That’s not quite what I was hoping to hear. Still, she’s got such ridiculous affection in her eyes as she says it that I can’t help asking, “And now?”
“And now you’re taking me to a ball because you want to dance with me.” She reaches up then, takes my face in her hands. “I’m totally going to fall for you and it’s totally going to be a mess. And right now I don’t even care because I think the fall is going to be worth the landing, no matter how hard it is.”
It takes a minute for her words to sink in. When they do, I pull away to glare at her. “Well, that’s a shitty thing to say.”
She looks shocked, like she can’t believe I just called her on her bullshit. But come on. “Seriously? Who does that? Who announces she’s falling for a guy with one breath and then tells him with her next that she’s already preparing for the end? That’s completely uncool.”
I don’t know why I’m so outraged, but I am. Maybe it’s because of her obvious distrust of me. Maybe it’s because I’m as far into this thing as I can be right now, and she’s already got a foot out the door. Or maybe it’s because of how inevitable she makes the whole thing sound. I know inevitable. I’m living inevitable right now, trying to figure out how to say goodbye to a woman who is not just my twin sister but my best friend, and I resent the hell out of Emerson for acting like whatever relationship we develop is already as doomed as the one I have with the woman I have loved for my entire life.
“I was just trying to be realistic. You’re a world famous football player and I’m a nobody trying to make ends meet. I’m just saying we know how this ends.”
“So you know how this is going to end?” I cross my arms over my chest, prop my shoulder against the wall. “Why don’t you go ahead and fill me in, then?”
She rolls her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She doesn’t sound sorry. She sounds like she thinks I’m being completely crazy. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I am. Then again, I’ve felt crazy ever since I first saw that see-through white shirt plastered to her beautiful breasts.
“I was just trying to reassure you that I don’t expect anything,” she continues. “I—”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you should expect something.”
“I…what?” Now she looks as confused as I feel. “We just met.”
“I know. But I think it’s pretty obvious that I like you. I know I was kind of a douche yesterday and I’m sorry about that, but you just said you were falling for me. And while I agree that neither of us knows where this thing between us is going, I think we can also agree that that means we don’t know where we’re going to end up. So why don’t you just cut out all the low expectations and eyes-wide-open crap and let’s see what happens. For real and not just in your worst-case-scenario imagination.” The words just spew out, tumbling out of my mouth one right after the other until I literally run out of breath.
It’s only when I pause to take a new breath that Emerson gets a word in edgewise. Or three words, to be more precise. And they aren’t at all what I’m expecting.
“You’re so weird.”
“Excuse me?” I say when I finally manage to close my mouth.
“I said you’re weird. And not at all like I expected the great Hunter Browning to be.”
“Are you freaking kidding me with this?”
“I’m not, no.”
“Wow. That’s nice. I pour my fricking heart out to you and you just—”
“Whoa, there, dude. First of all, if that was pouring your heart out to me, that’s a little pathetic. Not to mention weird, considering we haven’t even known each other forty-eight hours yet.”
I start to say something, and she slaps a hand over my mouth. “And second,” she says, all loud and bossy-like, “You’re in luck. Because I happen to like weird. A lot. So, yes, I’ll go to this charity ball thing with you tomorrow. And I’ll dance with you all night, if that’s what you want. And then I’ll let you bring me back here and, more than likely, will let you persuade me to do anything else you might be interested in. Okay?”
Actually, I’m not sure if it is okay. But I’m also smart enough to know when to quit while I’m ahead. If I’ve learned anything through the years, it’s that when playing the long game, there’s no use leaving it all on the field in the first quarter.
Chapter 16
My phone vibrates as I’m walking back to the car. I pick it up, see that Lucy has texted me again, asking when I’ll be home. I fire off a quick text to her, telling her I’m on my way. Then I jog the rest of the way to my car.
I’ve just pulled out of my parking space when I get another text. This one’s asking for ice cream, and I pull over to the curb so I can ask what kind she and Brent want me to bring home. I’m waiting for the answer when I happen to glance up and see Emerson walking across the parking lot.
She doesn’t see me—I’m in the shadowy part of the lot, about halfway to the st
reet—and I start to open my window, to call out to her. But she stops a few car lengths in front of me, right under one of the dim parking lot lights. And I watch, confused, as she opens the driver’s side door of a beat up–looking Corolla.
Confused, I watch as she slides into the driver’s seat. It doesn’t look like she’s planning on going anywhere—she keeps the door open and one foot on the asphalt parking lot—but that just confuses me more. Especially since she told me her car was in the shop.
It’s only as she tries to turn the car on—to no avail—that I realize what’s happening. It’s not that her car is in the shop. It’s that it’s broken down in the parking lot. And judging from the defeated slump of her shoulders as she climbs back out of the Corolla, it’s been that way for a while. The fact that she hasn’t had it towed tells me she can’t afford to fix it and that hits me where it hurts.