After All

“Pot cookie?” Carla asks me as she appears in my bedroom doorway, holding out a tray. As usual, she’s biting into one. I don’t know how she survives from day-to-day, just eating cookies and being high all the time.

And normally I would be turning her down unless we were spending the whole day together just hanging out in the apartment or day-drinking in the park or something. I tend to get quite paranoid if I’m around people.

But it’s been a stressful week and I haven’t been able to shake it.

First of all, there was the fact that I had crazy mad sex with Emmett at his house last weekend after I was molested by a three-legged raccoon. As mind-blowing as it was, it wasn’t smart, especially considering it started up a case of the feels right after, the feels that I spent the next few days after trying to overcome and ignore.

Second of all, there was the fact that I went out with Emmett three times after that, three whole times where I had to give the feels the middle finger and remind myself that everything we’re doing is a lie. Even if the sex was real, it just complicates everything else.

And I had to remind myself of this while we went out to another fancy restaurant and he wore a slick suit that he looked absolutely delicious in. Then when we played mini golf together and he wore a tight white t-shirt that showed off every beautiful muscle on his body, muscles I knew intimately. Then when we went to the beach to play Frisbee, which he did while wearing just a small pair of shorts.

Totally unfair. I almost didn’t survive. Not just the playing Frisbee part, because I got whacked in the head a million times by the villainous flying disc (some of which made for delightful photographs on the gossip sites), but having to act like his girlfriend and touch him when he’s nearly naked really did a fucking number on me. I mean, the only way to prevent the feels is to keep my distance but I can’t keep my distance because it’s my job to be as close to him as possible.

Third of all, work this week just plain sucked. I don’t know if it’s because I can’t wait to get out of there so everything is extra slow and boring, or that Will’s still gone on the honeymoon so Ted was extra stressed, or that I tried to get it out of Casey that he was the one who took the photos and I actually believe him when he said it wasn’t him.

Needless to say, now that Carla is waving the cookies in front of me, I’m almost considering having one.

She can see I’m hesitant. “They’re very mild,” she says. “And they have walnuts.”

I grab a cookie from her and slide it into my purse. “I’ll save it for an emergency,” I tell her.

“What kind of emergency? You’re going sailing. If you’re drowning, a pot cookie is not an acceptable substitute for a rescue ring.”

She’s right. And I am going sailing. It’s Sunday afternoon and Emmett is supposed to be swinging by at any moment to pick me up and take me on his boat, Sick Buoy. It’s a gorgeous day too, with sunshine and light winds, but to be honest I’m a bit apprehensive about the whole thing. It’s nothing to do with sailing or being on the water. It’s just that all week long, our interactions together have been very public-oriented and we’ve managed to part ways each night without falling back into bed with each other.

But out on his boat…I mean, I know he’s doing it for some sort of photo opportunity as we sail around but otherwise, a sailboat is pretty much a giant floating sex pad, isn’t it?

I need to keep my head engaged and my heart and vagina as distant as possible.

“So how is everything going?” Carla asks. “You seem even more nervous now than you were on your first date. Are you doing things backwards?”

In a way…

“What can I say, the man keeps me on my toes.” I look down at my outfit just as my phone beeps. Emmett is outside. Like clockwork, my thighs clench together, and my heart picks up the pace. I hate that he’s starting to have this effect on me. I give Carla a pitiful look. “Do I look okay?”

Just like I was trying too hard with the running outfit last week, I’m going all out on my sailing one. Sperry Topsiders, white Bermuda shorts, a navy-blue tank top and a baseball cap with a yachty-looking emblem on it.

“If I was a captain who needed crew, I’d hire you in a second,” she says.

Not exactly what I wanted to hear but it will do.

I sigh and head out of the apartment.

The silver Audi is outside waiting and I feel a thrum of electricity run through me.

Just fucking great. Even the sight of his car is starting to get me going.

I exhale again and head towards him.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says to me as I open the door, flashing that gorgeous smile beneath a pair of super reflective aviators. I catch my reflection in them and I really do look like I’m about to go work on boat somewhere.

“Hey,” I say, sliding in and buckling my seat belt.

As soon as it’s clicked in, Emmett is leaning over and pulling me into a long, tender kiss.

I respond because I have no choice. My body molds to him, adapts to him, like magnets you can’t keep apart.

And god, does it ever feel good. To kiss this man. To be kissed by him. I could literally do it for hours, the slow, teasing give and take of our bodies.

When he slowly pulls away, he runs his thumb over my lips and looks like he’s about to say something. But he just gives me a closed-lipped smile as his eyes skirt over my mouth, nose, as if he’s in on some inside joke, and then he pulls away.

I should probably let it go and let a kiss be a kiss. But still…

“What was that for?” I ask him as he starts the car.

“The kiss? I always kiss you.”

“Not when we’re outside my apartment and no one is around.”

He shrugs with one shoulder and smiles. “You look beautiful. I wanted to kiss you. And so I did.”

I should let it go. I really should. But getting annoyed is the only way to keep things professional and put some distance between us.

“Well I’d rather you didn’t.”

He glances at me over his glasses. “Bullshit.”

Fuck.

I cross my arms. “I’m serious. This isn’t part of the deal. There was no one around, therefore you had no reason to kiss me.”

“I know. But I did anyway.”

“Because you’re a jerk.”

His laughter fills the car. “A jerk because I kissed you? That’s a new one.”

“You know it…it…”

He frowns as he glances at me again. “What? What does it do? Turn you on?”

I press my lips together and look out the window. He’s got me there.

“And you do look beautiful, by the way,” he says. “You remind me of this movie, Anchors Aweigh? Fred Astaire wore an outfit just like it.”

“Shut up.”

It’s then that I figure there’s only one way out of this.

I reach into my purse and start eating the cookie.

“Didn’t your kindergarten teacher ever teach you how to share?” he asks me as I pop the last piece in my mouth.