Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(58)
“What’s wrong with Calvin Klein?”
Her eyes rest on the corner of my body where my hip bone meets with the waistband of my boxers. She looks like she’s imagining hooking her finger inside. “So high-class. Snooty.” She grins. “You can never just buy the Target brand of anything.”
“Says the woman who sleeps in silk lingerie. Face it, Emily. We’re the same.”
“No, because I have a few nice things that I had to save way too long to afford or used a coupon to buy. You have no shortage of nice things. How do you afford it, Jack?” I don’t think this is about her thinking I’m snooty anymore. This is Emily’s nose catching a scent again. This is her trying to work out the answer to a question that she’s not even sure she’s asking yet.
“Maybe I used a coupon too.”
“On your brand-new Land Rover?”
“Dealerships are doing incredible things these days to move inventory.”
“Jack . . .”
“Emily. Don’t worry about me. I have excellent money management skills.”
“But terrible taste in jewelry,” she says with a quiet smirk, her gaze dropping to my plastic candy necklace.
I smile and touch the colorful string around my neck. “You know why I wear these necklaces, right?”
“Because you want everyone to know you’re whimsical and fun?”
I laugh. “Yes. But also because they’re gifts from my students over the years. It started at my old school. One of my first students gave me a friendship necklace. The one you’ve probably seen me wear a few times. The next year another kid noticed I liked to wear my friendship necklace, so during teacher appreciation week, he gave me one too. Over the years the kids noticed, and it’s become a thing. I get at least one new one every year. I think I have like twenty at this point and I rotate them out.”
“I see,” she says, eyes blazing like this answer couldn’t have been better. And my skin is melting under her attention. I can’t think straight in these conditions. I want her, and standing here in my underwear in front of her, there’s certainly no hiding it. But I’ll be honest, I have no idea how to move forward. We are teachers at the same school. We are neighbors. I’m attracted to her (and maybe even have feelings for her?). And now we’re also friends, to top it all off.
Almost as if Emily and I are having these thoughts in tandem, she clears her throat and turns toward the door. “I wanted to tell you that I heard Bart is coming home tomorrow. I’ve decided to break into his house tonight, and I was sort of wondering if—”
“I’ll be there. This idea is much more preferable to the one I was considering.”
She turns back. “What was yours?”
“I was going to surprise him when he got back with a coffee and basically invite myself inside to chat. I would have gotten an urgent email on my phone I needed to look at, but it wouldn’t load so I’d need to use his computer. I’d delete the email while I was logged in.”
“I mean . . . not the worst idea actually.”
“A good plan B. I’d rather give your option a shot first, where I don’t have to pretend to pal around with Bart if possible.” Bart is . . . well, judgy would be the best word for it. He’s not a terrible guy or anything, but he is a people pleaser’s worst nightmare to interact with. He looks like he’s waiting for you to slip up. I’m always exhausted after talking to him.
“Well, thanks for being willing to risk an afternoon with him for me.”
“Hey, actually . . .” I pause, wondering if I should really bring this up while I’m still standing here in my underwear. “Hang on a second.” I go throw on some athletic shorts and then meet her at the front door again. “So I don’t overstep, I wanted to ask you before I did anything. But I was wondering if you’d like for me to talk to my—” Damn, I almost did it again. I quickly reword. “Friend. One of those resources I told you I had in publishing. He’s an agent and might be interested in reading your book for representation. Or at the very least, connect you with an agent who might find it a good fit?” When she doesn’t respond right away, I feel compelled to defend my case. “This actually happens more than you’d think in the industry. It never hurts to pull strings with people you know to get a foot in the door.”
I would have asked my dad to do it for me too if we had a different relationship. If I knew he wouldn’t use those strings against me or to further his own agenda.
Emily’s eyes are wide. She’s stopped breathing. I’m not sure if this is a good sign or a bad one. “I see. And you want to pull strings for me?”
“Yes. If you’ll let me.”
Emily nods once—looking stoic. But I see her balled-up fists at her sides. She’s trying not to cry. Happy tears? Or frustrated?
Finally, she rubs her lips together and blink blink blinks. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “I would definitely appreciate you reaching out to your connection.”
I let out a relieved sigh. Happy tears. “You’re welcome.”
A beat passes where we just stare at each other. I don’t know what Emily is thinking, but for my part, I’m trying to absorb the realization that the tug I was experiencing in Nebraska—the constant thoughts of Emily and what she’s doing—was right. I thought I would come back and be reminded of all the reasons she and I could never work. Instead, all I’m realizing is just how freaking much I like Emily Walker.