“I’m not sure what you want from me now, to make it up to you. Send me packing tonight? The only guy in the house not getting any?” I give her half a smile, hoping for that outcome. I’m so not in the mood right now.
“No. Make it up to me there.” She points to her bed and lays her hand on mine—the one on the doorknob.
Shit. I’m trapped. I guess I’ve been stuck in worse encounters than having sex when I’m not really motivated to. “As long as you know it’s just tonight.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I know all about your little romance—is it real, or publicity?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about Emma. “Yeah, not discussing that.”
She nods. “Sure. Okay. I get it.”
I drop my hand from the doorknob. “Okay then.”
She takes my hand, pulls me back across the room. “Okay then.”
Chapter 23
Emma
I called the hotel this morning to make sure Reid and I were booked into separate rooms for our two nights in San Francisco. Not because I don’t trust Reid, but because Graham doesn’t.
Which bothers me, but I understand it. The relationships we’ve had with Reid and Brooke trigger that small voice of what if in each of us. He thinks what if she’s not over Reid, and I think what if he’s really in love with Brooke.
Thursday night, after Graham texted and said he missed me, I answered that I missed him, too. And then I lay in bed, scrolling through our old messages to each other, all the way back to the one where I asked him to meet me that morning before Dad and I left New York. He hadn’t answered, but he’d come. That morning, I wanted him in my life so much that I was willing to accept friendship-only terms, willing to swallow my desire, even if the thought of him with someone else induced a soul-deep ache.
I wouldn’t be able to do that now. I’m in too far. I want too much.
I think, too, about Reid’s request. I ignored it, because of course Graham’s not going to screw this up. And then I picture Brooke, pressed against him, touching him, and I tell myself for the hundredth time that he isn’t lying to me. But I’m worried that he’s lying to himself.
I wish I’d never seen that paparazzi photo. The thing I fear most would be so much easier to dismiss if it hadn’t been burned it into my eyeballs in living color. While I’m at it, I wish Emily had never seen it. She won’t drop the fact that he was secretive about Cara, even when I tell her that he isn’t secretive, he’s guarded, and yes, there’s a difference. “Emily, I trust him,” I say, and she harumphs. Maybe she hears the fear in my voice. Because that’s what it is—this isn’t distrust. It’s fear.
When I sign into Skype, Graham is waiting for me.
“Ten more days,” I say, and he smiles.
We talk about our days. He took Cara to the park. I got my first slightly traumatic, very awkward airport pat-down.
“Strangely enough, the fact that she snapped on latex gloves beforehand didn’t make me feel any better. She kept stopping and saying, ‘Sensitive area,’ when she was about to go somewhere I don’t let anyone touch me.” I blush when I realize that isn’t quite true, and even if my webcam doesn’t reveal redder toned skin, I must be giving something away, because Graham arches a brow.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I think maybe you’ve been a very naughty traveler, Emma.”
I fall over onto the mattress laughing, embarrassed and turned on. “No more blue gloves! Please!” I say from my prone position. At most, he can see the edge of my hip.
“You know the rules,” he says. “No glove, no love.”
I sit up. “I cannot believe you just said that after what I went through today.”
He laughs again while I pout. “I couldn’t resist. I’m sorry.” He tells me he’s been through the pat-down and a couple of body scans while traveling, and whenever he wears one particular band t-shirt to fly, it seems to provoke a random luggage search. “It’s bizarre. Radiohead t-shirt equals luggage search. Every. Time. I’m a little worried they’ll go for body cavities at some point.”
We talk a few minutes more, and then he clears his throat and says, “Um, I need to tell you about something.”
His tone tells me this isn’t a good something. For a couple of seconds, I can’t breathe. My heart is thudding in my chest. “Okay.”
He takes a deep breath. “You know I’m graduating on Wednesday.”
I nod. “Yes.” I sense he’s not going for congratulations.
“Brooke is coming to the ceremony.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I would have told you before, but I honestly forgot about her plans to come whenever we were talking, and I didn’t want to just text it to you.”
Brooke is attending Graham’s graduation. I frown. “When did you invite her?”
“I didn’t, really, she just offered, last week. We met right before I started at Columbia, and I guess she just wants to show her support—”
“I get it.” I stop him before he offers more details about their years-long, dedicated friendship. “You’re really close and you have been for years before you met me, so there’s nothing for me to be concerned about.” Jealous about. Jealous is what I want to say. But I am concerned. I am jealous. I am Emma the green-eyed monster.
“Emma, I don’t want to upset you…”