Harlan quickly pulled out a handkerchief and proceeded to blow his nose, but if Emily didn’t know better, she might think he was chuckling behind that little square of fabric. Hope he’d still be chuckling later when he found out she’d forgotten it was Father’s Day!
Lilly slid into the pew with only seconds to spare, looking flushed and radiant. She grinned at Emily, and Emily rolled her eyes in response. Geeeeez. She may as well be wearing a sign around her neck that said, I just had delicious Sunday morning intercourse. Good Lord, it was so obvious that Father O’Reilly was sure to call her out for her wanton, lascivious ways. The very notion of it stirred up a collection of emotions for Emily. Dismay. Disapproval. Jealousy.
Wait a minute. Jealousy? What did she have to be jealous of?
Oh. The sex. She was jealous about the sex. Because while her sister had been rolling around in the sheets an hour ago with a man who by all appearances seemed to adore her, Emily had been taking ibuprofen and B vitamins in the kitchen of Gigi’s house while bitching at Chloe to get her heathen butt out of bed. Then she’d gotten into a fight with her grandmother over how many scoops of coffee to put into the percolator just because Emily needed it to be extra strong today.
Plus, with a little bit of mental math and a review of her electronic calendar, Emily had figured out it had been exactly one year and seven months since she’d had sex. And that last time, it had been thoroughly un-memorable. The only way she could even recall that it was that particular night was because the name of the restaurant was still listed under the date, and she remembered the morel linguine. Delicious linguine that had brought her much closer to an orgasm than her date had.
Her mind wandered, as it was apt to do in church, as she thought about linguine. And sex. And the wanting of the sex. There was something especially naughty about thinking of it in church. Like God was just that much closer, and therefore it was just that much more risqué. Her thoughts wandered even further . . . and there was Ryan Taggert, first in the red tie, then in his soaking wet T-shirt. God bless him. And then Ryan without his soaking wet T-shirt. Shit. Shit. She did not need him in her mind, especially in church, and double-especially when she was already thinking about sex. But the image of him coming up out of the lake, all of the droplets dripping off all the muscles. Whoever that last guy had been, linguine guy whose name she could hardly recall, he had not been muscular. Ryan was. Oh, was he ever, and now, damn it, she was going straight to hell, because her mind flooded with all sorts of wonderfully unholy thoughts. Thoughts of Ryan, who was muscular and handsome and who had nice hands.
And who was standing in the aisle next to her.
That was not her imagination. He was actually standing there, and Emily prayed to God, ironically, that her wicked thoughts were not written all over her face. Ryan smiled over at her and stepped forward, moving down the aisle behind his father. They sat down just a few pews in front of Emily and her family. It was pretty bold of Tag, all things considered, sitting so close to the pulpit, knowing how he’d spent his morning. Then again, who was she to judge?
Lilly took a big breath and let it out slowly. Then she leaned closer to whisper into Emily’s ear. “We’re going to tell Dad today.”
“What?” Emily’s voice went an octave too high, and she quickly looked around to see who had noticed. It all made her head hurt. Fortunately, the acoustics in that old church were terrible, and so no one could tell exactly where that yelp had come from. “You can’t tell him today,” she whispered urgently. “It’s Father’s Day.”
Lilly’s eyes went round. “It is? Why didn’t Brooke tell us?”
“Shhhh,” Gigi hissed, and their conversation was over for the time being.
“Hey, look,” Chloe whispered loudly and pointed blatantly. “There’s Tag and Ryan.”
“Who?” Harlan asked, arching his neck a bit to see them.
Emily pushed Chloe’s hand down and leaned in toward Harlan. “You met them last Sunday. John Taggert and his son Ryan.”
You know. John Taggert, who is having sex with Lilly, and Ryan, the guy I wish was having sex with me.
The thought was so not appropriate, but she was in church, and there was no lying in church . . . so she had to tell the truth.
The truth was . . . she did want to have sex with Ryan Taggert. She didn’t want to just go back to San Antonio and start looking for some other guy. She liked Ryan. But that just couldn’t happen. Because . . . um . . . Why, exactly? She was a grown woman, after all. She was in charge of her own body and responsible. She knew how to be safe while still enjoying herself. He was nice and sexy and made her laugh, and he made her . . . well, he made her want to have sex, apparently. Not that it was much of a shock. Guys like him pretty much made every woman want to have sex.
That didn’t mean it was going to happen. It couldn’t happen. At least, it shouldn’t happen because if Lilly actually married Tag, Emily and Ryan would be . . . how would that work? Gosh, this was not the time to have a hangover. She was trying to figure something out. Let’s see . . . Ryan would be Lilly’s stepson. And Tag would be Emily’s brother-in-law. So that would make Ryan . . . her stepnephew? Seriously? Her head started to ache again, and the organ music added a nice dramatic backdrop to her thoughts as Delores Crenshaw banged on the keys. Dun-dun-dunnnnnn.
There was no way Tag and Lilly would get married, of course. Just no way. Somehow she and Ryan would make sure, but . . . what if they failed and his father really did marry her sister? She and Ryan would be stuck together as relatives of a sort. She didn’t need that. She needed some random sex buddy that she could get away from when she was through. Not one who might show up on her sister’s Christmas card every year. Nope, she could not have sex with Ryan. It was a bad idea all the way around.
Nothing wrong with just imagining it, though. Right? So for the next hour, as the church choir sang and Father O’Reilly pontificated about doing unto others, Emily fantasized about doing unto Ryan.
After Mass was the usual rigmarole, with everyone milling around. Lilly quickly disappeared, but Brooke arrived. She was wearing a short blue dress and a wide white headband.
“Don’t you look nice,” Gigi said.
“Where have you been?” Emily asked.
“Getting the Father’s Day brunch buffet ready in the community hall. You didn’t forget, did you?” She arched an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.
“Of course I didn’t.” So much for honesty in church. They were outside, so it didn’t really count.
“Chief. Chief Callaghan, a word please.”
“I’ll give her a word. How about yikes,” Brooke murmured into Emily’s ear just as Gigi snorted into the other.
Emily turned to see Vera VonMeisterburger bearing down on them.