La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} (5 page)

She laughed. “Riley, do you think of me as some sort of virgin?”

“No.” Fidgeting, he seemed incapable of eye contact. “I’m sure you and Grayson had plenty of cardigan sex.”

“
Cardigan
sex? What the hell is cardigan sex?”

His shoulders undulated and he grimaced. “You know...tender.”

“Tender?”

“Stop repeating everything I say!”

She hid a smirk and shoved a fist on her hip. “You think I’m prissy.”

“No, I don’t.”

Unbelievable. “Yes, you do. You think I’m one of those girls your parents wanted Rarity to be.”

“My parents definitely didn’t want Rarity to be like you.” The words fell clumsily out of his mouth, cutting off her humor.

“What?” Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart weren’t her biggest fans, but he made it sound like they hated her.

“Nothing.” His attention focused on the plate of eggs.

Her fingers closed over his wrist and stilled his fiddling. “Your parents don’t like me?”

“My parents don’t like anyone, Emma. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me. Is this a new thing or a since grade school thing?”

“It’s not a thing. Look, maybe you should talk to Rarity about this—”

“She isn’t here right now so I’m asking you. It’s not a hard question, Riley. Give me an honest answer.”

There are moments when a stare becomes so penetrating it hurts, that slow burn of exposure that heats until it’s so acute one reflexively flinches away. It’s the piercing sting of unspoken truth. Not everyone has a high threshold for brutal honesty.

She wanted to flinch away as he stared at her, the truth blatant in his pitying eyes, but she wasn’t a coward. If the Lockharts had an issue with her she deserved to know, that way she wouldn’t break her neck going out of her way to impress them.

The unease of another approaching rejection filled her heart with ice, but she didn’t back down. “Tell me the truth.”

“No,” he whispered. “They don’t like you.”

The pain was anticipated and therefore slightly blunted. Still, it hurt. “Has this been forever?”

“They never have. But they’re assholes, Emma, and what they think shouldn’t matter. You’re a—”

“Good person. I know.” Wow. Her opinion of Riley and Rarity’s parents wasn’t great to begin with, but their disapproval still cut deep. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter what they think.”

All the times she went out of her way to make a good impression ran through her head. They must have laughed at her pathetic efforts, judging her behind her back.

“Hey.” Riley’s hand brushed her arm. “People suck. If there were more people in the world like you, less people would turn mean.”

“Thanks.”
I think.
She couldn’t wait until Rarity got back so she could ask her more about her parents. What exactly had they said? Was it that she didn’t come from a wealthy family? Did they think she was holding their children back from something?

“You’re still thinking about it,” Riley interrupted her fixated thoughts.

“No, I’m not.”

“Liar.” He glanced at the clock and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m up this early.”

“I’m really sorry I woke you up.” Their opposite schedules weren’t something she thought about, because they never really hung out. “It was quiet and I started thinking about Becket. I needed a distraction.”

“Well, now you have one. What are we doing today?”

“We?” Was it that easy? “Um, I was going to get a mani-pedi at some point.”

“What is that? Can you eat it?”

Laughter bubbled up her throat. “No, it’s a manicure and a pedicure.”

“Like a foot rub?”

“It’s feet and hands. You wanna come? Guys get them too.” The unexpected idea of going to the spa with Riley was fascinating.

“Do they have those massage chair things with the feet hot tubs?”

“Yup. And they rub all these oils into your skin and massage up to your knees.”

He wrung his fingers like they were arthritic. “Hands too?”

“Hands too.” He was going. Her mouth twisted, as she tasted victory.

“My tinnitus has been really bothering me.”

She silently chuckled. “Riley...”

“Yeah?”

“Tinnitus is ringing of the ears.”

He ceased wringing his hands. “I knew that.”

“Do you want to come get a mani-pedi with me? I won’t tell the other boys.”

“Can we go to Brooklyn for lunch? I want to catch Smorgasburg before summers over.”

“What’s Smorgasburg?”

His eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? You live in New York and you don’t know what Smorgasburg is?”

“In all fairness, I didn’t grow up in the city—”

“I don’t care!” he cried as he fell back on the couch. “Unacceptable, Emma. Get your stuff. We’re leaving in five.” Bounding to his feet, he went to his room where drawers opened and snapped shut.

“What about the mani-pedi?”

His head popped out of the doorway. “We’re doing that too. Four minutes.”

She grinned and went to find her flip-flops.

****

I
t was amusing how the girls on the subway watched Riley. Emma supposed he was above-average handsome, but since he was Rarity’s older brother she never looked too hard.

Now, seeing him in his element, riding the subway in a Pet Shop Boys T-shirt, jeans, and battered chucks, she recognized what the other women on the train were seeing. Riley was hot.

His brown eyes were so clear they shined as though they were blue. Sloppy chestnut waves curled in perfect careless disarray, complementing his naturally tanned olive skin. He even had the five o’clock shadow down to an art.

Scanning the surrounding female passengers, she counted six of them gawking at him, begging with their eyes for him to glance their way. Amazing. The pheromones could choke a prostitute.

Skimming the male passengers, she frowned. Not a single one was looking at her.

What if
she
was Riley’s girlfriend? They were standing close enough, but the other girls didn’t seem to notice her at all.

She rolled her eyes.
Invisible.
Meanwhile, Riley scratched his nose with his thumbnail—it was practically a casual pick—and three of the six leering women sighed as if he read a verse of poetry.
So unfair.

“Wait until you taste some of the food there,” he whispered in her ear.

Her chest filled with warmth as his voice sent a thrill of excitement tearing through her belly. It wasn’t sexual. It was what being feminine was all about. Who cared what he said? He was talking to
her
; the guy every other girl was drooling over was talking to her. And in that moment, the other women finally registered her presence. Every stink eye she got was so totally worth the thrill of attention.

Ha! Not only does he talk to me, he lives with me. I’ve seen him in his skivvies. Take that, ladies.

As the ride continued, her pride mended with each spiteful glance tallied in her favor. Not used to this catty need for attention, she chalked it up to recently being dumped. It was against her nature to behave like a clingy girlfriend, but with Riley it was all make believe, a temporary tonic for her battered ego.

Sometimes it was nice to be seen, though a great deal of her life had been conducted as a wallflower. Perhaps her affability gave her fiancé the impression that she wouldn’t mind him delving into another woman’s panties. Or maybe he’d already lost interest...maybe she wasn’t good at sex. Oh dear God, was she vanilla? A wallflower in bed? 

Again, the emphasis she placed on other people’s perception concerned her. Riley didn’t care what anyone thought and people loved him. Even when they were in school, he was always a popular guy. Teachers loved him, jocks loved him, and, of course, women adored him.

Rarity was popular by default, because she was Riley’s sister. Publicly kissing girls promoted her to a novel level of cool only genuine lesbians could achieve in high school, but she’d always been cool by proximity first.

Emma was drawn to their energy like planets to the sun. No one was immune. They were simply attractive people. And as the permanent sidekick that existed in the cool guy’s sister’s shadow, it felt nice to have a bit of Riley’s innate popularity rub off on her as they stood together on the subway.

You’re pathetic. Those girls only know you exist because you’re pretending to be something you’re not. Oh, well! Self-esteem is in the gutter and pretending is helping.

She arched a brow at one of the gawkers.

“What are you grinning about?” he whispered.

Her attention jerked to his smiling russet eyes. He was almost a foot taller than her. Should she tell him? Would he laugh at her? Deciding she didn’t care, she whispered, “You’re inadvertently inflating my ego.”

Confusion tightened his brow so she tipped her head at the other passengers. Shockingly, it seemed the first time he noticed the other women.

“They all assume I’m with you. They hate me.”

He glanced at the other women, each glare transforming to a seductive pout the moment his attention fell upon them. With his hand gripping the rail above her head, he leaned close. “And them hating you is a good thing?”

Didn’t he get it? “They’re jealous of me. Not many people are.”

The train rattled and slowed. People got off as new passengers climbed on and settled into seats as it whistled back up to speed. 

His scrutiny heated her cheeks as he unabashedly studied her. “I can play that game,” he whispered.

“What game?”

Rather than answer, his mouth hooked in a half smile and he winked. She flinched as he dragged his curved knuckle down her bare arm, making the fine hairs rise in its wake. His fingers laced with hers and she watched, amazed, as every female followed the motion.

Her belly tightened with the thrill of exhibitionism. Her feet pointed toward the aisle. His pointed to her, his hip angled at their audience. Shifting a step closer, still holding on to the bar above, he spoke loud enough for the others to hear. “I caught you.”

Her eyes traveled past his lips, no longer shaped in a smile, and landed on those dark eyes. Her brow knit in confusion, unsure what he was doing.

“Looking at me,” he clarified. “You know how that makes me crazy.”

Oh, my God.
She should have never told—

“It’s like this morning, when we were spooning in bed, my body pressed tight against yours, flesh to flesh, belly to back, nook to cranny. Everything was fine until I pressed that one kiss on the back of your neck right here.”

Her body tensed with awareness as his finger touched an extremely sensitive spot behind her ear. She couldn’t remember anyone ever touching her there.

“The second I kiss that spot you turn to liquid in my arms, soft and wet, and I can’t help but drink you up, taste every square inch of you on my tongue. My lips. Everywhere. When I catch you looking at me like that, it’s my kryptonite,
my
secret neck kiss.”

She swallowed and glanced at the women watching them. They were literally gaping, some even appeared to be quietly panting. Holy crap he was slick. “Um...”

Thank God he didn’t let her say anything. She didn’t have his skill. “Next time you look at me like that...” He tucked a curl behind her ear as chills raced over her shoulders. “I can’t be held responsible for what happens.” His fingers squeezed hers tightly and the train hissed and whined to a stop. He winked. “Let’s go. I’m suddenly ravenous.”

He tugged her off the train and into the loud subway. Musicians played for coin and people bustled through the underground world, racing to get where they needed to go. She saw it a thousand times before, but now it was brand new, her senses overstimulated and raw.

As they climbed the stairs to the street her heart pounded wildly. Wafts of traffic, people, and city food greeted them under the August heat. Voices and motion mingled into a cacophony of commotion until she was standing above sea level, fighting to catch her breath. What the hell had he done to her?

Laughing, he released her hand and turned—a totally unaffected grin on his charming face. “That was fun.”

“Y—yeah.” It wasn’t fun, it was thrilling and telling, and in some secret way, quite embarrassing. He’d been toying with those women, putting on a show, yet in those few seconds of phony attention, his artificial reverie trumped every
real
experience she had. She needed to get a grip.

Demanding her emotions go back into the shadows, she focused on their purpose. “So where’s this Smorgasburg?”

“Can’t you smell it?” He breathed deeply and grinned as his chest expanded, raising his broad shoulders. Weird. She didn’t want to keep cataloguing his every masculine trait, yet she couldn’t stop. “Ah, it’s just past the bridge. Let’s move.”

The snap of her flip-flops put a melody to their strides. As the impressive Brooklyn Bridge stretched before her, she had one of those out of body moments that reminded her she lived in one of the coolest cities on earth. “I don’t appreciate New York the way I should.”

Walking beside her, a pleasant set to his mouth, he sent her a sidelong glance—not bothering to disagree.

“Becket and I never walked around like this. Once he took me to Tiffany’s, but we were in and out. I’m not even sure what he was picking up.” Probably something for his mistress. “He never stopped for street meats or pretzels. We only dined at restaurants that held reservations.”

“You can’t plan New York through a concierge. It’s meant to be experienced. It’s alive, pulsing, like an animal. We can only observe it and let ourselves be led by its verve. The minute we try to control it we miss something spectacular, like with nature. It really is the world’s largest organism. There are so many people setting its rhythm, better to experience it organically.”

“I never thought of it that way.” The scent of ethnic faire grew thick in the air; tempting her appetite out of hiding and drawing her steps toward the mouth-watering aroma of succulent meats grilled over open flames.

Voices traveled, rising in volume as they stepped into a mass of people patronizing what appeared to be a market of New York’s cleverest food venders. How had she not known about this event?