This all happened in the time it took me to blink twice.
Like a prize fighter, John rocked his head back and forth a couple of times, popping his neck, and then looked at me. “Come on, man, I’ve gotta ice my knuckles.” He grinned idiotically as he pumped his hands open and closed as though that would help the pain. “God damn, that hurts.”
I shook my head at him. “Uh, thanks?”
“No prob. That guy was a dick.” I followed him into the house, where he opened a drawer in the freezer and rummaged through ice packs of various shapes and sizes. “My step-mom does kickboxing,” he said, in explanation of the ice packs. I tried and failed to imagine my mom kickboxing. Pulling a hand-sized pack from the freezer drawer, he said, “So, you’re Reid Alexander, yeah?”
At sixteen, I was still on the outer fringes of celebrity. “You know who I am?”
I had no idea then how much everything would change, or how quickly. Meeting John was one of the earliest indications of the approaching shift in my social status. John is one of my closest friends now, but he’s always been conscious of who’s who, and I’ve wondered if our friendship would have ever occurred if he hadn’t known who I was that night.
“I know Karen and Olivia, and they said they were bringing you tonight.”
The last glimpse I’d gotten of Karen and Olivia, they were dancing together and driving every guy in the vicinity nuts. Too bad for the guys, because neither girl would be interested in any of them. They were much more interested in each other… which is why I’d gone looking for my own amusement.
Taking two beers from the fridge with his uninjured hand, John handed me one.
I twisted the cap off and shook my head. “Guess I got lucky that big guy wasn’t in the mood to fight, eh?”
John shrugged. “The smaller guy was the douche. I figured, take him out, problem solved.”
Risky guess. “Yeah, well, thanks.”
Chapter 16
Emma
I wake up alone, with bits and pieces of last night and this morning floating back to me. The first thing I remember is the last thing that happened—Graham leaving a piece of paper on the night table before he leaned over, hands on either side of my head, and kissed me goodbye. I drifted back to sleep with the taste of him on my lips.
I sit up a bit, scooting back against the pillows and rubbing my eyes, and the note is there, where I remember him leaving it. The clock reads 11 a.m., so he must have left three hours ago. He’s somewhere between California and New York, probably flying over a patchwork quilt of corn and wheat fields. The room-darkening draperies seal out the sunlight completely, so I have to switch the lamp on to read his note. I run the pad of my finger over his familiar scrawl, my name at the top and his at the bottom.
Emma,
I’m sitting next to you with a directory balanced on my knee, watching you sleep and striving to compose something profound and passionate that will express how I feel. Something that will make you breathless waiting for me to return. Instead, I’m the breathless one, recalling the feel of your mouth opening to me, the stroke of your fingertips everywhere you touched me, the perfect weight of you in my arms. The thought of time away from you is torture. I haven’t even left your room and I already miss you. Tonight, we’ll talk, and I’ll tell you a story of exactly what I plan to do to you in three weeks. Or perhaps you’d prefer to tell me what you want—like a list of resolutions, or a treasure hunt, or crumbs along a pathway… I’m very good at following crumbs. Or instructions, directions, entreaties…
Yours,
Graham
***
Reid: Are you still at the hotel?
Me: Yes, leaving for the airport soon
Reid: I’ll drive you and we can talk about the interview schedule on the way
Me: k
“Your car is really… yellow.” Yellow or not, this is the fanciest non-limousine vehicle I’ve ever been in. This even beats out Marcus and his Sacramento-rich-kid Volvo. I’m afraid to touch anything.
Reid’s eyes are invisible behind the sunglasses, but I can tell he’s rolling them. “Ugh! Don’t start, woman. I’m replacing it soon anyway.”
I click the seatbelt in place and he takes off. “Why? It looks brand new.”
Smirking, he says, “Because it’s yellow.”
I laugh, confused. “But didn’t you choose it?”
Shrugging, he looks at me and smiles. “Semantics.” Taking a sharp right at the corner, he says, “Hold on,” and I’m suddenly glad for the molded seat and multiple interior handles.
“Were you a race car driver in a past life?” I ask after he weaves through several cars like he’s James Bond.
“Too fast for you, Emma?” he asks, laughing. “Damn. I’m always going too fast for you. I’ve gotta learn to rein it in…”
Lips pressed tight, I glance at him, and he flips me a patented Reid Alexander smile, decreasing his speed and moving into the right lane, his hand smoothly working the gear shift between us. “I’m just teasing, you know.”
I shrug in reply, hoping we aren’t going to rehash what happened last fall, hoping he isn’t going to renew his request for another chance. Everything with Graham is too new, and I’m not ready to share it, or defend it to Reid.
He’s quiet for several minutes, tapping his fingers on the wheel along with the beat of the music. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “So, we have a few semi-local radio and TV appearances to do—something scheduled every day next week.”