Beauty and the Running Back (28 page)

The feel of him pressing hard against me brings a sudden,
untempered cry to my lips. I just can’t help myself as I feel the staggering
bulk of him brush against my aching clit, even through layers of clothing. The
second my moan escapes into the air, my eyes go wide. I clasp my hands over my
mouth, but it’s too late. Riley’s bedroom door flies open, and I scramble off
of Emerson’s lap as she appears in the doorway in full action mode. I’m
surprised she isn’t carrying a frying pan or something.

“Are you OK?” she demands, taking in the scene.

“Oh, sure!” I laugh dementedly, leaping off of the couch.
“We’re fine! Sorry!”

My best friend sees Emerson’s flabbergasted, frustrated
expression, not to mention the tousled state of my hair and clothes, and puts
two and two together. Her game face is replaced by a knowing grin.

“I thought I heard you scream,” she says, feigning innocence.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, or—”

“It’s OK,” I insist, shooting her a look that says,
Please
shut the fuck up, dude.

“Is that Emerson Sawyer I see sitting on our couch?” she
goes on, crossing her arms with an amused smile on her lips.

“That it is,” Emerson says, grinning gamely back at her as
he stands. He’s rolling with the interruption, just like that night when our
post-
Dr. Zhivago
make-out session was interrupted by our parents—and the announcement of their
doomed engagement. He’s always been quick on his feet, my Emerson.

My
Emerson?
I ask myself,
What’s
this about
my
Emerson, Abby?

“Man, it’s been forever!” Riley exclaims, “You look great,
man.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, shoving his hands into his
pockets. The flush fades from his chiseled face. Good. At least
one
of us is composed. I
probably look like a deer caught in the headlights. Who also happens to be in
heat.

“Abby, did you offer our guest a drink?” Riley asks.

“Oh. No,” I mumble bashfully, “I didn’t. Emerson?”

“Sure, if you guys are having something,” he says.

“Vodka tonics good for everyone?” Riley asks, making her way
over to our home bar.

“Make mine a double,” I mutter, trading glances with
Emerson. He strides my way and leans close.

“Later,” he whispers in my ear, “Just you wait.”

“Are you trying to make me faint or something, Sawyer?” I
whisper back.

“Not just yet,” he winks, and goes to join Riley at the bar.

“Here we go,” she says, passing out the three cocktails and
raising her glass. “To old friends, all grown up and kicking ass.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Emerson laughs.

“Hell yeah,” I smile, clinking my glass to theirs.

“And to your birthday, of course!” Riley adds.

“Of course. Happy birthday, Abby,” Emerson says warmly,
taking a sip of his drink.

My body may still be reeling with having had a moment of
contact with Emerson, but the mere knowledge that things between us are back on
track is enough to keep me giddy. Besides, I’m here with my best friend and
long-lost lover...who I’ve been carrying a torch for almost the entire past
decade, despite our asshole parents’ one-day marriage.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.

The three of us settle down in the living room, Riley and
Emerson catching each other up on their lives and careers. I can’t help but be
wildly proud of these two. Neither one of them had any idea what they wanted to
do with their futures as high school seniors, but now that they’ve followed
their passions, they’ve made incredible lives for themselves. Hell, if anyone’s
slacking on the whole Bright Shiny Future thing, it’s me. But maybe now that
I’ve got my job at Bastian, things will start to take off for me, too. At
least, I hope that’s the case.

“I don’t suppose you keep in touch with anyone from high
school, Emerson?” Riley asks, whipping us up a second round.

“No one except Courtney Haines,” I tease, nudging him. We’re
cozied up on the couch next to each other, casual as can be. Amazing how
comfortable it is to be near him.

“I don’t keep in touch with Courtney Haines,” Emerson
laughs, nudging me back, “Or anyone, for that matter. I consider myself a bit
of a hometown expat.”

“That make three of us,” Riley replies, furnishing us with
fresh cocktails.

“In fact, if I hadn’t run into you two again, I doubt I’d
ever have run into a familiar face from those glory days,” Emerson goes on.

“Not even family?” Riley asks without thinking.

I shoot her a look, and she realizes her mistake at once,
but it’s too late now.

“Well, Mom’s still more or less living in the rehab
revolving door,” Emerson says, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “And my dad...He
actually passed away, a few years after I left Connecticut with my mom.”

This is news to me, and I can’t help but wrap my arm
supportively around Emerson’s back. As if he needed any more pain to carry
around on those broad shoulders of his.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, “I know how hard that is,
Emerson.”

“I actually thought about calling you, when it happened,” he
laughs shortly, “I knew you’d gone through the same thing. Couldn’t think of
anyone else I’d want to talk to more.”

“You could have, you know,” I say softly.

“Well,” Emerson sighs, shaking off the sadness of his
father’s passing, “You’re here now, right? Guess we’ve just got some more
catching up to do. All of us.”

We all return to our drinks as the conversation resumes. I
haven’t eaten a ton today, so my drinks are really doing a number on me
already. Just as I start wondering whether we should order a huge pizza to soak
up some of this vodka, I remember what tonight actually has in store for me.

“Shit. What time is it?” I exclaim, standing up suddenly
from the couch.

“Just about seven,” Emerson says, glancing at his watch.
“Why, what—?”

“Oh god,” Riley groans, looking up at me, “Your
grandparents.”

“I’m not dressed. I don’t have time. They’re going to be
here any second,” I cry, setting down my empty martini glass and setting off
toward my bedroom to get changed. But the second I spin around on my heel, I
hear the buzzer ring out.

Frank and Jillian Rowan have arrived for the evening.

“Well, shit,” Emerson laughs darkly, “It’s a family reunion!
This should be fun.”

“Relax, Abby,” Riley says, anticipating my panic. “You’re a
grown woman. It’s none of their business who you spend your time with.”

“Try telling them that,” I mutter, anxiously buzzing them
up.

“Look, I’m sure it will be fine,” Emerson sighs, starting to
gather his things, “If nothing else, they’ve got that whole snobby, fake-polite
thing going on. So it’s not like they’ll start anything with me. Rich people
don’t
do
confrontation. It’s not proper.”

I’m surprised to feel a twinge of annoyance at Emerson’s
generalizations. My grandparents aren’t perfect, but they’re the only family I
have these days. They’re the only people who have supported me through my life,
even if that support has been more financial than emotional. I’m not OK with
Emerson slamming them.

“Aren’t you a rich person now, too?” I ask curtly, crossing
my arms.

Emerson raises an eyebrow, taken aback by my tone.

“Sure. But I
earned
my money,” he replies. “I haven’t just been inheriting my advantages and
coasting along.”

“Like I’m doing, you mean?” I shoot back. Now I’m really
getting pissed off. I thought that he, of all people, wouldn’t be judgmental
about something like money. But I guess maybe I was wrong. Maybe having money
has changed him.

“You know I’m not talking about you,” he says, actually
shocked by my reaction. “Abby, you don’t coast. You work your ass off, you’re
great at what you do—”

“Well. When you spend your whole life inheriting your
advantages, you have a lot of time to devote to your interests,” I say drily.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Emerson says sternly.

“Don’t spout orders at me,” I return.

“Whoa, whoa,” Riley says, placing herself between us, “Back
to your corners, you two.”

“He started it,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

“Excuse me?” Emerson scoffs.

“Oh my god,” Riley groans, “Just because you’re in the same
room again, doesn’t mean you get to revert back to your angst-ridden teenage
selves.”

Before I can reply, the doorbell chimes. My grandparents are
right outside.

“That’s my cue,” Emerson says, walking toward the door with
me. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t—”

“Me too,” I say quickly, pausing before the door. Riley is
kind enough to go back into her room for the moment.

“Can I at least give you one last birthday kiss?” Emerson
asks, catching my hand and placing the ring box onto my palm. I nod, clutching
the box to my chest. Emerson lowers his lips to mine, giving me a sweet, swift
kiss goodnight. I pocket the box, giddy and flushed, and pull open the front
door.

My grandparents are revealed to us in all their finery. I
watch them go stock-still, forced smiles paralyzed in place, as they see
Emerson beside me. It takes them a moment, but recognition floods in at last.
And the second it does, the goodwill drains from their eyes in an instant,
replaced by sheer revulsion.

“Is that—?” my grandmother breathes.

“It is,” Emerson smiles, drawing himself up to his full,
towering height. “Good to see you again, Jillian. Frank.”

“What the hell is
he
doing here?” my grandfather says
to me, refusing to look at Emerson for another second.

“
He
was just leaving,” Emerson replies, “But you all have a good night. Happy
birthday again, Abby.”

He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I watch
as my grandparents’ eyes bug out of their heads. I’m surprised they don’t keel
over as he moves past them to the stairs and disappears from sight. A long
moment of silence unfolds as my grandparents stare at me, absolutely seething.

“So...Do you guys want to come in, or—?” I offer faintly.

“Abigail Cecily Rowan,” my grandfather blusters, charging
into the apartment with grandmother on his heels, “How dare you subject us to
that?”

“Excuse me?” I reply, taken aback by his outrage. I knew
they wouldn’t be happy to see Deb’s son again after all these years, but
they’re absolutely livid.

“How could you blindside us like that?” my grandmother asks,
her nose wrinkled. “Seeing that boy here, in our apartment—”

“I thought this was my apartment, too,” I cut in, “I
do
live here, you know.”

“Rent free,” Grandpa scoffs.

“I’m sorry,” I reply tersely, “I didn’t realize that meant I
couldn’t have a friend over to celebrate my birthday. Should I clear all my
guests with you, or—?”

“A friend?” Grandma hisses, grabbing onto my wrist with
surprising force for such an old lady. “Do you think we’re absolute idiots?”

“Of course not!” I exclaim, “I don’t understand why you’re
so upset about this.”

“You don’t
understand
why we’re upset to see you hanging out with that piece of trash?” Grandpa
shouts, slamming his fist down on the kitchen counter. “Your father told us all
about finding you two in bed together the morning after the wedding. It’s
absolutely disgusting, Abby. You have no business fraternizing with someone of
his kind—to say nothing of the fact that he was your stepbrother!”

“You need to stop right there,” I say firmly, yanking my arm
out of my grandmother’s grasp. “You don’t know the first thing about Emerson,
or what happened between us when we were kids. There was nothing disgusting
about our relationship then, and there’s nothing wrong with us spending time
together now! He’s a wonderful man. A smart, successful, funny man who I care
very deeply about. Why can’t you respect that?”

“His trashy mother ruined your father’s life,” Grandma
spits, “She and her jailbird husband were sucking him dry that whole time. And
just look at him now! He’s an absolute wreck. He never recovered from what that
woman did to him.”

“Dad ruined his own life,” I tell them, “Deb did a terrible
thing, taking advantage of him like that. But he’s a grown man. No one forced
him to relapse. No one made him refuse to go to rehab and get his life
together. He let himself go to pieces. And even if Deb and her husband did set
him off, that has nothing to do with Emerson! He and I were just kids when Dad
and Deb got together. We were innocent bystanders to that whole train wreck.”

“I don’t accept that,” Grandpa sniffs, crossing his arms,
“You can’t possibly think that the son of two lowlifes could be anything but a
piece of garbage himself. The apple never falls far from the tree, dear.”

“No?” I shoot back, “Well then what does that say about you,
with everything Dad’s been through? What does it say about me, when he’s such a
wreck? Terrible things can happen to good people, you know.”

“You’d seriously have us believe that this Emerson is a good
person?” Grandma scoffs.

“I would,” I tell her, “If you’d just try and get to know
him, you’d see—”

“This is ridiculous,” Grandpa mutters, shaking his head, “I
won’t hear another second of it. Jillian, don’t bother taking off your coat.
We’re not staying.”

“What?” I say, “I thought we were going to spend some time
together? Get something to eat, and—”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite,” Grandpa says grimly.
“Just seeing that boy, being reminded of everything this family has gone
through...It’s too much. I won’t be subjected to this kind of nonsense.
Especially not in an apartment I own myself!”

“You mustn’t see that person again, Abby,” Grandma says
sternly.

I actually let out a laugh at this. “I mustn’t see him?” I
reply, cackling at the absurdity of what she’s said, “Well, that’s not really
an option, seeing as we work together, now.”