“Got you an Americano,” Cooper says as Dante drops in beside Alisha. “The bartender said it’s sweet and has a low percentage of alcohol, so no regrets.” He picks up his phone and slips it into his pocket and grabs his jacket. “Alisha, it was nice to meet you. Next time we hang out, I promise there will be no talk of dick pics. Dante, I’ll see you next month—and no more presents, ever. And Mattie… Well, it’s been…” He doesn’t bother to finish his statement, instead turning to me. “Come on, kiddo.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, shouldering my purse as I scoot from the booth.
“The patio’s open and there aren’t a lot of people out there.”
“That’s because it’s cold.”
“It’s more discreet and you’re underage. Besides,” he adds, leaning closer. “Do you really want to hang out with Mattie?”
I glance at her, then turn back to Coop. “Nope, let’s go.”
He carries our drinks and I trail behind, following him to the back patio. There’s a group of guys smoking and a couple occupying one of the tables and that’s it. We sit in the corner next to the fence and he hands me my drink.
“That is my thank you for saving me tonight—with my phone and Mattie—but I’m not going to make a habit of contributing to the delinquency of a minor.” He chuckles at his own joke and I have to suppress the rolling of my eyes.
“I’m not a minor.”
“You are when it comes to drinking.”
Okay, I give him that. I lift my shoulders and take a drink. It’s not really good, but it’s much better than whiskey.
He watches me for several seconds as I sip on my cocktail. “What?”
He shakes his head gently. “Just trying to get used to this side of you.”
“It’s not a side. It’s who I am. I’m not thirteen anymore. I’m in college.” I fake gasp, making fun of him.
“And sending pussy pics to older men,” he provides with a shudder.
“It wasn’t my pussy, though, so it’s okay.”
His head lifts quickly and he gives me a strange look. “What now?”
“You said pussy. ‘My pussy.’ It sounds so weird coming from your mouth. You’re killing me. You’re supposed to be this sweet, virginal child that annoys the hell out of me.”
The way he said that, it sounds like I no longer annoy the hell out of him, which, for some reason, makes me ridiculously happy. If only his brother felt that way.
“I might be a virgin, but I’m not a child. And I don’t think I’ve ever been sweet.”
His eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously this time. “Jesus. You’re still a virgin. This is what I’m talking about. You’re a kid. Give me that.” He reaches for my drink, but I pull back out of his reach.
“I’m not a virgin because I’m a little kid,” I correct him resolutely. “I was in love with someone I was never able to give my virginity to. Because that person thought like you. He only saw the once-annoying little girl too.”
His face softens with my admission. We’re both quiet, lost in our own thoughts. I’m sure he’s thinking about my sister and I’m doing what I always do: Thinking about his brother.
Cooper clears his throat, his eyes meeting mine from across the table. “Wasn’t there… Didn’t you have a couple boyfriends?”
I did. I don’t really understand his question. And then noticing his discomfort, it dawns on me what he’s implying.
“I’ve had two boyfriends. One was in grade school, before I realized how I felt about Miles.” I pause here, not sure I want to open my book of life and give a thorough reading to Cooper Fitzpatrick.
“And the other?” he prompts.
I sigh, relenting. He already knows the one major thing I’ve kept hidden for years. “It was in high school, after Miles followed Rosie to college.”
I inhale deeply and try to ignore the wave of pain that rushes over me. At some point, it’s supposed to fade, right? Time heals all wounds and all that? At this point, I’m starting to doubt the ageless saying.
“I had this idea in my head, this hope that once she was away, out of sight, out of mind, then maybe I’d finally have a chance. That he’d finally notice me. See me as more—well, just see me. But it didn’t happen. She was never out of mind, and that year flew by, and then he was gone, chasing after my sister like he always had.”
I suck on my straw, taking a much-needed drink, finding the courage to continue. “Heath liked me. He saw me. So I tried. I really did. We tried. We made great friends, but when it came to that level of intimacy…” I shrug. “It didn’t work out. Heath thought it was him. I have friends who think I’m a prude. But I just couldn’t give myself to someone I didn’t love. I know that makes me a cliché, but I am who I am and I’m not ashamed of that.”
I shiver, setting my glass down, and tuck my fingers between my legs to warm them.
“And since?” Cooper asks, his voice rough and soft at the same time.
“Since, I just learned to take care of my needs all by myself and wait until someone comes along who can make me forget what it was I ever saw in Miles.”
“I’m sorry, wait. What, exactly, do you mean by take care of yourself?”
I smirk at him. “You’re such a guy. Is that all you took away from that?”
He grins. “No, it’s not. But I think it’s the part we should discuss more.”
“Can’t,” I say on a sigh. “I’m a virginal child, remember?”
“No, I think you were right earlier. You’re not a kid anymore. And you’re not all that sweet, either. You and I might have a lot more in common—”
“Other than our unrequited love for each other’s siblings?”
He smiles and I’m surprised it isn’t laced with sadness. I know my own is. “Exactly.”
“Is this your way of telling me you take care of your needs all by yourself too?” I remark.
He throws his head back and laughs, the deep belly kind you can’t help but join in with. “I have no idea how my brother wasn’t able to see you. You’re hilarious.”
“Well,” I murmur, “you didn’t notice before either. I’m just one of those people.”
His dark brows arch as his eyes move over my face. “One of what people?”
“Invisible.”
He sits forward, shaking his head stiffly. “I see you, Ems.”
THE GAMES
Cooper
When Emerson invited me to game night, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but this wasn’t it. When I was in school, college game night was timed keg stands, beer pong, and strip poker. Not, I repeat, NOT Pictionary, Chess, Scrabble, and…
“What the hell is Cards Against Humanity?”
Every head at the table turns my way and I’ve never felt old until this very second. I’m twenty fucking five. I only graduated three years ago. But they all look at me like I’m their clueless dad trying to fit in at the party.
“It’s a card game,” Em explains, picking up the Scrabble box and taking my arm, guiding me toward the living room. “Like an inappropriate version of Apples to Apples. We’ll work up to that when there’s less people.”
“There’s only like,” I pause, peering back into the dining room, taking a head count, “eight here. Are more coming?”
She lowers herself to the floor, sitting cross-legged. She gestures for me to sit across from her on the couch, the coffee table between us. “No, this is it. I like to keep it small. I don’t like big groups.”
I sit and take a look around her small apartment. From this spot, I can see into just about every room. There are framed superhero movie posters across the wall behind me. Two large shelves take up the wall to my left, one filled with movies and the other books.
Em pushes half-empty cups and chip bags out of the way and begins setting up the game.
“We’re really going to play Scrabble?” I ask, crinkling my nose at the board.
“Yes, but I don’t follow the official rules and I don’t keep score.
If you make up a word, you need to also make up a definition, and it has to make sense. Dirty words are not only allowed,” she glances up at me and grins, full lips parting to show off white teeth, “they’re encouraged.”
I sigh. “Well, I guess this is a little better than what I had planned, though not nearly as fun as I anticipated.”
She cocks her head to the side. “When I texted, you said you didn’t have plans tonight.”
“Precisely,” I say.
“What did you anticipate?” she asks as she carefully flips each letter title facedown.
I scratch the rough hair on my chin. “Scantily-clad drunk college chicks and free beer.”
“I can offer you comfortably-clad college chicks and free Cherry Coke?”
I glance at her tight, ripped jeans doubting they’re all that cozy. “I’ll take some water, please.”
She pushes to her feet and points at the table. “No cheating, I’ll be right back.” She pivots on her heel and my eyes automatically fall to her ass. Don’t judge me. It’s currently at eye level. Pretty much. Okay, maybe I stretch my neck minutely as she turns into the kitchen. I’m a guy and she has a nice ass. Of course I look at it.
Once again, I’m reminded that Emerson is all grown up. All five-foot-five-inches of her. I wasn’t just talking when I told her I don’t know how she didn’t catch my brother’s attention. She’s damn-near a carbon copy of Rosie in appearance, except where Roselyn keeps a sleek blonde bob, Em’s hair is long and wavy. Rosie likes yoga pants and sweaters. Em prefers ripped jeans and t-shirts—jeans that accentuate her round ass and tees that hug her chest. A chest that my guy-eyes couldn’t help but notice is larger than her sister’s.
But if none of that ever stroked Miles fancy, her personality definitely should have. She’s funny as hell, witty, sarcastic, smart—and I picked up on that hanging out with her twice. He had a whole year with her all to himself and nothing. It only solidifies how deeply he cares for Roselyn. Not that I ever doubted. A guy doesn’t screw over his own brother for just anyone.
Em hands me a bottle of water and dumps an armful of snacks between us. “You’re welcome to anything you want, but the mini cinnamon donuts are mine.”
“But what if I want the mini cinnamon donuts? You said anything I want. Which,” I continue, “you should never, ever say to a guy. It’s way too general and our minds instinctively turn sexual.”
She pinches a donut between her fingers and looks up at me with mischievous blue eyes. “Did your mind go to sex just now?”
I pluck it out of her hand and shove it into my mouth, speaking around crumbled cinnamon dough. “My mind always goes to sex.”
She narrows her gaze, growling at my thievery and quickly grabs a new one. “So if I said…” She skims the room, throwing her empty hand out, gesturing to the end of the couch. “End table. How does your mind go to sex?”
“Sex on the end table,” I reply easily. I open my bottle of water and her eyes drift to follow my movements.
“Water bottle.”
I smirk. “There’s so many. Lots of good stuff with water. And the bottle…” I wink at her, lifting it to my lips and taking a slow sip.
Unimpressed, she pushes the donut into her mouth, brushing her fingers against one another to clean them of the gritty residue. “Men are not the only ones with filthy minds. Women have lewd thoughts too, we just don’t verbalize them as often.” She starts choosing Scrabble tiles, placing them in the holder in front of her. I follow, doing the same thing.
“But,” Em says, laying out her first word, “we express them in our own ways.”
ASSPLUG
I almost spit out my water, but instead choke on it, coughing hard. She has a triumphant smile plastered across her face, fingers interlocked in front of her demurely.
“First of all,” I croak, “it’s butt plug, not assplug. Second, that’s two words, not one. And third, what exactly are you expressing?”
She ticks off each response on her fingers. “Ass and butt are the same thing. Assplug is a word if I can offer a definition that makes sense. It’s in the rules I explained before we started playing. Assplug, a small…cork for butt play. And I’m expressing a healthy curiosity in sex toys.
Well.
Fuck.
I swallow forcefully. “Maybe we should play chess.”
~*~
An hour and a half later, there are no letters left other than the ones in our holders. Even though my dick is at half-mast—and has been the entire time, and I’m horny as hell and know there’s nothing I can do about it while I’m here—I’m having a great time.
I grab the last donut, bite off half, and hand it to Emerson, then I lay an R at the end of the word bone. She snorts, chewing as she gazes at the board, searching for a place to lay her last two tiles.
One of the guys from the other room abandons his game to come sit down next to Em. He’s a douche, I know it before he ever opens his mouth, with his skinny jeans and thick black-framed glasses.
“Who’s winning?” he asks her, but she’s focused, determined to utilize her pieces.
“We aren’t keeping score,” I inform him.
He lifts his head and gives me a condescending smile. “She doesn’t tally points, but there’s always a winner.”
Em bites down on her lip in concentration. “Yeah, it’s usually me,” she utters absent-mindedly.
Well, if I had known that, I would have tried a little harder.
The guy stares at the board with her. “What’s a bluewaffle?” he asks, shifting his gaze from her to me and back again. Emerson giggles wickedly, her eyes lifting to mine, full of amusement.
I give him the same caustic expression he offered me when I first arrived. At least I understand this one. Only because of Em, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Google it,” I tell him, and Em loses her shit, dropping her head to her arm, her back convulsing with laughter.
The guy pulls out his phone and looks it up. Em and I both watch him, waiting for his reaction.
“Ugh, what the fuck?” He releases his phone, letting it fall to the floor as if on fire. “I will never unsee that.”
Don’t I know it. That image will haunt me for the rest of my life.
“Sorry, Evan,” Emerson manages through her cackles. “But now you have a tremendous power. The power of knowledge. And someday, you’ll pass that knowledge onto someone else.”
I chuckle at her, her eyes shining with tears from laughing so much.
“Okay, I give up,” she announces suddenly, moving to her feet. “I admit defeat. You win, Coop.” She stretches her arms over her head, her shirt rising with the movement, exposing several inches of bare stomach. I’m a guy—I look. Again. Sue me.
But I’m not the only guy in the room. Evan’s eyes crawl along her flesh and he licks his lips in a way that makes me feel very protective of her. I sit forward, clearing my throat. It comes out more like a growl and he tears his gaze away, glancing my way for a beat before retrieving his phone from the floor.
“Can I,” Evan starts, eying me as he gets to his feet. “Emmie, can I talk to you? In private?”
Emmie cringes, her body noticeably stiffening. I don’t think she’s a fan of the nickname. Either that, or she doesn’t want to have any private conversations with douchecanoe Evan.
“Um, I can’t really do private, right now, Ev. I have an apartment full of people.” She laughs uneasily, but I don’t think dear old Evan picks up on it.
“Right,” he says, lowering his voice. “Well, I just wanted to see if you’d like to hang out Friday. Just you and me.”
The look on Em’s face says everything she can’t seem to find words to express. I almost feel bad for the guy.
I suck air through my teeth loudly, gaining his attention. “Friday’s not going to work,” I explain, keeping my attention trained on him. “Emmie already has plans with me.”
He turns back to her and she jumps on the opportunity. Her eyes are wide as she agr
ees, trying her best to appear disappointed, but the relief is overshadowing more and more with each second.
“Okay, another time then,” he offers.
Before she can make any promises she’ll regret later, I speak up again.
“I have all her Fridays, Evan. All Saturdays and Sundays and Mondays. You understand?”
His Adam’s apple is like a slow moving rock in his throat as he swallows. “My bad.” His peers at Em. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“It’s new,” she and I say in unison. She shoots me a look, clearly impressed with our adlibbed harmony.
“I’m sorry,” she adds.
I narrow my eyes. If she and I actually were a couple, I’d be pissed that she apologized to some asshat who asked her out. There’s no reason to say you’re sorry for having a boyfriend.
Evan nods. “Yeah, no problem.” He tucks his tail and scampers back to the dining room. Fifty bucks says he wants to go home and blare angry emo music, but he doesn’t want to be obvious. I give him another twenty minutes before he comes up with an excuse to leave.
I grab Emerson’s hand and pull her across the coffee table. Her other hand pitches outward, catching herself on my chest. I give another tug, causing her to lose her balance so she falls into my lap.
“What the hell are you doing?” she half whispers, half squeaks.
“Shh,” I coo into her ear. “You haven’t touched me all night. How is douchesicle supposed to believe we’re an item.”
She pinches my stomach and I yelp, pushing her to sit beside me, but I keep my arm around her, holding her close. “He’s not a douchesicle. He’s nice.”
“He’s creepy. And if you really believe he’s so nice, then why not go out with him?”
She picks at her nails, refusing to look at me. I nudge her with my shoulder.
“He’s not…”
Right. He’s not Miles.