In a Rush

Chapter 24

chapter twenty-four

Emme

Today’s Learning Objective:

Students will adapt to evolving situations.

If this first week was any indication, I wasn’t especially good at being married.

It started with the small coma I fell into after mixing my allergy meds with Jamie’s death brew moonshine margaritas. I woke up the next afternoon with hair drool-plastered to my face and sinuses swollen enough to see from space. Ryan, my husband dearest, had already jogged a half marathon and picked up lunch from a cute little café nearby. They’d stopped serving breakfast hours ago, I was told.

He was polite enough to not mention my extra-strength meltdown in his bed the night before or the other night we’d spent in that bed, that one with less clothing and more wild sex. I returned the favor by asking zero questions about the very thick, very hard dick I’d felt rubbing up against me as I fell asleep. That was none of my business.

And then there was the issue of me waiting around for him to come back to the condo on Monday night, my calls and texts going unanswered for hours, only to discover he was filming a commercial outside of Vancouver. Somehow, I’d misplaced the knowledge that my husband left the country.

I’d wanted to talk to him about everything that night. I assigned my class a long, involved independent project that gave me enough time to sit at my desk and blankly stare at my computer while I decided what I was going to do about Ryan—and all the lines we’d crossed.

The responsible answer was to define some boundaries and ground rules. It was the only smart thing to do now that our relationship had taken one helluva left turn. We should’ve done it from the start, way back when we first floated the idea of this arrangement, but we didn’t and we were paying for it now.

It was possible that I was paying for it much more than Ryan was. Or it seemed that way. I was the one who’d escaped his bed and flown into everything is fine mode the next day when we could’ve sat down and talked about what this meant for us.

I didn’t think I possessed the skills to have a conversation like that but it was really fun to pretend I could. It was like saying I could water ski because I’d heard of both water and skis.

Still, I’d needed to say something on Monday. Needed an idea of how we continued existing together in this marriage with our new history crowding around us. Most of all, I needed to hear from Ryan. Aside from the massive erection he’d nestled between my butt cheeks like it belonged there, I didn’t know what he was thinking. He was being ridiculously polite and giving me all the space in the world since he’d flown off to Vancouver but none of it did me any good because it wasn’t all about me anymore.

But if it was, if I had to write the rules for us, I’d have a really hard time convincing myself that our friendship would survive another night like that one. It was the absolute best of my entire life but if that became an everyday occurrence for us, I didn’t see how we’d ever find our way out of this marriage when the time came to end it. And it would end. That was the whole plan.

I just didn’t want to make it hurt any worse than I already knew it would. It wasn’t an easy conclusion to reach but I knew I needed my friend more than I needed life-altering sex.

I mean, it couldn’t always be life-altering. Right? That was a one-time situation. Highly unusual circumstances. A perfect storm of drunk and lusty and kinda married. No one was having that kind of sex on a regular basis. It wasn’t possible. Not even golden-armed football gods like Ryan.

At least that was what I was telling myself.

The next morning, when I’d decided I needed to stay home from school but didn’t think to notify anyone other than my principal before going back to sleep, I ended up with forty-two missed calls from my husband and Bowen banging on my bedroom door. Apparently the combo of not answering my phone and not showing up for the drive to school meant everyone agreed I was dead. Or something equally dire.

Poor Bowen though, he’d never be the same after getting the full effect of me screaming my lungs out at him when I opened the door plus, all the side boob my oversized tank top had to offer. He deserved a lot of credit for putting up with me. He waited at the condo while Ryan sent some doctor he casually had on speed dial over for a house call and then went out to pick up lemon-lime soda and bagel crackers for me.

I was a little less spacy once I had some antibiotics for the allergies that’d turned into a sinus infection but not before missing a dress fitting appointment with Wren. The bigger problem was that, in my snotty-throbby-bleary state, I’d also forgotten about this weekend’s event. The team’s Super Bowl ring party was Saturday on Nantucket and my dress still needed to be tailored.

Of all the events to forget, this one was not it.

When Friday afternoon rolled around, I was doing better. I was packed and prepped and could breathe through my nose again. Breathing was so underrated. I’d girded myself for two solid days of football talk and shored my defenses against the inevitable comments about my father.

Though as I headed to the airport where I was due to meet Ryan, it took three rounds of Bowen trying to get my attention for me to realize I was Mrs. Ralston.

“Mrs. Ralston,” he said once again, impatience touching on each carefully articulated syllable, “Mr. Ralston is on the line for you.”

Terrible at marriage. Just terrible.

“Oh. What?” I glanced down at the phone in my hand. I hadn’t missed any calls this time. I leaned forward, toward the front seat. “What’s going on?”

“Em, we had to land outside Philly.” Ryan’s voice boomed through the car speakers. “Some kind of mechanical issue.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Is that the princess?” McKerry’s deep voice came over the line. Ryan had him and a few other offensive linemen with him today for a magazine photoshoot in Dallas. “Lemme talk to her. Princess! How you doin’, girl?”

“Go the hell away. My wife doesn’t need you bothering her,” Ryan said.

“He’s fine,” I said, laughing.

“See? I’m fine ,” McKerry hollered. “If you ever get tired of this cranky old man, you come talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t make me fucking kill you, McKerry,” Ryan said. He didn’t sound murderous. He just sounded tired. I could almost see him rubbing his temples. “Listen, this is going to take a few hours. I’m waiting to hear back about any available planes in the area, but if that doesn’t work, we’re going to grab a commercial flight.”

Bowen and I shared an amused glance at that. I could only imagine the sight of Ryan and his starting O-line wedging themselves into the last available middle row seats of a commercial flight.

In the background, I heard McKerry say, “Can you ask her if she likes jerky? Because I brought a super big bag with three different kinds from this dude that I know who makes it and it’s primo quality and I’d share if she wants to hang out.”

To me, Ryan said, “Hold on a second.” Then, to someone else, “Can you take him, please? No, I don’t care. Have him do some wind sprints on the runway. It is your problem because I’ll leave you here with him if you don’t let me talk to my wife for five fucking minutes.”

Bowen swallowed a laugh.

“Fuck me,” Ryan muttered, though it didn’t seem like he intended that for me or Bowen. Then, “Okay Muggs, here’s the deal. No matter how this shakes out, we probably won’t be able to stop in Boston to pick you up and I don’t want you waiting around in a terminal at the off chance that we can. Marcie’s working on getting you booked on a commercial flight to Nantucket and I’ll find a way to meet you there later tonight. Assuming I haven’t been arrested for strangling McKerry and Hersberler.”

“Let’s do what we can to avoid that,” I said.

“Believe me, I’m working on it.”

“I’m afraid to ask about Wilcox and Bigelow. Are they fighting over a parachute or tied up in the cargo hold?”

“They’re deep into a video game battle. I don’t think they’ve even noticed we landed.” I heard a door close and then, “I’m sorry this is such a mess.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” I said. “Isn’t there a ferry? I could take the ferry.”

“Yeah, it leaves out of New Bedford,” Bowen added.

“You’re not taking a ferry,” Ryan said. “Listen, I just got a text from Marcie that we’re getting you on the seven o’clock to Nantucket. You’ll have an email any minute now. There will be a driver waiting to pick you up and take you to the house we have for the weekend. The house should be stocked but if there’s anything you need, just call Marcie and?—”

“You do realize that I’ve lived on my own—in a major city—for a number of years, right? And that I did keep myself alive through all of those years?” Ryan didn’t respond though I was positive the muscles in his jaw were doing a lot of work. “You have nothing to worry about. Everything will be just fine.”

Everything was not fine.

In fact, everything went wrong in big ways. What should’ve been a quick trip over Cape Cod to the islands turned into a national security incident.

When I arrived at the house three hours later than expected, I found Ryan jogging down a carpeted staircase, scowling whole thunderclouds at his phone. I slammed the door behind me.

“I’ve been looking for you for the past ten minutes,” he said, jabbing a hand at me. “Where’ve you been?”

“I just got here.”

“But…how did I beat you here?” he asked as he crossed the room toward me.

When he skimmed a hand down my back, I stared up at him for a second. “You might want to sit down for this.”

His eyes went wide. “For what?”

“You probably won’t believe any of this and you should know this story comes at a great personal cost,” I said, pacing away from the foyer. “But I’m going to tell you anyway.”

“Emmeline. What the fuck happened?”

I gestured to a crisp white sofa. After a moment of intense staring—which I won—he went to the sofa and sat down.

I spread my hands out in front of me. “There was a delay.”

He pointed to his phone. “But you took off and landed on time. I tracked your flight.”

“I can see how this might be confusing. I’m also confused.” I wandered in a short circuit between a pair of wingback chairs. “The delay was after the landing. And just for me. Because my vibrator turned on during the flight. And it didn’t look like a regular vibrator to anyone involved so I had to explain what it was, and then it wouldn’t turn off even when five different people tried to disable it. And everyone on the flight went crazy—crying, praying, screaming. And they called in some really important people with badges and guns because the vibration pattern sounded like a countdown and they thought someone was remotely controlling a detonator. In my vibrator.”

Ryan leaned forward, his arms braced on his knees. “Holy shit.”

“Yes, that’s the correct sentiment.” I bobbed my head many times. “I got to talk to a bunch of dudes who took everything very seriously and they had a lot of questions for me about where my vibrator has been?—”

“Oh, fuck, no.” He pressed his steepled hands to his lips.

“—and the last time I used it?—”

“Oh my god. Em.” Closed his eyes.

“—and who has access to it.”

“Fuuuuck.” Shook his head slowly.

“Pretty much, yeah.” I went on pacing. “While that little conversation took place, they searched all my stuff. Like, all of it. Thoroughly. Then they decided I’m not a terrorist bomber or anything terrible like that. I tried to tell them from the start I’m just a girl who buys knock-off sex toys that malfunction at the worst possible times but I guess they had to reach that conclusion on their own.”

Ryan blew out a long breath and clasped his hands together between his knees. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Tears filled my eyes and spilled right over before I could do anything to pull them back. I hadn’t let myself experience any of the panic I’d felt until now and it hit me all at once. “But they confiscated the vibrator.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he said.

“That’s not the point,” I sobbed. “I woke up late this morning and didn’t have time for—well, that doesn’t matter but everything’s just a mess now. And I was supposed to work on my plans for field day on the flight but this happened and my life flashed before my eyes. Now I have field day to organize and lesson plans to write for next week, and I might be on the no-fly list. I know the lesson plans don’t matter as much because it’s the end of the year and that’s a shit show anyway but I need to make it look like I’m trying to be good at my job. Especially if my principal finds out I was involved in a sex toy bomb scare.”

When I wiped the tears from my face and took a long, shuddering breath, Ryan just watched me, shaking his head. His shoulders started bouncing before the sharp crack of his laughter filled the living room. He fell sideways on the cushions, his face buried in a collection of decorative pillows embroidered with sayings like Seas the Day and Sea, Sand, Surf .

“It’s not funny,” I cried. “I was interrogated .”

He barely made a sound but his entire body shook with the force of his laughter. He clutched the pillows to him as he went on wheezing. Stomping to the sofa, I grabbed a pillow reading The Beach is My Happy Place and whacked his denim-clad ass with it.

“I wouldn’t react this way if it’d happened to you,” I said, snatching away one of his pillows to wail him with it.

“Not only would you laugh your whole ass off,” he said, chest heaving, tears running down his cheeks, “you’d never let me forget about it.”

I walloped him in the gut. “For your information, I’d be very sympathetic.”

“You’d throw me a birthday party with a sex toy bomb scare theme. The invitation would be a fake mug shot and you’d hand out Fleshlights as favors.”

“You’re a very mean boy.” I pulled the last few pillows out from his grip, pounding him with each one. “I’m standing here crying because I was detained by like five different government agencies and you’re laughing about?—”

He caught me around the waist and had me pinned beneath him on the sofa before I could even thump him with either of the pillows in my grip. He reached for my wrists, gathering them over my head and holding them flat against the cushions. When he dropped his hips to mine, I shifted against him and his gaze snapped up. I’d only meant to test how much wiggle room I had but it seemed like I’d tested something else altogether.

“I’m not making fun of you,” he said softly. “I just—this might be the greatest Emme fuck-around of all time.”

I jerked against his hold on my wrists but he didn’t let go. “I’m not making this up!”

“I know you aren’t,” he said, “but it would only happen to you. This one definitely tops the time you got arrested in Montreal.”

“I don’t think a voicemail from Gary would’ve gotten me out of it.”

“No, but my lawyers would’ve.” When I only blinked at him, he asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t know. Everything was happening so fast.”

He nodded like he understood exactly how it went with bomb scares and cheap vibrators. “Next time, call your husband.”

Leaning down, he brushed his lips over mine and I didn’t stop him. Not at first. Not when he deepened the kiss and rocked against my hips. But then I remembered myself, remembered that friends were more important than fake-marriage fuck buddies, and I wrenched a wrist free and whomped him with a pillow.

He stared at me, no amusement to be found in his expression. “Something you’d like to say, wifey?”

“I just need— I think we should— Maybe this isn’t a good idea?”

It took a minute but a shadow of understanding slowly moved across his features. “What, precisely, isn’t a good idea?”

I set a hand on his broad chest, selfishly letting my fingers spread out over the solid plane. “Maybe the physical stuff?” I pushed against his chest, and after a moment he shifted to his knees, taking all his delicious heat and pressure with him. “Boundaries might be good. And maybe some rules too?”

The muscle in his cheek pulsed and his brow lifted. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“I—I am.” I wasn’t. I desperately wanted to drag him back to me and let someone else worry about what would happen when this marriage ended. I wanted to hook a leg around his waist and see how he performed on a squishy sofa. “It’s just that I don’t want us to get hurt. Later on.”

He glanced away and I knew those words had hit the intended target. He didn’t want a messy ending any more than I did. Climbing off the sofa, he cleared his throat and pushed a hand through his hair. “Yeah. No problem.”

For better or worse, I stayed stretched out on the sofa, one leg dangling to the floor, the other bent at a sharp angle to give Ryan the room he’d needed between my thighs. Though he marched into the kitchen and didn’t look back at me. Guess he didn’t want to look our new boundaries in the eye.

I heard the refrigerator open and then, “Muggsy?”

I tucked my hair over my ears. “Yeah?”

“You’re never flying without me again.”

Since that seemed like the only thing we’d agree on tonight, I called, “Okay. Maybe we give that ferry Bowen mentioned a try. That sounded pretty nonconfrontational.”

I heard the refrigerator shut and then the pop of a beer bottle. “I’ll think about it.”