Chapter 7 #3
misfortune as they tried to tolerate each other through a series of increasingly intimate challenges under the same roof.
When the episode ended, a wave of sleepiness hit Emmy, thanks in large part to her full belly and the fact she’d slept in a mostly drunken stupor the night before and needed real rest. She yawned, and Gabe took his cue to leave.
“I should get going,” he said, and it struck her as odd all over again he was even in her apartment to begin with.
Had she really just had breakfast with Gabe Olson? Was she perhaps still asleep and drunk dreaming? Was he about to go sailing
in his boat shoes and shorts?
“Got a boat to catch?” she joked and nodded at his shoes.
He combed a hand over his sculpted hair and quietly laughed. “Actually, yes. My cousin owns a charter company that does tours
of the bay. One of his crew had to travel to go help with a family thing, so I’ve been stepping in as his replacement.”
“That’s generous of you.”
He casually shrugged like it was no big deal. “Yeah, let’s just hope I don’t lose my breakfast into the bay after last night.”
“Seasickness isn’t a very good quality in a sailor.”
“Indeed, it is not.” He scooped up both of their empty cartons and found her trash can at the end of the island. “Thanks for
the coffee.”
“Thanks for breakfast.”
“Sure—oh! I almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded napkin. “The equation you wanted to see.”
Emmy unfolded the paper square she’d shoved at him last night and saw a complex string of Greek letters and mathematical symbols
written in ink. She recognized the equation as one they used to calculate a player’s overall standing, except Gabe had added
a new term that weighted the score differently.
“I figured out how to quantify my feelings,” he said with a sly grin. “Feel free to run that model on Hollander and see what
you get.”
A mix of emotions crashed inside her. Surprise he’d dragged work into their otherwise pleasant conversation, annoyance this was a smug display of his signature one-upping, and most of all confusion, because she admittedly found a man handing her a math equation he’d invented at her request unbearably hot, and the fact that that man was Gabe Olson left her unsure what to do with the flutter in her chest.
Sass seemed like the safest route given all of the above. “I will,” she said with a skeptical tilt of her head.
He smiled at her. “See you Monday.”
“Bye,” she said with a small wave.
Gabe let himself out, and Emmy limped back over to her couch. She deflated herself with a heavy sigh and reached for the remote
to select what would keep her company for the next several hours. The desire to get her laptop and run his model flitted through
her, but her hangover squashed it. She could get to it tomorrow. She’d landed on a dating show with an absurd but addictive
premise when her phone pinged with a message.
Axe Murderer.
With an instant smile, she opened it.
How are you feeling today?
Like shit, as expected.
Same. At least I had some greasy, spicy food to sop it up.
Same! And now I’m bingeing *exceptionally* trashy reality TV.
Sounds like your dream day.
The only thing missing was a text from you ?
Happy to provide my services. How was your night? Is the hangover worth it?
Is it ever? But you know, all things considered, it was a good night.
I take it you weren’t expecting it to be?
Not really. Honestly, I tend to struggle with my co-workers. I don’t really fit in, but my boss has been encouraging me to
try harder.
I get that. I struggle with everyone. I spent my formative years playing competitive sports with a group of built-in peers,
so I never really had to try to build relationships. Now I’m not good at it. At least that’s what my therapist says.
Emmy softened at his vulnerable message, feeling special he was willing to share with her.
I think you’re pretty good at whatever we’re doing here.
Again, you are the exception, Bird Girl. The one-in-ten-zillion chance “Lacey” made up a string of numbers that happened to
belong to you is the best luck I’ve had in a very long time. Maybe ever ?
MVP “Lacey”
Bird Girl?
Yeah?
What ARE we doing here? (Not all-caps shouting at you, just impatiently waiting for the day they implement italics in text.)
Emmy quietly laughed as she thought about how to respond. She knew he didn’t mean what were they doing commiserating about
their hangovers. He meant what were they doing texting each other a hundred times a day. They were getting to know each other.
They were flirting, obviously. Being vulnerable. Spilling their hearts. Having deeper conversations than Emmy had had with
anyone in a long time, maybe ever. Denying they were doing something would have been an insult to her feelings.
And yet.
She knew despite the way her heart took off galloping every time she saw his name, the safety barrier of the screen was what
was allowing her to be so open. Without that, she wouldn’t have the guts to tell him half the things she had—and she liked
telling him things and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it.
We’re taking it slow.
A decent pause passed before he responded, but when he did, Emmy’s heart settled.
Okay ?
She smiled at the smiley face and saw him continue to type.
Well, I’d happily stay here and talk to you all day, but I have to go get ready for the family stuff I volunteered for. Happy recovering, Bird Girl.
Have a good day, Axe Murderer. ?
She rethought the heart—it was a big leap from a smiley face—but her thumb tapped it before her mushy brain could stop it.
Her nerves over sending it dissolved as soon as he loved it with his own heart reaction.
On Sunday, despite her insistence she needed to catch up on work after her day of recovery, Emmy found herself at a yacht
club in La Jolla. One with yawning windows overlooking the crashing waves and a view of Scripps Pier darting out into the
cove like a trestled needle. If she looked closely enough, she’d probably see dolphins frolicking in the surf. It was someplace
she never thought she’d be, but that was before her sister had gotten engaged to the West Coast version of a Rockefeller.
Ben’s family had biotech money. Loads of it. The Carmichaels were cliffside-mansion, Tahoe-ski-lodge, fifty-foot-sailboat, blue-blood-with-a-surfer-tan rich. It
was only fitting Piper would marry a prince, and Emmy was as thankful for Ben’s levelheadedness as she was for his humility
in the face of such obscene wealth.
He drove a Jeep and wore Levi’s and played beach volleyball.
He also had champagne brunches at yacht clubs and made gooey eyes at her sister while he twirled the tumor-size family heirloom
engagement ring he’d given her around her polished finger.
Piper had invited Emmy to join them that morning (more like insisted she join and guilted her over working too much), and by the third time they leaned in to rub noses and sweetly murmur about how they couldn’t wait to be husband and wife in two weeks , Emmy pulled out her phone to text Axe Murderer.
SOS. Family thing is killing me right now.
Shall I send in the cavalry? Bob Marley and the Quailers, The Storks, Sheryl Crow.
Emmy sputtered a laugh and disguised it with a sip of her mimosa.
Sheryl Crow isn’t a pun. That’s just her name.
You’re right. That one is a throwaway.
Do better, Axe Murderer...
You caught me off guard.
Why? Are you being tortured at the hands of your insufferable relatives too?
Not today. I’m actually on my way to the ball game.
Emmy sat at attention. A fleeting thought of heading to the ballpark and somehow geolocating him in the sea of fans by his
cell phone ping swept through her mind. But that only happened in movies, right? She did have someone in IT who owed her a favor but cashing it in on this might lead to too many questions.
The thought of telling Axe Murderer she worked at the park and could get him all sorts of special access if he wanted flashed through her mind too, but that would be way too revealing. All he’d have to do was look up the front office directory and narrow down the list of the few dozen women
among the hundreds of employees to find her.
But did she want him to find her? Was it time?
“Oh my god, are you working?” Piper scolded and interrupted her thoughts.
“What? No,” Emmy jerked her head up and said too quickly.
Piper suspiciously eyed her reaction and then grinned. “Then you’re texting him again, aren’t you?”
Emmy reddened. She had reluctantly widened her circle of trust about Axe Murderer to include her sister and was suddenly regretting
it based on the mischievous look on Piper’s face.
“No, I’m not,” Emmy said.
Piper gave her a dismissive eye roll and turned to Ben as if their pending marriage meant the circle by default included him
too. “Babe, Em met this guy because someone fake numbered him at a bar, and the number happened to be hers. Now they’ve been
texting for, like, over a week because they are perfect for each other. Isn’t that weird but also really cool?”
Ben tore his eyes from his fiancée’s face for the first time all brunch and smiled at Emmy. “No way! What are the odds?”
“Actually, they’re—” Emmy started to say because she had run the numbers again and had something slightly more precise than
astronomical to report now, but Piper cut her off.
“Isn’t it sweet? I’m obsessed .” She suddenly gasped and bounced in her seat. “ Ooh , Em! Invite him to the wedding!”
Ben’s smile widened. They looked at her like a pair of golden retrievers, tails practically wagging.
Emmy set her phone on the table with a sigh. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Ben said with a tilt of his head in perfect golden retriever fashion. His sandy hair even flipped over like an
ear.
“Because it’s... complicated.”
“What’s complicated about it?” Piper said. “You need a date and you’re clearly into this guy based on the look on your face every time you text him. Sounds simple to me!”