CHAPTER 32
REID
Monday evening, everyone hangs out in my hotel room, sprawled across the bed, sofa and floor space. We order room service while we watch (and mercilessly ridicule) an atrocious eighties movie. Tadd brought his guitar back with him from LA, and he and Graham trade subdued sets while we all discuss our weekends away. There are moments Emma is paying closer attention to them than to the conversations around us. I vaguely remember George telling me a few years back that I should learn to play an instrument. Another of his suggestions that I didn’t follow.
Emma and I are sitting on the bed, and I’m having a hard time being aware of anything beyond her. I recognize the scent she wears now—sweet and subtle. If I could make everyone in the room disappear right with the snap of my fingers, I wouldn’t hesitate. She sits cross-legged and barefoot, her shoulder brushing mine, her toenails painted a purple so dark it’s almost black. When I look up from her toes, she’s smiling at me, and the girls from Saturday night are a hollow memory, nothing worthwhile to retain.
Quinton’s ex is making an all-out play to get him back. We were on the same flight back from LA so I know the scoop and already gave him advice he won’t heed. I listen distractedly as he shares his predicament with everyone else.
“I wasn’t home thirty minutes before my ex shows up at the door. My little sister lets her in, almost like someone told her when I’d be home.” He arches an eyebrow.
Jenna laughs. “Almost, huh?”
Tadd’s fingers freeze on the strings. “Dude, my ex had sisters. If she decides to butt into your love life, you are so screwed.”
“Yeah, what a coincidence, right? So I shut myself in my room, took a nap and then a shower, thinking I’d come out and she’d be gone. But when I opened my bedroom door, the whole damned house smelled like chocolate chip cookies.” He shakes his head. “Kimber knows I can’t resist those things. They’re like little dollops of heaven.”
Brooke holds both hands up. “Did you just say little dollops of heaven? I’m taking away your man card if you ever say that again.”
“Oh, Quinton. What did you do?” MiShaun asks.
“You guys don’t understand! This girl, we’ve known each other since we were five. She knows every weakness I’ve got!”
“You got back together with her?” Brooke asks. Quinton runs a hand over his face and nods, and the room erupts with opinions.
Graham continues to finger chords softly, and then he’s glancing at Emma with half a smile, rolling his eyes. I feel her shoulders vibrate faintly with her silent laughter. Oh, hell no.
I turn my head and she looks at me. I want to kiss her, but that’s too conspicuous on the jealousy scale—she wasn’t thrilled the last time I did that. Instead, I lean my forehead to hers and speak just above a whisper, ignoring Graham’s existence, asking her silently to do the same. “I missed you. A lot.”
“I missed you, too.”
Something Quinton says sends the rest of the room into hysterical laughter, breaking our connection. Emma glances at her cell phone. “Wow, it’s late,” she says, unfolding her legs. “I need to get up early to run. I’d better get to bed.”
“Running the first day back? Dedicated.”
She smiles at me. “It only works if I’m ruthless about it.” She tells everyone goodnight as I get up to walk her to her door, and I take her hand as we leave the room.
“I’ve just never thought of you as the ruthless type. It’s kinda hot. In a scary sort of way.”
She unlocks her door and turns to me, pushing the lever down and allowing me to press her to the door and shuffle her backwards until the handle hits the wall with a light thump. Bracing a hand against the hard surface on either side of her face, I watch her breath quicken, her chest rise and fall. Her hands are behind her, palms flat to the door. I lean in, kissing her gently, my tongue tracing her lips, opening them to deepen the kiss, my hands moving to her waist.
She tears her mouth from mine, and we’re both breathing heavily. “Come back to my room,” I tell her. “I’ll go kick everyone out right now. They’ll be gone in five minutes.”
“Reid…” she says, and I feel as though we’re sparring, bargaining for position along an unseen border. She’s driving me crazy.
I back away, my hands up like she’s about to read me my rights and toss me in the back of a patrol car. “Stopping. I just… haven’t seen you in four days.”
Her brow creases. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to frustrate you, I promise.”
“I can’t help that I want you, you know. I just hope you’ll start trusting me at some point.” She’s outright frowning now, and I tell myself to cut it the hell out before I mess this up completely.
“Reid, what do you mean? I wouldn’t be with someone I didn’t trust.”
“Are we actually ‘with’ each other, though?”
Shit, I can’t even listen to good advice from myself.
A door opens down the hall—my room, from the sound of it. Guess the party is breaking up. Graham and Brooke come around the corner. His eyes sweep over us and Brooke arches an eyebrow at me as if to say she expected as much. “Goodnight, you two.” Her voice purrs with condescension. I fight to keep from responding.
They disappear into Graham’s room, and I know I have to let this go for tonight. “Just, you know, forget what I said—hell, I’ve already forgotten what I said. It’s been a long day. We have a hard week ahead of us. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I kiss her one more time, fight down the wave of wanting her, and turn to go back to my room.
I don’t know if I have any virtues, or the potential for any, but I know one thing. Patience sure as hell isn’t one of them.
*** *** ***
Emma
I slip into my room and let the door close, change out of my jeans and t-shirt and into an oversized t-shirt and boxers. I can’t forget what Reid said, just because he told me to. So, if we aren’t sleeping together, we aren’t a couple? Is that what he means?
His question feels too important, like a clue. He thinks I don’t trust him because I’m not ready to have sex. Maybe in some way, that’s true. Maybe I don’t trust him to want any more of me than that, and just sleeping with Reid Alexander isn’t good enough for me. Or maybe I don’t know what I want, and he’s suffering my indecision.
Unpacking as I brush my teeth, I force my thoughts elsewhere, wondering what’s going on two doors down in Graham’s room. I probably don’t want to know. A lifetime has passed since Graham and I sat on my balcony, eating chocolate cake and talking about parts of our lives that are long gone. Brooke and Reid have made their desires known concerning each of us, and Graham and I are playing along, even if I’m not capitulating as fully or as rapidly as Reid would like.
I rinse my mouth of toothpaste and stride across the room to the balcony, pull the door open and go outside into the warm darkness. He’s there on his balcony, alone, staring at the sky, and I exhale in relief without knowing why. The sight of him is comforting. The fact that he’s alone, almost as much so, though there’s no good reason for me to feel that way.
“Emma,” he says, turning. I half expect to see a cigarette in his hand, but he stands with his hands hooked in the pockets of his jeans. “Are you okay?” he asks, concern in his voice.
“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m fine.” And I’m trying in vain to come up with any explanation for why I rushed onto my balcony to spy on him. Like it’s my business if a twenty-year-old single guy, who doesn’t at all belong to me, hooks up with a beautiful girl. “Er, I was just getting some air.” Wow. Lame.
“Oh-kay,” he says, unconvinced.
“Well. I’ve gotten some. Air, that is. So I guess I’ll go in now.”
I spin around to escape back inside, feeling like an idiot. “Emma?”
I attempt to compose my expression as I turn back. “Yes?”
“We’re… running in the morning, right?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
“Six o’clock, then?” he asks, and I nod. We both stand there for a moment, the silence lengthening and feeling significant, until his cell rings from inside his room. “See you in the morning,” he says, going inside. I hear him say, “Hello?” before he shuts the balcony door.
***
Since I got back from Sacramento, Graham and I have been discussing college applications and essays, schools and programs available during our morning runs. He’s enthusiastic about it, and it’s contagious. He’s texting me names of schools to check out: Julliard and NYU, I recognize, and other smaller schools I don’t. Some have smaller populations than Emily’s high school. I think I might like that.
When I ask him why so many of the schools he suggests are in New York, he shrugs and says, “That’s where I live, so I know more about the area, since I wanted to go to school close to home. Do you want to stay closer to home yourself? We could look for schools you might like in California.”
Staying near my parents is the last thing I want. A school on the opposite coast from Chloe is exactly what I need. “No, moving across the country sounds lovely.” He laughs while I tell myself this has nothing to do with Graham living in New York. Nothing at all.
I start googling information on anything he suggests that’s located east of Ohio.
***
The Bingley house would send Chloe into raptures of envy. Set into the side of a hill, it’s several thousand feet of limestone, wrought iron and tile exterior, with soaring ceilings and marble floors throughout. No amenities were omitted, from a kitchen outfitted so spectacularly that it would make Emily’s mom drool to the infinity pool that would cause Chloe to break into song. I feel an urge to cross myself at that thought.
The first two days of the week are spent filming what will be a three-minute scene with Meredith under the hood of the broken down Civic, in front of this beautiful house. Outside. In the billion degree heat.
Production hired an auto mechanic expert to help me look like I know the difference between a fuel pump and a spark plug while under the hood of a car, because for some reason not explained to me, present-day Lizbeth is familiar with the basics of auto maintenance. First I have to learn how to get the hood of the car up, which is not as easy as you’d think. Stan the mechanic is gallingly superior about it, rolling his eyes while my fingers slide back and forth where the stupid latch release is supposedly located. I’m forced to squat down and look for it.
“Ah-ha!” I release the latch as Stan stands with his burly, tattooed arms crossed over his chest, unimpressed. I narrow my eyes at him. “Okay, so I know nothing about cars. Can you make yourself cry on command? Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
He sighs and shows me again where to find the latch release. Once I can find it without looking, he drops the hood and has me find and unlatch it at least fifty times, until I can do it blindfolded. Ah, the useful yet trivial things I learn for my job.
Given the heat and humidity, our makeup people want to pull their hair out, and ours. Meredith and I ride back to the hotel at the end of the second day in exhausted silence, in love with the guy who invented air conditioning. The cityscape flows by as I dissect the reasons for my caution with Reid. I’m not immune to the way I feel when he touches me. The truth is, physically, I do want him—I’m just not quite ready emotionally. The more he pushes, the more wary I feel, and the more I want to push back.
Then there’s Graham, who hasn’t mentioned my weird behavior on the balcony Monday night, thank God. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if he was on his balcony for the same reason I was, hoping I would come out by myself, or just hoping I wasn’t in bed with Reid.
Abruptly, I come to my senses. How preposterous, that Graham is absorbed with or even thinking about whatever transpires, or doesn’t, between Reid and me. He has his own thing with Brooke to sort out.
Not that his relationship with her has any relevance to me.