, and is nothing like the passionate kiss three nights ago, but the action holds unmistakable familiarity. Graham’s face is void of expression as he turns towards his door. When I’m free from Reid’s embrace, I walk across the hall and push my key card into my door, annoyed at Reid for claiming me with that kiss, annoyed at Graham for surrendering so easily.
“Ah-ha!” Quinton locates his key card at the very bottom of his bag.
“Hey, let’s all go out tonight,” Reid suggests.
“I need a nap first,” Tadd says, yawning. “A long freaking nap.”
“It’s only like 10 a.m.” Reid punches his arm and dodges away. “You can get a full eight hours of beauty rest and still have plenty of time to put on your makeup.”
Tadd lunges forward and trips over a mound of clothing, and Quinton recoils, saying, “Man, I am in serious need of some adult company,” as they crash to the ground, rolling and laughing like five-year-olds.
“What?” Tadd rolls off of Reid, his innocent expression contradicted by the leg he immediately sticks out to trip Reid as he rises.
My door unlocks and I push it open as Reid says, “See you tonight, Emma?”
He has no idea what he just did. “Sure.”