First Position (6 page)

“Well, since Wesley has a boyfriend, I should hope not.  That would make me a very loose woman,” Emory said, shooting a warning look to Mason, “which we both know I’m not.”  She refused to be a quick fling during his short time in Charlotte.  “But I just adore Tomás.  He makes Wesley happy.  He’s a fabulous artist, and most important to me, a great cook.  They’ve been together about a year.”

Mason’s subtle approach fell flat, learning nothing except some details about Wesley’s love life with some strange guy named Tomás -- all of which he never wanted to think about, ever.  He decided to cut to the chase.  “So Wesley has a boyfriend, how about you?” 

Trying to keep her face from blushing, Emory couldn’t believe he’d have the balls to ask her such a personal question.  She considered lying, not wanting to appear lonely, desperate, or available, but decided to be honest.  She had other secrets to keep.  “No.”

“Ever married?” he quickly asked.

Emory pursed her lips.
 
What the hell?  What business is it of his
?
  “No.”  She needed to seize control of the conversation, bothered he now knew her history, but hadn’t come clean about his own.  She had questions to ask but wasn’t sure she was prepared to hear the answers.  “You haven’t talked much about Alexis.  Do you two have kids?”

Mason took a sip of water, wishing he had one of Clive’s doubles, knowing he couldn’t skirt the issue any longer.  “No kids, and we’re getting a divorce.”

Emory wasn’t prepared for that answer; it hit her like an atomic bomb exploding in a quiet neighborhood.  She took a drink of water, trying to hide her surprise behind the glass, then stared at her food, gripping her fork tightly, now worried he was looking for more than a tour of Freedom Park and lunch, but also a rebound to ease his broken heart.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  I know divorce was never an option for you.”

“It’s for the best.  She loved the NFL player, not me.  When the arm went, so did she.” 

Emory appreciated his honesty, and couldn’t contain her emotions any longer.  “She always was a bitch.” 

Mason smiled broadly and nodded in agreement.
 
There’s my sassy, angel-faced gir
l
.  Mason always loved how strong and tough Emory was. 

They cleaned their plates, and the waitress returned to clear the table, leaving the check.  Emory grabbed it quickly, and whipped out her credit card, wanting to leave no doubt that this had been nothing more than a meeting -- an appointment.  Mason began to object, but she insisted. “My city, my treat.” 

They left the restaurant and walked back to her car, Emory feeling a pull towards Mason she thought had long vanished.  It made her shiver, and in one swift move, Mason took off his leather jacket and placed it around her, his fingers grazing her neck, as he pushed her ponytail aside.  A familiar pulse of electricity shot through her body, and her mind betrayed her, thinking back to what he could do with just his fingers. 

Mason eyed her with amusement, seeing she was biting her lower lip, wondering if that still meant the same thing as it did in college.
 
She’s thinking about sex
!
  Hopeful, he reached over and placed his hand on her hip, pulling her towards him, an arm around her lower back and his nose to the top of her head, breathing in her scent, still fitting perfectly in his arms.
 
This is more like it
.
  Emory nestled her head in his chest and placed her arms around the middle of his back, melting into his body.  Her fingers traced the outline of his muscles, and she felt a tear come into her eye, as Mason’s phone then vibrated in his pocket.

She pulled away quickly like she was caught with her hand in a cookie jar.  He pulled out his phone and saw it was Steven.  “I’m sorry.  I need to get this.  It will just take a minute.”  He answered the phone and told his brother to hold on.

Emory felt the urge to flee, removing his jacket.  “I should be going anyway.  It was nice catching up.  Good luck with everything.”

She opened her car door, and he mouthed, “Don’t go.” 

Mason turned and walked a few steps away to talk.  “Bro, you have the worst fucking timing.”

“What’s up?” Steven asked, following Olivia around a baby store with an overflowing shopping cart.

The car door closed, and Mason turned back around, seeing Emory drive away.  “Shit!  She’s gone.” 

“Who’s gone?”  Steven asked.  “Mason, what are you talking about?”

Why would she just leave
?

“What the hell is going on?” Steven barked, Olivia turning to her husband and placing a finger over her mouth.

“Huh?” Mason asked.

“Huh?”  Steven mocked, then whispered through gritted teeth, “Did you blow off Seattle for a fucking woman?  I know you haven’t gotten laid in a while, but this is fucking ridiculous.  Who is she?” 

He watched Emory’s car slip further and further away.  “Em. . . .” 

Steven stopped the cart.  “As in Emory Claire?”   

“Yeah.”

A slow smile came across Steven’s face.  “Now it makes sense, you staying in Charlotte.” 

Mason quickly brought Steven up to speed on Emory.  He was happy for Mason but worried his brother’s mind was too far gone to focus on getting a new contract.  Steven relayed the travel plans for Seattle, and before hanging up, gave out his last instruction.  “Don’t fuck this up again.”

I just did.

* * *

Emory drove home with tears streaming down her cheeks, feeling she’d embarrassed herself.  Everything she’d suppressed for six years had just bubbled up to the surface.
 
What the hell was that
?
She tried to convince herself Mason would be in Seattle in a few days, so there was no point getting carried away.
 
You know he only wants one thing anyway.

Emory arrived back at the apartment to find Wesley and Tomás hanging out in the kitchen.  They saw her red cheeks and runny nose, and that she was shaking.  They rushed to her side, unloading the camera equipment from her arms, Wesley leading Emory to the den sofa.  Tomás ran to the refrigerator to fetch her a water bottle and snack, believing he could solve any problem through food.

Emory sat down and pulled her legs to her chest, sobbing.  Wesley sat next to her and took off her boots, rubbing her feet.  Tomás brought water and some pretzels, placing them on the coffee table, then walked a few feet away to give Emory her space.  The men exchanged a worried look.

“What did that shit head do this time?” Wesley asked. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she cried.  “I don’t want to talk about him.” 

“OK,  we don’t have to right now,” Wesley said, pointing to the food and water.  “Are you hungry?  Thirsty?”

“No, I’m just. . . .”  Emory couldn’t complete the thought, lifting her hands to her face to hide her tears.

“Tell me what happened, honey.” 

“Nothing.  Nothing happened.  He’s getting divorced.”

Wesley raised his eyebrows.  “And?”  Emory shook her head, without any answers or explanations for her emotions.  Tomás motioned to Wesley to offer her the food again, and Wesley gave him a snide look, then turned back to Emory.

“Why don’t you go take a hot bath and lay down for a little while.  You’ll feel better.”  Emory nodded and rose slowly, walking to her room.

When the door closed, Tomás asked, “What was that all about?  She probably should have eaten something.”

Wesley rolled his eyes.  “Will you stop with the food?  Isn’t it obvious?  She’s still in love with him.”

*              *              *

A few hours later, Emory woke to her phone ringing but didn’t answer.  She saw several missed calls, all from the same number.
 
Eric
!
  Her heart sank, hoping they were from Mason, but she could only blame herself.
 
You left this time.

Wesley entered her room and sat down on her bed.  “Feeling any better?” 

“A little,” she said, “but Eric has called several times.  I can’t deal with him right now.  I’ll call him back in a few days.” 

“Good.  Especially because tonight, we’re going out.”

“Where?”

“To the nightclub where Tomás has been painting that mural.”

“The unveiling is tonight?”

“Yep, and you are coming to celebrate with us.”  Wesley smiled mischievously and gave her a wink.  “Put on something hot.”

CHAPTER FIVE

An hour later, they were in a a high-end, two-story nightclub welcoming Charlotte’s finest art patrons, there to see the unveiling of Tomás’ mural, an homage to the history of North Carolina.  Tomás was a self-taught artist, having never received any formal training, but his talent and creativity were second to none, specifically chosen to paint the mural.  He spent the evening receiving congratulations from one patron after another.  Wesley and Emory passed the time together, drinking and laughing, though she sensed he was distracted in some way, his eyes scanning the crowd as a jazz band set up to perform.

Wesley caught the attention of someone on the second floor.  “Damn, I forgot I have these special passes to the VIP section upstairs.”  He whipped them out of his pocket.  “Want to go check it out?”  Emory nodded excitedly, then walked towards the stairs together, arm in arm, flashing their passes to an attendant, and proceeded up.  Emory got to the top step, and her mouth dropped.  At a table on the other side of the room, in gray, pinstripe slacks and a white shirt with the top button undone, Mason sat alone.

“You’re welcome,” Wesley whispered.

“Wesley Charles Henderson, what did you do?”  She dragged him a few steps down. 

“Helping you out.  You obviously still care for him.” 

Emory poked him in the chest.  “So what’s he doing here?” 

“He showed up at the studio today while you were napping.”

“What?” Emory asked, shocked.

“You told him we live above my dance studio, and Google did the rest.” 

“What did he want?”

Wesley rolled his eyes.  “You, stupid!  He wanted to see you, and I told him no.  I thought he might kick my ass, but he said he understood.  He said he was leaving town in a few days and needed to see you before he left.  So, I invited him out tonight.”

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“You can thank me later,” he said, shaking her a little.  “This way, I can keep an eye on you two.  Plus, he misses you.”

Emory’s face lit up.  “He said that?”  She peered from the staircase over the railway at Mason.  The band began playing, and  a few patrons made their way to the dance floor. 

“He didn’t have to.  He was there looking for you.  Had a cab chasing you all over town.” 

Emory twirled her hair.  “He’s getting divorced.  His arm is a mess.  He’s just looking to feel better -- or a good piece of ass.”

“Good grief, keep your voice down, girl.  He’s like ten feet away.  I don’t think sex is what he’s looking for, but even if it is, you’re both single.  Let him be your rebound from Eric.  Have lots of hot sex.  You be the one to use him!”

Emory punched Wesley in the shoulder.
 
I have thought of that, though.

“Just stop running from him -- and your past.  See where it goes.” 

“After what I did, you know it can’t go anywhere.”  She hung her head.  “He’d never forgive me.”

“Just take it slow.”

“Not before the hot sex, right?” she teased.

“Hot or slow!  Doesn’t matter to me.” 

“You are impossible! I will get you back for this.”

They walked back up the last few steps of the staircase, then turned towards Mason’s table.  He stood up, ever the gentleman, his eyes growing dark with desire as he scanned her body, making out the curve of her breasts in a backless silk halter top, her long blonde hair, loosely curled, flowing down her back.
 
No bra
!
  Her tight, black skirt showed off her killer legs accented by stiletto black boots.

A wave of heat flooded over Emory’s entire body under the intensity of his stare, and she quickly reached for his hand.  “Let’s dance.”  She knew Mason hated to dance, and would be putty in her hands on the dance floor.
 
I’m in control here
.

“That sounds like a great idea.”  Wesley winked at her.  “I’m going to catch up with Tomás.”

Mason felt a knot in his stomach but followed along, hoping she couldn’t feel the sweat on his hand.  He saw only a few other couples on the dance floor.
 
Shit, no way to blend in, especially with this fucking sling.  Clive, help
!
  “I think I’ll need a drink first.  Want anything?” 

“No, I’ll meet you on the dance floor.”

Mason walked over to the bar, a young bartender recognizing him, and Mason autographed a napkin for him.
 
There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to help me now
.
His heart pounding in his chest, he tried to calm himself, recalling that dancing with Emory was pretty simple: everyone stared at her.  He ordered a shot of whiskey and held it, leaning up against the bar, watching Emory dance alone -- the grace, sexiness, power -- all still the same.  She knew how to draw an audience, with her long legs, flowing hair, and bare back, easily the sexiest woman in the nightclub -- a fact that would escape her, but not a single man in the room, gay or straight, gawking like wolves ready to pounce.