Emma
The date was a disaster—of course it was. What had I expected after that kiss? Watching Miller openly adjust his dick and then saunter out my door like he hadn’t just thrown a wrench into my carefully constricted plans? That was how the date with Court started—and it went downhill from there.
I drank too much, trying to cope with the realization that Miller might, perhaps, see the potential for us to be more than friends. Then I decided the best course of action was to go on a rant that lasted from our appetizers to our entrée about how much I despised a show on Netflix simply because the lead actor was British.
Clearly, I had some issues with Headmaster Hopkirk that I needed to work through.
Court tried, more than I deserved, to talk about common interests, the sports he joined in college, and even some random romantic comedy playing at the theater, but I couldn’t vibe with him. With every comment he made, I compared it to Miller. From the way he styled his dark hair to how big his belt buckle was, nothing was right.
I paced the living room, a habit I’d formed in college when I needed to work out something particularly difficult. It drove my roommates bonkers, but Minerva never seemed to mind. Now, it wasn’t a statics problem that had me stumped. It was the onslaught of feelings that had surfaced with Miller. No. Not feelings. More like a stupid little crush because of my crummy dates and his sweet demeanor. That kiss was nothing. It was his way of—what?
So what if he’d never kissed me like that before?
So what if no one had ever kissed me like that before?
So what if he gave me some cryptic line about showing me where he stood?
So what if the possessive, territorial monster that demanded an explanation for giving a strange person my address was secretly a massive turn-on?
I was one thought away from a full-on nuclear meltdown when he arrived unannounced, trying to convince myself the next date would be the one.
There was ranting and second-guessing and trying not to poke myself in the pupil with purple eyeliner. To make matters worse, he showed up with flowers, wearing black slacks that had no business looking as good as they did. It was like he was purposely teasing me with his body, saying, ‘Ha-ha, Emma. I suppose you can keep using me as your little fuck-toy since you’re about to go on another horrible date.’
Was that line of thinking any better than me assuming that there was an innate flaw in my system, rendering me un-dateable?
Did such a thing exist? Was that even a word?
Whatever adrenaline had coursed through my veins when he was here, and his lips were on mine, disintegrated into oozing desperation the second he walked out the door. Desperation to feel validated—wanted.
Desperation to feel needed.
I grabbed my phone from the couch, stared at the screen, then threw it back on the cushion. Minerva couldn’t be bothered to deal with such trivial things—like her human having a full-on mental war with an unknown assailant.
She surveyed me from on top of her cat tree in the corner, her fluffy tail flicking back and forth like a metronome.
“You’re not helping.” She didn’t care that her lowly human was clearly suffering. Perhaps Her Majesty would give a flying fuck if her dinner of raw tuna and mixed vegetables was more than a minute late.
I scoffed, rolling my eyes at the pretentious animal, and continued pacing.
After grabbing my phone and throwing it back the third time, I caved and opened my messages. I mostly feared that in a fit of rage and confusion, I’d drop the phone on the coffee table and shatter the screen.
Me:Come over.
Me:Right now.
Me:Please. Things are happening.
Marietta:*GIF of question marks*
Angelina:*GIF of person running*
Rose:Do we need carbs or alcohol?
Me:Pizza.
Angelina:Even better. I’ll pick one up with that weird vegan cheese on the way.
Marietta:Stand by, babe. We got you.
Within an hour, I was showered and elbow-deep in a bottle of wine, wearing Ravenclaw pajamas and polar bear slippers. So what if it was eighty degrees outside? This situation called for flannel pajamas and fluffy slippers. My curls were tamed in two fishtail braids, and my nails were bitten down to the quick. I was debating if I had enough time to make French toast when the doorbell rang, and Angelina elbowed her way in, holding two pizza boxes.
I popped up from the couch and grabbed the pies, breathing in the scent of basil and tomatoes.
My mouth watered as she followed me into the kitchen, grabbing a wineglass and plates from the cabinet.
“You’re okay, right? You look okay, physically, that is. Maybe a little overdressed for it being sweltering outside. The idiot headmaster isn’t insisting you get married or something now, is he? It’s not your dad, hopefully. I swear, I know they are your parents, but sometimes I want to drop-kick that man in the ’nads for how he guilt trips you.”
She paused and raised an eyebrow before serving us both a slice of pizza and walking back to the living room. I followed, putting the food on the coffee table before clenching my fists and opening my mouth. Once. Twice. Three times.
The words wouldn’t come as I stared at Angelina, whose eyebrows were now north of her hairline.
“I’m here for all the things, babe, but I’m going to need actual words. Telekinesis is not one of my superpowers.”
I opened my mouth again and breathed, ready to unleash the typhoon of words swirling around my brain.
“I—”
“We’re here!” Rose called, opening the front door, holding several quarts of Italian ice, followed closely by Marietta. They disappeared into the kitchen to either put the dessert in the freezer or grab spoons as my mouth snapped closed, teeth clacking together while my left eye twitched.
They looked at each other, then back at me. We were at a stalemate—not intentionally, of course. It was more like my sanity was hanging by a thread, and the moment I said one word, a million more would pour out, and the girls would back away slowly until I was alone again with nothing but my thoughts and fluffy slippers.
“What’s the drama, llama?” Marietta asked, putting her hands on her hips. “Are we forgoing pizza for wine?” She gestured to the untouched slices and half-empty bottle as Rose brought the boxes into the living room. “Someone needs to spill the tea so we can react accordingly.”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Angelina answered, passing plates to the two newcomers and opening the other pizza box. Green peppers and sausage wafted from the table, and my stomach let loose a very unsexy grumble of annoyance—and hunger.
“Um, babe? Do we need sign language or signal flares? Because this silence is freaking me out.” Rose snapped her fingers in front of me, and I shook my head, stomping my foot like an ignorant child.
“Miller kissed me. No, Miller made love to my freaking mouth. Gross. Wait. Miller and I made out. Fuck,” I groaned, scrubbing one hand over my face before folding the pizza slice and taking a huge bite, glad I had the foresight to take lactose medicine before the girls arrived. Real cheese always made in onto pizza. I’d still regret it at three in the morning when my stomach would revolt with indigestion and heartburn—but that was future Emma’s problem. Present Emma had more important things to deal with than a body that could not digest cheese.
“Um. I thought you guys have been messing around for a while,” Rose said.
“It’s been off and on for years, hasn’t it?” Marietta added. “I know one of us suggested you just ask him to help you out after Hopkirk’s weird request, but then you went and signed up for all those dating apps.”
“You two didn’t have some sort of Pretty Woman relationship where you wouldn’t let him kiss you on the mouth, right?” Angelina finished topping off my wine. She passed around bottles of water from the kitchen and motioned for me to move over to the other side of the couch.
“Yes. Yes. And no.” I sighed and slunk to the floor, pressing my back against the sofa. Rose sat cross-legged above me, with Marietta and Angelina crammed beside her. The pizza was pushed to the side because, after that one bite, my appetite was all but gone.
“We’ve kissed. We’ve always kissed. He’s super affectionate, which is great. He’s this big, cuddly man-child, all wrapped up with good intentions and a big dick.”
“You are killing me, Emma. What the hell is going on?”
“He showed up earlier while I was psyching myself up for another date, asking all these uncomfortable questions. He got mad, thinking I’d given my address to someone on the app. Then he slammed the door in my date’s face, only to ask me to ask him when he started looking at me differently, like I could be someone he could fall in love with. Then he kissed me. The sweetest, most passionate kiss of my life.”
I took a breath, grabbed a water, and pressed the cold bottle to the back of my neck. The cool condensation rolled down my back but did nothing to ease the violent, churning force of my mind.
Why?That pathetic, one-syllable word threatened to crumble my resolve. Why was this bothering me so much? I didn’t have some unrequited love for him buried deep. Why did it seem like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room when he kissed me, like I wouldn’t be able to breathe fully until I saw him again? Until he took my lips in a searing kiss and shared his air with me.
“Then he left. He freaking left—like it was the normal thing to do after dropping that truth bomb on my lap. He kissed me until I couldn’t breathe. Ya’ll, I think I died.”
I buried my face in my hands, choking back a sob. Why were his two questions causing this panic-inducing meltdown, resulting in thousands of calories consumed and a wicked hangover?
The confession to the girls did nothing to quell the raging inferno of fire in my stomach. Perhaps I had heartburn from the amount of bread I’d consumed in the last twenty-four hours. I tugged on the end of my braids and stared at my full glass of wine, feeling nauseated. The last thing I needed was a fuzzy mind from consuming too much fermented fruit.
“Yep. That’s it. I died. Forget the date that showed up before Miller kissed me. Forget the self-induced misery I caused when we went to that Japanese restaurant off Faldo Boulevard. This is all a fever dream hallucination meant to teach me a lesson. What lesson, you ask? Hell if I know. Hell, maybe this is hell. But Dante never mentioned a circle where you were doomed to live out your days in a constant state of confusion and tummy troubles.”
I closed my eyes and leaned forward, knowing I was being dramatic. That didn’t stop the thoughts plaguing my brain.
Warm hands caressed my back, digging into the knots until my breathing slowed. I smiled, opened my eyes, and turned back to the couch, where three pairs of eyes looked at me. There was no pity or resentment, only caring and concern.
“He kissed me like his life depended on it, and now I think I’m addicted to him. How did this happen? I was supposed to meet a nice guy by the time the board had their annual gala, shmooze them, get offered a job, and live happily ever after with some nameless guy with good hair.”
Hearing the words out loud did nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders, and my heartrate increased as the three of them looked back and forth. They were having some silent, telepathic conversation that consisted of pursed lips, raised eyebrows, and slight nods.
“Why am I acting like some pathetic teenager with a high-school crush? Once you pass the tender age of twenty-five, your emotional maturity should prevent dramatics like this.”
An awkward giggle came from the couch, and I turned, staring at Marietta, who had her hand pressed over her mouth, but the laughter still escaped.
Rose broke the silence first, her lips curling up into a smirk that had mischief written all over it. “Well, that happened much quicker than I thought.”
“Not me,” said Angelina, finishing her piece of pizza and handing me the half-eaten slice that still looked as unappealing as it did ten minutes ago.
“I think they’re a little behind schedule. I didn’t think you’d make it past your first online date before realizing what nonsense it was. Though I didn’t think he’d crack first.” Marietta buffed her nails on her purple blouse and nodded.
“Oh, I knew he would. He’s the absolute epitome of the he falls first trope.” Angelina murmured, knocking her elbow against my shoulder hard enough for me to lift my head and grab the slice of pizza.
“I don’t think my brain can take any more convoluted, not-to-the-point conversations. I know. I know. I’m the one who started it, but I’m suffering from wine exhaustion and am halfway to a carb-induced coma.”
“Sorry, Em. We were just wondering how long it would take you to realize things with Miller were more than you made them out to be. It’s written plain as day on your face whenever you say his name. How you’ve gone so long without seeing it, I’ll never know.” Rose propped her head on my shoulder, but I shrugged her off, turning around to glare instead.
“You don’t do casual, babe. You never have. Don’t you remember when you and Miller first started hooking up?”
“Yeah,” Marietta said, topping off all the wineglasses but mine. The tannins were busy reacting to the overabundance of peppers in my stomach, and more wine would make the problem worse. “You were all bent out of shape, wondering why you were so undatable. Actually, that is eerily similar to the situation we’re currently in.”
“Wow. She’s right,” Angelina chimed in. “You’ve never really been level-headed when it comes to Miller. Didn’t you immediately go back to your ex after the two of you slept together for the first time?”
“I remember that,” Rose said, tugging the elastic from her hair and smoothing her hands over the locks. “You said something about craving a relationship and intimacy—not just great sex.”
“Who knows? Maybe? I don’t remember that far back, but what does that have to do with anything?” I scoffed, pushing the glass of wine farther away. Rose rolled her eyes and snatched my glass, dumping the rest into hers and taking a sip.
“I need to figure out why I’m having this mini meltdown, not have my past brought into the equation.”
Tomorrow was going to suck. Even if I drank a gallon of water and took four ibuprofens, I’d still wake up with my head pounding worse than the drum line of a marching band.
“Just establishing a pattern.” Rose shrugged before heading to the kitchen and returning with a pint of Italian ice. “Listen, nothing is wrong with not wanting to do casual. I couldn’t do it.”
“Especially with someone as stupid hot as Miller.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes daring to Marietta as she snatched a spoon from Rose. “My brain is officially the consistency of oatmeal. Someone pass me a spoon or fully explain yourself.”
“Here’s the thing, babe. It’s painfully obvious that Miller is crazy about you,” Marietta said.
“It is,” Rose added, glancing at Marietta, who nodded. “Case in point, the bar. You drunk texted him, and he showed up a half hour later looking to pummel the guy talking to you and then whisk you away into the sunset.”
“I don’t think that’s exactly what happened,” I huffed, tucking a rogue curl that had escaped the braid behind my ear.
“I think you’re seriously in denial.”
“But he’s never said anything!” I whined, tossing the pizza crust onto an empty plate. “He should have told me.”
“Oh, Emma,” Angelina said. “Maybe not with words, but he’s shown it with action— with how he treats you. You have to see that, right? No guy would do that for someone they just like. It’s his love language.”
I tilted my head and closed my eyes, thinking back to Miller. How he would bring me food after a long day. How he would whisper possessive words into my ears as he played my body like the finest Stradivarius. How he looked at me.
“Fudgity frick fuck.”
“There it is,” Rose said.
“We knew you’d figure things out eventually. We’d already planned on an intervention if you two weren’t together by Halloween. And you can’t deny it. That man is so handsome he makes me want to cry. It makes sense that you have real feelings for him. And we all have feelings about your feelings.” Marietta dunked the spoon into the carton, winking as she moaned around the bite.
“Yep. We have a whole chat dedicated to the unrequited love between Miller Hansen and Emma James,” Angelina said, waggling her brows before taking another slice of pizza.
“Whoa, there. Everyone needs to take two steps back. I don’t know whether to be more offended that you three openly chat about me or that you figured out that I might, potentially, have minuscule feelings about one Miller Virginis Hansen.”
“Oh, great. So, you’re still in the denial phase. I thought you’d be halfway toward smitten by now,” Angelina said, huffing and rolling her eyes.
“Don’t be so harsh on her,” Rose said, patting my shoulder. “If Emma is just figuring out what we’ve known for months, she deserves a chance to let it all sink in.”
“There is nothing to figure out. This is nothing more than a stupid crush spawned from too many orgasms and bad dates. He just had some manly, possessive thing going on because he was over at the same time as my date was. I need to put it out into the universe so y’all can tell me to get my head out of my ass.”
“Ew. Gross, Em,” Angelina said, causing me to sigh and lay my head back on the coffee table.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Unless you’re into that sort of thing. I mean, a little butt play now and again can be quite pleasurable,” Rose said. I sat up and turned around as she winked, unable to hide the laughter.
It made me feel good, lighter as the four of us laughed at Rose’s admission to liking butt stuff. Not that I was opposed to a little of that action if I was comfortable with my partner and in the right mood, but I wouldn’t admit to that particular proclivity right now.
“What am I going to do?” I asked more to myself than the girls since they were lightyears ahead of my thinking. They stopped laughing, reaching out to grasp my shoulders.
“It sounds like he’s finally figured out how much you mean to him, Emma,” Rose said.
“I think I agree.”
“And it kick-started your heart into realizing you felt the same,” Angelina added.
“I think I do.”
“He kissed you, then left, giving you room to figure things out. So that’s what needs to happen,” Marietta finished.
“But what if I do want more with him and I take too long to give him an answer? I can’t just waltz into TriVolt tomorrow and confess some long-repressed feelings.”
“Then I’d suggest you figure things out quickly. Show him how you feel,” Rose said, shrugging. “Haven’t you waited long enough to be happy?”