Is it enough to say that it’s what normal people do? (Probably not, because all of them would ask me why I’d want to be normal.)
“I don’t know, Reid. I just want to go, all right?”
“Okay, I’m just curious. Seems like a lot of work.” He pulls me onto his lap.
“Be careful,” I say, uneasy, but he only shrugs.
“I’m fine. My doctor said I’ll be able to start some light workouts with my trainer next week.” He tips my chin back to kiss my neck. One arm supports me as the other unbuttons the top buttons of my shirt, his mouth following his fingers. Nudging the fabric aside, he runs his tongue over the upper curve of my breast, and I close my eyes and try to breathe.
Fifteen minutes later, his shirt is off, mine is completely unbuttoned and I’m straddling him. He runs his hands up and down my back before nudging the straps of my bra off of my shoulders. “God, Emma, you’re so hot. I can’t take this anymore.” His kisses my shoulder, moving towards my throat. “Do you want me to beg? I’m begging. Jesus Christ, you’re killing me with wanting you.”
“But your incision,” I say, gasping at what his mouth is doing—soft little sucking bites along the curve of my neck.
“Fuck the incision, I’d gladly go back in and have it sewn up again. I want you, and I don’t care about anything else.” He pulls me tight and kisses me, almost too fiercely.
“But…” I’m caving—oh, boy am I caving. My brain casts around for an excuse. “I’m supposed to meet Meredith in half an hour to do econ homework, and after that everyone is going out...”
“Tonight, then.” His tone is resolute, his hands gripping my hips. “After we come back from whatever we’re doing, and everyone is safe in their rooms, I want you, back here, in my bed.” He stares into my eyes. “Say yes, Emma. Please.”
I tell myself that I’m only scared because I’ve never done it. Maybe once it’s over it won’t feel like such a big deal. “Yes,” I answer in the smallest possible voice.
“That’s my girl,” he says, kissing my now-bruised lips more softly, and a thrill runs through me at his words. And then I want to run to my room and hide in the closet. I knew this was coming, we were getting closer every day, but suddenly it’s here and I’m petrified.
He laughs softly. “I can wait. What’s another—” he looks at his watch “—four or five hours.”
***
Every time I think about tonight I break out in a cold sweat, so any distraction is good, even homework. Meredith and I spend an hour on economics (“I fail to see why I will ever need to know this stuff,” she says) before we give up and decide that supply and demand can wait. We have to dress for a cast field trip to a new dance club.
“Reid’s looking restored to almost full health.” She gathers her hair up at the crown and lets it fall, draws it up and lets it fall again. “What do you think—up or down?”
“I like up. It’s different for you.” I don’t reply to her comment about Reid, though thanks to that my hands are shaking just enough to make applying mascara dangerous.
“I agree. Up. Robby likes it down, so whenever we go out I don’t get to put it up.”
I stand there watching her in the mirror, holding the mascara wand aloft like I’m about to conduct with it. “Robby likes it down?”
“Yeah… um, we got back together last night.” She smiles mischievously, examining her own reflection. “He’s coming down this weekend.”
I barely manage to keep from blurting What the hell are you thinking? “So he’s going to be less possessive, and stop accusing you of stuff you aren’t doing?”
“He promises to trust me more.” She begins to pin locks of her hair up. “He knows he was being jealous for no reason before. He’s going to change.”
“Hasn’t he said that before?” Somehow she missed my cynical tone.
“I really think he means it this time,” she says, utterly blissful and trusting.
“Huh.”
“Let’s put yours up, too. Turn around.”
I turn away from her, away from the mirror. It’s better for both of us if she doesn’t see the incredulity on my face.
Chapter 37
REID
John: theres some shit going around about that emma chick, that shes doing both you and that graham guy
Reid: Meh. Those sites are jacked up.
John: yeah ok but there are photos of them together. not just one or two but it looks like they run together all the time did you know about that?
Reid: wtf – when???
John: this one site has hotel employees saying that they come downstairs together pretty much every morning. like theyre screwing then running. i don’t know man i just thought youd wanna know.
Reid: k thx
I usually avoid the tabloid sites like a disease. All of us do, as much as we can. Most of the time, it’s fabricated by some f**ktard “journalist” who just wants to sell a story and doesn’t give a shit if it’s true.
The hitch in ignoring this crap comes when there’s photographic evidence. Not that this can’t be deceptive, too; photo alteration software can be a horrific tool in the wrong hands. But there’s nothing fake about the multiple photos of Graham and Emma running, stretching, talking, laughing. Their clothing varies, so it wasn’t a one-time thing. This is something they’ve been doing or were doing regularly.
Bob manages one of his bait-and-switch routines tonight to prevent paparazzi obstruction, sending one of his less beefy cohorts—wearing one of my caps—out the front door with the others, while Emma and I escape straight into a waiting SUV out back.