3. Emory
3
EMORY
When I was in middle school, I got my first period during math class. Blood ran down my leg as Mr. Davis threw some tissues at me, and the entire class looked on in horror. Gram had to pick me up early. After she took me to the pharmacy, we got frozen yogurt, and she said the words I've repeated to myself over and over since that day.
Time heals, baby.
What she meant was that everyone would forget what happened. Someone would do something just as embarrassing, and I'd be old news. She was right. Eventually, everyone at school moved on. It took longer, but I did too. Now, I can even laugh about that day. While I agree time heals some wounds, I don't think it heals everything. Or maybe some things just take longer.
It’s been five days since I fell on my ass in front of Luke in my underwear. The mortification still lingers, but it’s slowly fading with each day. Staying busy at work has been a distraction, but now that I have a day off, I’ve got all the time in the world to relive the humiliating moment repeatedly in my head like some fucked up reel. On the flip side, I also have time to indulge in daydreams about that little dimple Luke has on his left cheek and those damn bright blue eyes that I would swim in if I could.
Allie finally stopped pestering me for information yesterday when she remembered her food blog was due the next day and she still hadn’t been to the restaurant she was supposed to review. I repeatedly told her I’d never hooked up with Luke, but she wouldn't drop it. I eventually gave in and admitted I had a crush on him back in high school, but nothing ever happened because he's Nate's best friend. Plus, he hardly even knew I existed. I was genuinely surprised he knew my name when he showed up at the door with my scrubs.
It’s not what he called you the last time you saw him.
I made Allie promise not to tell Nate what happened. I didn't think I could explain it in a way that wouldn't make Nate want to kill Luke. Or me. Or even Allie, who stood there like a Greek statue as a tattooed man held my face in his hands while I knelt before him half-naked. I still haven't completely forgiven her for that, by the way. She was the one who made me strip in our front driveway in the first place, and when I fell, she froze instead of coming to my rescue. She must have felt a little guilty about it because she didn’t argue much and agreed that telling Nate would only cause more drama.
Then I wondered if Luke would tell him. I didn't think he would, since saying he touched me while I was half-naked would incriminate himself, just as much as me. But maybe he'd find a way to make it sound innocent. It was innocent. He helped me up, checked for injuries, and brought me my scrubs—all normal, neighborly things to do.
Allie startles me from my thoughts as she walks into the kitchen, holding her “If I'm still holding this, it's too early to talk to me” mug. “You're doing it again,” she accuses.
“I feel like we need to revisit the conversation about getting you a bell,” I deadpan.
“Whatever. At least I’m not sitting around drooling over a certain tattooed, sex-on-legs neighbor.” She smiles sweetly, but I’ve known her long enough to know that nothing she does is truly sweet.
“I am not drooling. And I wasn’t thinking about him,” I lie.
“Sure.” She pours more coffee into her mug and starts rummaging in the fridge for creamer.
“Did you miss that he's Nate's best friend? You didn't go to high school with us, so you don't get how far Nate went to keep guys away from me, especially his friends and teammates.”
“Emory, Babe. That was then. You’re not in high school anymore. You are an adult with a house and a job. If you want to ride sexy neighbor’s face until the break of dawn, it’s none of your brother’s damn business. You know I love Nate, but he has to let go at some point. You’re not some little girl he has to take care of anymore.”
“I know that. But this is different. Trust me.”
“Because of Jaxon?”
My shoulders tense up right away. The room's playful atmosphere disappears, leaving me breathless. Just hearing his name makes my blood run cold and bile creep up my throat.
“I don't want to talk about him, Allie.” I set my mug down on the table a little harder than necessary and stand up. “I'm gonna take a shower.”
Allie immediately backpedals. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Em, don’t shut down on me. I can’t do that again.”
Somehow, we went from our usual playful bickering to intense anger in a matter of seconds. That damn name makes me want to run and hide where no one can find me. Or lash out at Allie for bringing him up. But she doesn't deserve that. She's the only person on this planet who knows what I went through in college. She was the one who comforted me, holding me and stroking my hair when I cried until I was hyperventilating. Whenever he found a new way to hurt me, she would put the pieces back together. She never judged me, only worried about me from a place of love, never pity. She even helped me keep everything a secret from Nate. One of my worst fears back then was that Nate would find out what Jaxon did, and he'd end up in jail for murder.
Allie is my ride-or-die.
Ever since I walked into our dorm room freshman year and saw her decorating the walls with punk rock posters and pictures of dishes from Michelin-starred restaurants, I knew she was going to be my best friend. And she lived up to my expectations. We clicked like we'd known each other since childhood. She didn't give me a hard time when I got a boyfriend like some friends might have. She knew how sheltered my high school experience was, and she was thrilled when I started dating. She even went so far as to create a PowerPoint presentation outlining different sexual positions, including their pros and cons, so I could make informed choices.
Not that I ever got to make any of the decisions in my relationship.
“Em, did you hear me?” Allie’s voice shakes me from my thoughts, and I look at her. She’s standing there holding the creamer, not making any moves to put it in her coffee. The fridge is still open and beeping, but she doesn’t seem to care.
I walk over and close the fridge. “I’m sorry I snapped. It’s been a while since I heard his name, and it took me by surprise. I’m fine, though. He doesn’t have any power over me anymore.” I regurgitate the line that my therapist ingrained in my head a few years back when Allie insisted I talk to a professional.
I was in rough shape right after graduation, and while Allie tried her best to get me through it, it was clear that I needed more support than she could provide. I quit going the moment I started to feel a little better, despite both Allie and my therapist thinking that it was a bad idea. I couldn’t stomach rehashing every gritty detail of my relationship anymore.
“Maybe you should go back to therapy. It seemed to help,” she offers as delicately as possible, which is unlike Allie. I can tell right away she thinks I’m going crazy again and is trying to treat me with kid gloves.
“Allie, I’m fine. I promise.” Lies. But she has enough going on in her own life. I refuse to keep bringing her down with me.
“I’m sorry I yelled,” I continue. “You know I hate fighting with you.”
“Me too,” she says, hesitating before abandoning the therapy discussion. “You know you’re one of like three people I can stand to be around for more than five minutes. I can’t lose you.”
“I know, Al. You won’t.” I hold my arms open to her. She smirks and closes the distance between us, wrapping her arms around my middle. While Allie is an overtly sexual person, she is not into physical touch outside of sex. She only grants me “one hug per quarter.” “Don’t think this is a freebie because you got all Girl, Interrupted on me,” she says as she rubs my back. “This is your hug for the quarter.”
“I know, I know.” She pulls away, and I immediately start giggling.
“What?”
“Did I imagine this, or did you say I should ride sexy neighbor’s face before?”
“Girl, if you don’t, I will.”
“Okay, but how does one ride a face?”
“Oh my God, sweet girl.” She goes back to making her coffee. “I’ll send you a PowerPoint.” She winks as she stirs her coffee.
“Nothing I say will get you to not do that, will it?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’.
“Great. I really do need to go take a shower,” I say as I get up from my chair.
“Hey,” she calls before I can leave. “I’m canceling my date for tonight. I’ll make Bolognese, and we can watch that stupid Alaska house-hunting show.”
“You don’t have to do that, Allie. I told you. I’m fine.”
“Pshh. Obviously,” she scoffs. “I just want an excuse to cancel. He texted me first thing in the morning that he can’t wait for our date tonight. I mean, how desperate can you get?” She shudders. I know she’s lying, but I also know a night in with her is exactly what I need right now.
“Okay, okay. I’ll pick up wine later.”
“No Pinot,” she calls as I head down the hallway, and I chuckle. That girl is so high-maintenance.
As the water cascades down on my face and steam billows around me, I let my mind wander. Of course, it settles on Luke. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake him from my thoughts. I haven’t seen him since that fateful Monday. I guess he was stopping by the property before he moved in. It makes sense. He didn’t have anything with him, and he mentioned his clothes wouldn’t be here until Saturday. As in…today. Shit. He must be moving in today.
I grab my towel from the hook on the door and dry off. I throw on a white T-shirt and jean shorts, then run a brush through my hair. I look out my window, which faces the street, and sure enough, there’s a moving truck. A couple of guys are moving furniture, but it’s hard to make out much else. I need an excuse to go outside. Then I remember I haven’t gotten the mail today. I mentally high-five myself for coming up with such a great idea, quickly swipe on some lip gloss, and head out the door. As I open the mailbox and pretend to search through it, I glance up for a second, and there he is. Leaning against a white, slightly rusted pickup truck with “Collins Construction” written in block letters across the side. He flashes that ridiculous smile of his, and my knees buckle. The feminism that Allie has worked hard to instill in me laughs maniacally at this man’s ability to make me dizzy with a mere smile. He walks over, and I continue rummaging through the mailbox as if I’m looking for something specific.
“Need help finding something?”
My eyes jump to his. “What?”
“You’ve been looking around in that mailbox for about ten minutes.”
“Oh yeah. Just checking to see if my tax forms have come in yet.”
“Wasn’t the tax deadline a couple of weeks ago?”
“It was?”
“My mom is an accountant.”
“Oh, right.” I had completely forgotten that Luke’s mom has her own accounting firm in town. Jesus, Emory. Get it together.
“So, you’re moving in today?” I ask.
He looks over at the moving truck and the guys fighting to get a dresser out of the back of it. “What gave it away?” He smirks.
I let out a dry laugh, struggling to hold back my sarcasm, but it slips out despite my efforts. “Just because you're knowledgeable about taxes and rare fear disorders doesn't mean you have the right to be rude.”
He chuckles. “You're right. I'm moving in today, so we're officially neighbors now. I can drop by your place to borrow a cup of sugar, and you can return my mail that ends up in your box by mistake. You know, since you’re so diligent about mail.”
I let out a laugh and it’s a little louder than I expected it to be. Talking to Luke feels so easy right now. It’s almost second nature. Like pushing IV fluids or wrapping a wound.
“I like that,” he says.
“What?”
“The sound of your laugh.”
Butterflies erupt in my stomach, making me feel like I'm sixteen again, and I cough softly to catch my breath. I glance back and forth between Luke and the moving truck, but his eyes stay fixed on me. When our gazes finally meet, I'm paralyzed. His eyes dart back and forth rapidly, looking almost pained, as if he's struggling to hold something back. My phone buzzes in my hand, shattering the spell, and I look down to see a text from my dad.
Dad: I have an open afternoon and would like you to come over for lunch. It’s been a while since we’ve talked, just the two of us.
I roll my eyes and slip my phone into my back pocket. I know exactly what he wants to talk to me about. He’s been dropping hints for two months now. He doesn't dare bring it up at our family dinners, not with Nate around. Nate's the one who started these family dinners in the first place. It was one of his conditions for working at Dad's company. He's always wanted us to feel more like a family, especially after Opa passed away and Gram moved into assisted living. Nate's tried to get Dad to spend more time with us, and sometimes it actually works, but it never lasts. Yet, these Tuesday dinners have stuck since Nate joined the company a few years ago. Dad never misses them unless he's out of state. They're still pretty formal, though. Dad's chef cooks up a big spread, and the three of us sit at a table meant for twelve. Dad tries to talk business with Nate, who humors him for a few minutes before trying to steer the conversation toward me. Then Dad loses interest, and the rest of the dinner is just polite small talk.
But a couple of months ago, Dad cornered me when Nate went to the bathroom. He started talking about keeping the business in the family and that he would need more than just Nate as a right-hand man as it continues to grow. At first, I thought he meant that he wanted me to work for the company, but then he went on a tangent about the importance of finding the right person to marry. How silly I was to think he viewed women as anything more than mere tools that bring powerful men together. He doesn’t want me to have a say in the company. He wants me to marry a man who he can mold into his perfect predecessor. He must have realized pretty quickly that he couldn’t do that with Nate. Nate can’t be molded into anything other than what he is—especially by our father. Needless to say, they butt heads a lot. Anyway, Dad’s been hinting here and there about it ever since, so I’m pretty sure this is what he wants to discuss with me.
I've been zoned out since getting that text, and when I look up, Luke is still standing there, waiting for my response.
“Sorry. It’s my dad. I should get going.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to meet him for lunch.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you around, Little Wells,” he says with a wink.
Little Wells.
My heart drops at the nickname. In high school, everyone called my brother Wells, a play on our last name. During my freshman year, some of the guys on the football team started calling me Little Wells, but it annoyed me, so Nate put an end to it. Luke never called me Little Wells—until that night.
Be good, Little Wells.
That was the only time he had ever said it...until now. I hated it when my brother’s teammates called me by that name. It made me feel like I was an extension of my brother—a smaller, weaker, less important extension. But when Luke said it that night—the way he said it—it was an endearment, not an insult.
“You sure will,” I say as I start awkwardly backing up. What the fuck?
I shake my head at myself as I turn around and start to head up the front steps.
“Hey, Emory,” he calls out.
“Yeah?”
“You forgot your mail.” He smiles as he hands me the stack of envelopes. God, I’m surprised I don’t forget my own name when he’s around.
“Thank you.” I grab the mail and walk the rest of the way up the steps. When I turn back around, he’s gone.
I glance over at his driveway and see him pulling a suitcase from the back of his truck. As I watch his muscles flex against his grey T-shirt, I think to myself, if time can heal pain and embarrassment, maybe it can also heal attraction. That's all this is—I’m just attracted to Luke. It's not a big deal. I've had crushes on plenty of guys before.
Not like him.
I shake off the nagging voice in the back of my head. Luke was my first real crush, and seeing him again after all this time has brought back those silly, childish feelings. It's just puppy love, that's all. Maybe with time, I'll get used to his killer smile and that dimple on his cheek, and my feelings will fade into the background. I can only hope. Because one thing's for sure—I can't fall again. I won't survive it a second time.