“I am. I’m telling you that you can officially thank the gods that you’ve finally lost that good-for-nothing scro-bag.” He emphasizes his point by squeezing me tighter around him.
I push him away and scramble over him and off the bed. “What the hell is wrong with you? Just how drunk are you?”
He sits up on the bed, and shrugs. “I’m not that drunk and nothing’s wrong with me.”
I search his face and it tells me nothing except that he truly believes what he’s saying. “Why are you saying this shit about Silas?”
“It’s not shit; it’s the truth and you know it. You’ve known it for ages. That’s why you broke up, is it not?”
“No, it’s because…”
“Because what..?”
“Because I wouldn’t go with him.”
“And why is that?”
“Because…”
“Because why? If you love him as much as you say you do, I’d have thought you couldn’t wait to run away with your rock God.”
“I have to live my own life, Brad.”
“Yes. You do. And you can start right now.”
And with that, he pushes himself off the bed, reaches for my hand, and pulls me against his bare chest. For just a split second, he stares at me, and for the first time I see how the golden specks in his eyes sparkle even in the dark.
And then his mouth is on mine.
Hard.
Wet.
Urgent.
And all I want is for it never to end.
Emily
Present Day
He doesn’t move, and I wonder if he heard what I said.
So, I repeat it.
“I said, ‘Fuck you, Brad.'”
“I heard you.”
He seems too amused to have really heard though.
I try again.
“Fu-”
“Yeah yeah, I get it, fuck me, Brad,” he says in a loud whisper as he tugs on my arm before I can finish, pulling me into a quiet corner of the hall.
I wrench my hand away from his, ignoring the burning sensation around my wrist. Later I’d wonder whether it was from tearing my arm from him or from his touch alone. But for now, it just adds to the hate.
“Butter.” One word. One name. And it all comes back to me.
“Don’t call me that.” My mouth curls, pursing in annoyance.
“Well, I see you haven’t changed.” He, on the other hand, keeps looking aggravatingly amused.
“I hope I can’t say the same for you.”
He chuckles. Seriously? He’s chuckling?
The exit is behind me, and I’m determined to make it there.
“See you ’round, dick-wad.” I flip him off before I go.
He moves fast, cutting me off.
“Still going for the classics, I see.”
“Someone’s got to have a bit of class.” The words come out in a hiss.
“Ooh. That hurt. You know I’m embarrassed about my humble beginnings.”
“Brad, there’s nothing humble about you other than your intelligence.”
He grins. He goddamn grins that fucking grin of his and nothing’s changed and it’s eight years ago and something in my chest just… breaks.
My hand comes up to press against my chest. I don’t know why, maybe to stop whatever is about to flood now the dam has cracked.
His grin instantly fades and suddenly he’s holding me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I scramble out of his hold.
“Shit. Sorry. You suddenly went all pale and I thought you were going to faint or something.”
“Don’t touch me!” The words come out in a whispered yell. The last thing I want is for anyone to witness this scene.
“I’m sorry! Fuck.” he curses, staring down at his feet for a moment.
I take the pause to compose myself. Get it together, Emily. And get out of here.
His gaze moves up to meet mine again. Golden specks. Golden specks in his eyes. That look hurt. Hurt by me.
A twinge happens somewhere. Somewhere I thought couldn’t twinge anymore.
“It…it’s fine,” I offer.
He takes it. A smile.
“I’ve gotta go. Nice seeing you around, Brad.”
“Butter. Don’t go. Let’s go grab a coffee. It’s been-”
“Eight years, Brad. Eight.”
“I know.”
No, you don’t know. You might figure it out from looking at a calendar. But you don’t know. You haven’t counted the days, the months, the birthdays.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve gotta go.”
“Give me your number then,” he insists, and I wonder why he’s even bothering.
“No.”
“Or take mine.”
“No point, I’ll just throw it away.”
“Emily.”
“Just… just let me go, Brad. Forget we saw each other today and let’s just start the clock again.”
I don’t know what he responds to that, because I’m gone.
***
Phil wants to see you.
I moan. I’ve barely been back in the office for two minutes before our receptionist dings me on our intraoffice messenger.
Why?
Give you two guesses.
I don’t even need one.
Nice knowing you. Don’t steal the stapler on the way out. I know how you’ve been eyeing it.
Your sympathy knows no bounds.
Sure it does. Office stationery just isn’t within those bounds. He’s in his office, anyway.
Yeah, yeah, I’m going.
I push myself away from the desk with a resigned sigh. I knew this meeting was coming. He was not going to be happy about my question at the Rock Chamber Boys press conference. Their manager was a good friend of his and he was not going to have enjoyed having his star music journalist attacking the band.
Practicing my excuses, “I’m an old friend of the band blah blah,” I almost walk into the glass door of my editor’s office.
“Shit!”
“Ah. My star writer! Come in, come in!”
He sounds, and genuinely looks, happy to see me. How many drinks did he have with lunch today?
I open the door and step into his office.
“Hey, Phil…look, I know what you’re going to say-”
“Emily. This is my old friend, Dennis.”
I spin around, noticing the figure sitting on the couch for the first time.
“Dennis…”
“Emily, nice to meet you.”
We reach across the room in a handshake. But of course, there’s no need for introductions.
He smiles at me, holding my gaze, and then lets go of my hand, sinking back into his seat on the couch.
Fuck. I’m so going to get fired.