La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} (7 page)

“And as roommates, we sometimes have to witness the aftermath of breakups—example, couch zombie bride. I don’t want to see you crying over something my friend did. It puts me in a bad position.”

She was silent for a few moments. “Fine. I’ll just find someone on my own.”

Relieved she understood, he agreed, “Good.” She seemed disappointed, but he had valid reasons. “Wait, where are you going to find someone? There are a lot of douchebags out there, Emma.”

“Which is exactly why I asked you to fix me up with someone you know.”

Grumbling, he contemplated his selection of friends, ticking each possibility off in his mind. “No, they’re all douchebags too.”

Her palms slapped the arms of the lounge chair in humorous frustration. “He doesn’t have to be perfect. I’m just looking for...a rebound.”

Again, he faced her. “Sex?”

“Maybe.”

“You want me to set you up on a booty call?”

The pink on the bridge of her nose traveled to her cheeks. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to put it to your friend in those terms, but yeah. I don’t like having Becket as my last when Goldie was his.”

“Who cares about what or who Becket’s doing? We’ve already established he’s an idiot. That’s not a reason to sleep with someone. You’re not cut out for casual sex.”

“Why not?”

Giving the topic the respect it deserved, he sat up. “How many people have you slept with?”

“Three.”

Huh, he’d actually been expecting her to say Becket was her first. “Okay, who were they to you?”

“Well, you know Becket. Before him was Matt Sinclair from high school, remember we dated for a while after I graduated? And then there was Tim Jones, who I lost my virginity to.”

“And how old were you when he punched your V-Card?”

“Can we not call it that? I was eighteen. It was senior prom.”

He shot his finger at her. “Bingo.”

“Bingo what? I’m not innocent if that’s what you were trying to prove.”

“You lost your virginity after prom, Em. How much more cliché can it get?”

“So? Would it be better if I slept around in high school?”

“No, but most girls get more experience than that. You were an adult.”

“Again, so?” She sat up and propped her glasses on top of her head. “Maybe if I hung around with a different clique I would’ve been more high profile in the sex department, but my best friend’s gay and we spent our time going to concerts and traveling. I don’t see that as a reason to penalize me now when I want to be a little adventurous.”

His blood pressure started to rise. It was like he was dealing with Rarity only his sister never encountered these issues.

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t rush into anything. This is your body you’re talking about. What happens if you pick some guy based on looks and wind up getting pregnant and he turns out to be a total dipshit.”

“Oh my God, forget it, Riley. I asked you as a friend, not because I needed a lecture and a chastity belt. I’ll wait until Rarity comes back and she’ll go out with me.”

“Fine.” He didn’t want that sort of responsibility anyway. Emma was too sensitive for casual sex. She was delicate and the marrying type. He understood she wanted to push her limits and break out of her comfort zone, but having sex with a total stranger could break her.

She gathered her sunblock and book. “I’m going in.”

As she abruptly stood, he shook off his thoughts, putting all logic aside to understand her very illogical mood shift. “Wait, are you mad?”

“Of course not.” She snatched up her top and towel. “You don’t think I’m good enough for any of your friends. Why would that make me mad?”

“That’s not what I meant! It’s them that aren’t good enough for you.”

“Whatever,” she carried her stuff to the stairwell door and let it slam behind her.

“Damn it.”
Women.

She can be mad. I don’t care. I’m not going to follow her around like some puppy just because her feelings got hurt from hearing the truth.

Grinding his teeth, he glared at the silent radio. His foot tapped as he stewed. “Son of a bitch.”

Leaving his crap where it was, he followed her. When he found her she was in the kitchen at the counter making a sandwich—looked like a BLT.

“You know, Emma, friends look out for friends. I’m not going to fix you up with some scumbag who’s going to use you and never call.”

She shoved the frying pan onto the burner. “If they’re scumbags then why are you friends with them?”

“Because I’m not in it for their values on monogamy. They’re my guy friends. Their credentials include an ability to provide beer, remark judiciously about superior tits and ass, have access to sports channels, and being available to do nothing at a moments notice.”

“Are my tits not remarkable?” She held out her arms, still in her bikini top, as bacon sizzled on the heated pan.

He turned away. “Whoa! Don’t do that!”

“Why? I’m a girl, Riley. I have breasts and feelings and urges.”

The bacon snapped as he held out a pleading hand, but kept his eyes averted. “Look, I really don’t want to discuss your
urges.
Could we please talk about something else? And put a shirt on before the grease hits you.”

Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. “My God, you can’t even look at me. I’m sorry you find the fact that I’m a living, breathing woman with adult impulses so distasteful.”

This was why he hated girls. “You’re twisting everything I’m saying around to make me out to be a jerk.”

“You make me out to be some desperate sleaze because I want to meet someone. I was just
dumped
by the guy I expected to marry, Riley. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“No!” He had no clue why he was yelling.

“Horrible. I feel ugly and unattractive and dull and sexually stunted. I just want to feel like a woman. Is that too much to ask? I’m not looking for fiancé number two. I’m only looking for enough attention to erase the memory of my last sexual encounter and possibly repair some of my broken pride. I want someone to make me feel pretty and good enough for one measly night.”

“Shit,” he muttered, now understanding why this was so important to her.  How could she think she wasn’t good enough? She was
too
good. “I’m sorry, Em.”

The bread popped from the toaster, but she didn’t move to grab it. “I just...hurt. It hurts knowing the person you trusted picked someone else over you. I know a one-night stand isn’t real. I’ve had enough reality lately. Maybe that’s why people act fake, because the real stuff makes them feel too much. I’m only looking for an escape. One night of being put first. I’ve never had that and I want it—even if it’s gone by morning.”

Yeah, he could understand how that might help her ego after being sacked by a guy like Becket. If she were one of his guy friends he’d advise her to get laid and move on. Fair was fair.

“Fine. You’re off for the next few days. Come to the inn and hang out at the bar. My friends are there all the time. If you see someone that catches your eye... I’ll introduce you.”

Her smile was slow, but so worth the wait. “Thank you.”

“Now, you’re making me a BLT too, right? I mean, that is the going rate for pimping out friends these days.”

“Mayo?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods? Yes, mayo. Lots of it.”

––––––––

T
he West Inn was a swanky, upscale establishment Emma would never typically visit if not for her roommate tending bar there. The restaurant served overpriced fare that drew in snobby foodies from all over the tri-state area. Sometimes Riley brought home leftovers from the kitchen that smelled spectacular, but he rarely shared.

Once he left for work, she started getting ready. Who knew what the night would entail? After a long soak in the tub and a thorough exfoliation and shave, Emma rummaged through her closet for the perfect one-night-stand ensemble. When she spotted her wedding gown she punched the lace and shoved it deeper into the shadows.

She wanted to look attainable, but not desperate. Settling on a slinky, pale gray strapless dress, she bit her lip and debated accessories. In the end, she settled on four inch cream sandals and a necklace made of clunky ivory roses.

Grabbing her clutch, she locked the apartment and fidgeted the entire walk to the inn. The evening heat was refreshing against her neck and she was glad she’d pinned up her curls for a change. New woman, new look.

By the time she stepped through the heavy glass doors of the inn she was desperately in need of a drink. How did people do this? The idea that she might actually be having sex in a couple hours with someone she’d never met made her stomach slosh around like a plate of runny eggs on a tilt-a-whirl. There was a great chance she might throw up.

When she spotted Riley she let out a sigh of relief. Having him as her wingman definitely added to her courage.

Seeing he was busy with other customers, she slid onto a stool at the bar and waited. His head turned and he did a double take. His jaw unhinged, but he recovered with a grin. Noting his reaction, her confidence bolstered and she sat a little taller. She could do this.

Traveling to her, his gaze still crawling over her attire, he spoke before he fully reached her. “Holy shit, Emma, you look incredible.”

“Really?” Not used to being on display, every bit of his reassurance helped.

“Really. Can I get you a drink?”

Self-esteem strengthened, she relaxed. “I’ll take a bay breeze, but not a strong one.”

“You got it, Lothario.”

She shook her head. Him and his nicknames.

Scanning the crowd, she wondered if anyone there was a friend of Riley’s. He placed her cocktail on a napkin and slid it close.

“So do you know anyone here?”

“Is that going to be your opening line?” he asked.

She frowned. “No, I’m asking
you.
Are any of these people your friends?”

“Oh. No.”

She deflated. “You told your friends to come here, right?” She’d thought they’d reached an understanding.

“Yeah. Yeah. Your mission for French happiness. I’m on it.”

He was acting really strange and hyper. “What’s French happiness?”

“You know...” He curled his fingers in the air like he was twirling a mustache. Pinky up, he spoke in a terrible French accent. “Ah’penis. Happiness. Ah’penis. Get it?”

“Are you okay?”

He dropped his hand and went to take an order. While Riley was tied up making drinks a man in a suit took the stool beside her. “Hi.”

Trying to calm her smile, she bit her lips and took a deep breath. “Hi.”

“I’m Warren.”

That was a nice name. “Nice to meet you, Warren. I’m Emma.”

“You from around here, Emma?” He was cute. Dark skin, bald head, thick lips, deep voice, all things momma liked.

“Actually, I have a loft a few blocks from here.”

“My place is on the east side, but I’m also local. What do you do, Emma?”

She twisted, pointing her lady parts in his direction. “I’m a personal assistant at a law firm.”

“Really? I’m prelaw myself.”

Her enthusiasm staggered. “Oh.”

“Do you have an issue with lawyers?”

No, she didn’t think she did. Except for the fact that Becket was preparing to be one and he was a big, fat, cheating liar. “My ex was prelaw.”

“Really? When did you break up?”

She laughed nervously. “Last week. He dumped me, actually. When the bell rang I thought it was going to be my wedding gown, but nope. It was him, there to rip out my heart and shit on my dreams. But don’t worry. The dress came later that afternoon. Just. In. Time.”

Warren’s expression was blank and she realized she just turned into crazy girl.

“Oh.” Shaking her head with regret, she explained, “I’m
really
sorry about that. I hadn’t meant to dump all my drama on your lap. I mean, God, talk about diarrhea of the mouth.
Blah!”
She laughed. “I’m really not crazy. I’m just not used to this.”

Warren’s face was unreadable.

Riley approached and she grinned, relieved. “Ask him. He’s my roommate. He can vouch for my sanity.”

“I’m set.” Warren tapped the bar and walked away.

She winced as he fled.

Riley stared at her, eyes wide. “What the hell was that? Did I hear you use the word diarrhea?”

She folded her arms on the bar and dropped her face into darkness. “I suck at this.”

“Diarrhea is never a sexy word, Emma. Come on, you know better.”

Nodding, she sat up. “Can I have a refill?”

“Sure.” He replenished her drink and went to check on the other customers.

A guy in a slate gray shirt with a deep V collar sat beside her. “Is this seat taken?”

“No.”

“I’m Mark.” He held out his hand and she turned to shake it.
Well, hello Mark.

He wasn’t as distinguished as Warren, but he also wasn’t hard to look at. “I’m Emma.”

“You look like you’ve had a rough night. Can I buy your next drink?”

She glanced behind him, about to agree, but hesitated as Riley waved his hands and shook his head mouthing
no
.

Trying not to be obvious, she smiled at Mark. “Sure.”

He turned and flagged over Riley, who now stood with his arms at his sides. “I’ll take a Strong Island Ice Tea and whatever the lady’s having.”

“A what?” Riley was usually so cordial to the customers, but at the moment he looked like he was preparing for an enema.

Mark chuckled and sent her a sidelong glance like they shared a secret. “It’s a Long Island with double the kick, if you get my drift.”

“Loud and clear, champ.” As Riley mixed their drinks he scowled at the man. He returned and slid two glasses forward.

“Thanks, bro.” Mark nodded and slid a twenty across the bar. “You go ahead and keep the change.”

Riley rolled his eyes and walked away.

“I always like to tip a little extra,” Mark explained. “Help out those working their way up the ladder.”

She grinned without showing teeth, omitting that Riley was her friend and, although his longer hair and shadowed jaw made him look like an ordinary civilian, his lineage was practically American royalty.