After All

When it’s over, Emmett collapses against me, his large, muscled body sweaty and sliding against mine. His breath is rough and steady in my ear, and his lips brush my neck briefly. I want to hold on to him, to feel his skin as it calms, but I can’t move. I think my arms are asleep.

Once he catches his breath, he places a soft kiss on my forehead, then pulls out. He takes the condom off, disposing of it in the trash in the head.

I need a moment to think. There are too many emotions swirling around inside. Too many of them that don’t have a place. Not with us, not with what we’re trying to do.

This is getting complicated.

This is getting dangerous.

Maybe for no one else but my heart.

In the waning tide of the orgasm, I’m starting to think clearly again.

“We can’t do that again,” I say to him quietly as I sit up, making a feeble attempt to cover my breasts. “I really mean it this time.”

He stares at me in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because,” I tell him. Suddenly the berth’s cushions seem infinitely interesting as I run my hands over them. “Because the more I have sex with you, the more things begin to blur. Things are already so confusing as it is. The last thing I want is to feel things for you.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I slowly look up and watch as he swallows, rubs his lips together like he doesn’t quite understand. “Why is it so wrong to feel things for me?”

There’s a quiet desperation in his voice that nearly catches me off-guard. I push on.

“Because I think, in time, you’ll probably just break my heart. None of this is real Emmett. The last thing I need is to forget that.”

He nods. Studies me. A flash of realization comes over his eyes, turning them cool. “You’re right. In the end, I’d probably just hurt you. That’s not what I want. That’s not what you deserve.”

Fucking hell. Even though those words pretty much came out of my mouth, it hurts something fierce to hear him say it, like a steel-toed boot to the gut. He can’t even pretend that he can be the man I need him to be.

He’s being honest with you, that’s what you like about him, I remind myself. Now tell your heart to go fuck itself and get back in the game.

Sheesh. My inner pep talks are getting pretty harsh.



* * *



“Can we have that table in the corner?” Jackie asks the hostess and then gives me a triumphant look when she starts to lead us that way.

It’s lunchtime at a restaurant a block away from work and it’s the first day Jackie has been back. The lucky bitch’s honeymoon stretched on for almost two weeks before her and Will had to return with matching tans and big smiles. She only works part-time at Mad Men so she can spare it, and Will, well Will only has to answer to Ted and we all know how Ted feels about it. I think he’s just glad they came back at all.

While I’ve talked to her every other day while she was in Mexico, I still haven’t been able to get down to the nitty gritty with her. Not that I particularly feel like it today. After the boating trip, my head has been all over the place and I’m really not sure what to feel anymore.

“I think Tiffany was a little upset that she wasn’t invited,” I tell Jackie after we order drinks, a Caesar for me and a virgin one for her.

“Hey,” she says to me, giving me a steady look. “Remember when you needed to talk to me about Will, back when we were secretly dating, and you said she couldn’t come? Just doing the same favor. We both love her to bits but you know she can’t keep her mouth shut, try as she might. If word gets out about the truth about you and Emmett, it could ruin everything. The press would be so quick to jump all over that.” She pauses. “Speaking of press, have you been keeping up with yourself?”

She takes out her phone and waves it at me. “I pretty much spent the whole honeymoon reading all the gossip sites. I think I learned more from them than I did from you. Alyssa, these people are fucking everywhere following you around. This must be driving you crazy.”

I shrug. “To be honest, I’m getting used to it.” I gesture around the restaurant. “And no one ever looks my way unless I’m with him. In a way, it’s the perfect blend of fame and anonymity. With Emmett I know people will take pictures and we’ll turn heads, I mean that’s why I’m here. And when he’s not here, well I’m just myself.”

“So you’re not yourself with him?”

Her question makes me pause. Am I myself with him? Or am I putting on some persona? I dismiss the question with my hand. “It doesn’t matter. The real question is, why were you looking at pictures of me on your honeymoon and not having sex with your new husband?”

“This isn’t about me,” Jackie says. “Don’t even try to change the subject. We have our whole lives to talk about the baby and the honeymoon and how the husband is doing. What I want to know is every single detail about you two.”

“Well what do you want to know?”

“Alyssa,” she says sternly. “You’re dating Emmett Hill. Do you know what they call you? The Bruiser and The Blondie.”

I stare at her, slack-jawed. Seriously? Was that Carla’s doing?

“Well it’s highly unfair to call him a bruiser,” I say. “That’s just the media running with it because it rhymes with Cruiser. He’s only gotten in like a handful of public fights.”

“And your whole relationship is fake,” she goes on, ignoring that. “So of course I want to know what the hell is going on. I mean, this is the most exciting thing to ever happen since…”

“Since you found out you were having a baby and getting married?”

She looks sheepish. “Well yeah. So are you sleeping with him?”

That’s the one thing I haven’t been forthcoming about in our texts. All the times I’ve slept with Emmett, which is technically three if you count the beginning, I haven’t mentioned to anyone. I don’t know why, I’m not usually one to shy away from sharing the details. I guess it’s just the one thing we do together that’s nobody’s business but ours.

And it’s something that won’t continue, I remind myself. Though I’m starting to take these declarations less and less seriously. Kind of like when you promise you’ll start your diet tomorrow and you never ever do.

“You are sleeping with him,” she exclaims softly. “Holy shit.”

“It’s nothing. It’s not a habit.”

“Pretty nice habit if it was.”

“He’s good at what he does,” I admit.

“You’re selling him short.”

I press my lips together trying to supress a smile. Am I ever. Emmett is not just good at what he does, he fucks like champ. He’s in it to win and nothing less than a million mind-blowing orgasms will do.

Crap. I know I have that sick dreamy look on my face and Jackie is delighting in every minute of it.

“But it doesn’t matter,” I go on, making my features blank, “because he annoys the living shit out of me.”

“Oh, he does not.”

“He’s a cad, Jackie. A prick. An asshole. A player. A downright scoundrel.”

“And that’s a problem for you?”

I give her a loaded look.