I continue scrolling. Rick got a bit more creative after three a.m. Staying up that late text-bombing your ex is the privilege of a man who enjoys an overabundance of sleep.
He should have just gone to sleep in that nice, rustic cabin in Tahoe. He knows I don’t stay up unless I absolutely have to. By three in the morning I’m dead to the world.
Except yesterday. While Rick was up messaging me, I was having my X-rated dream about Emmett—
Stop thinking about that dream!
Actually, I need to stop thinking about everything that happened right now if I’m going to face my boss.
I scroll through Rick’s more recent texts. No other choice, since all the major markets are closed and there’s no financial news to check.
–Rick: You think your job means something now, but at the end of day, jobs are nothing. Interchangeable. People are unique.
I purse my mouth. I’ve met people I later found to be boring and interchangeable. Mostly men who get upset when they realize my career is important to me.
–Rick: Jobs don’t keep you warm at night, babe.
They keep me fed. They also pay for my student loans. Does he know student loans aren’t dischargeable through bankruptcy? You have to be dead to be free of them. But I value my life too much to die, so I need a good-paying job. Like the one I have.
I don’t bother to text my thoughts because Rick wouldn’t understand. He dropped out of college and brags that was the best decision he’s ever made. Of course, he also whines endlessly about the student loans he has to pay back.
Yeah, there’s no refund if you quit, either.
–Rick: Jobs don’t give you babies.
Does he think I want to have his babies?
–Rick: Nobody writes HERE LIES A CAPITALIST on their headstone!
“Nobody writes, ‘Here lies some dude’s girlfriend,’ on their headstone, either,” Emmett says from behind me.
I almost jump o
ut of my shoes. Emmett sounds mildly amused and condescending. Of course, he’s exactly the type of guy who’d write, “Here lies a capitalist,” on his headstone.
“Are you reading my texts?” I ask, too dumbfounded at this behavior to pull off the cool and natural act I was hoping for. He’s never done this—but then, we’d never kissed or had sex before. Does he think he’s entitled to read my texts now because of what happened last night?
No! Nothing happened last night after eleven fifty-nine p.m.!
Praying Emmett can’t sense my racing pulse, I watch closely for any sign of I-slept-with-you-heh-heh-heh or that things have changed between us. He isn’t smirking or giving me a lusty look. Just behaving like he always does—with a sense of intellectual superiority over all of us mere mortals.
“In fact, I am.” He leans closer to squint at my screen. I go still as his spicy, scent flows over me. There’s a faint whiff of spearmint on his breath, a fresh, cool smell of soap on his skin. The heat from his body envelops me. The lust I felt during my dream stirs, warming my blood. My toes curl in my shoes. The emptiness inside me grows more intense, emptier.
I hold my breath to avoid inhaling any more of his addictive scent and stiffen my knees so I don’t fidget. Based on his attitude, I’m almost certain he’s more or less forgotten about the sex. It was great for me, but Emmett Lasker probably has great sex all the time. Pretty women are always on his arm at various social functions. And I’m not naïve enough to think that they only touch him up to his elbows.
Hold on a minute. That redhead! The one he was debating between diamonds and pearls for! Isn’t he dating her?
But if he is, why did he say my name while having solo fun in his…?
Unless… Her name is Amy, too…
Oh shit. But I can’t ask him now. If he’s acting like nothing’s happened, I’m certainly not going to drag us into that minefield.
“Doesn’t he sleep?” Emmett’s voice holds a hint of contempt. “Or have things to do? When did you break up with him?”
My gut tells me he’s also saying, “I can’t believe you stayed with him this long,” which makes no sense—and, annoyingly enough, cranks up my shame and defensiveness. He doesn’t know Rick. I’ve never discussed my personal life with Emmett. And I’d bet my bonus he didn’t even know I was dating.
“Yesterday.” The answer is clipped to discourage further discussion. I don’t want to talk to Emmett about Rick. Doing so would be as embarrassing as discussing a finger painting I did in kindergarten with Picasso.