If people didn’t notice how strange we were behaving, it was a miracle, or they were blind. But we didn’t care. We ate our lunch in a small booth in the back with smiles plastered on our faces. This could work, I thought to myself the whole time. I could be his secretary as a front, and his girlfriend in secret, and no one would need to know. It would be enough.
But as we reach his house, and I see a familiar figure standing on Emerson’s front porch, all of that idiotic hope comes crashing down around me.
“Beau?” Emerson calls out, spotting his son. When he spins around to answer his father’s call, I freeze. I don’t know if Emerson feels the same wave of guilt as I do, but seeing Beau now feels like a punch to the gut. And he looks…good. Better than last time. He’s cut his hair, has a smile on his face, and doesn’t look like he wants to murder his own father.
“Is everything okay?” Emerson asks, rushing over.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
There is a look of skeptical surprise on Emerson’s face, his attention laser-focused on his son, and I can’t believe the rising jealousy that courses through me when I notice. It’s his son, Charlie. Of course he’s going to give him his attention. Over you.
“I was working in the area. I saw Charlie’s car here, so I thought I’d come hang out for a bit.”
Come hang out? Glancing toward the road, I notice his white truck parked on the curb. How did I not notice that before? He must have used the money his dad gave him last time to get it fixed.
None of this feels right, but I don’t say anything as Emerson opens the door to let him in. He looks so elated to see his son again, I can’t be the one who takes that away. So I act casual as we walk inside together. Emerson empties his pockets at the front entryway table, dropping his keys into the bowl.
“Are you hungry?” he asks Beau.
Beau shakes his head before turning toward me.
“So where were you guys at?” he asks. My eyes dance between the two men for a moment, trying to get a second of Emerson’s attention, but he’s too guarded, too scared.
“We went to the deli down the street. Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Emerson replies.
“Nope, I’m good. I got a new job,” he adds in, and the smile on his face feels almost contagious. If I wasn’t so uptight in this scenario, I might actually feel an ounce of joy for him, but I’m too unsettled. I keep waiting for him to notice that Emerson and I are fucking, as if he could read it on our faces.
I mean, I wish I could read Emerson’s face right now, but he’s being so guarded that it’s impossible.
“I’m going to grab some drinks. You guys go sit in the front room and I’ll be right out. I want to hear all about your new job,” Emerson says, turning toward the kitchen.
“Yes, Sir,” I answer out of habit, immediately wincing as the words tumble out of my mouth.
Emerson freezes in the doorway, and I try to play it off as nothing out of the ordinary, waltzing straight over to the sitting room at the front of the house.
“Sir?” Beau replies with a laugh.
I laugh too, trying to shrug it off, but I feel so fake. Almost mechanical, like I don’t even know how to behave normally. We make small talk while we wait for Emerson to return, and Beau doesn’t seem to suspect a thing, which should make me happy, but only makes me feel a little nauseous. Then Emerson returns with three beers clutched between his fingers, and Beau looks at them skeptically.
“I figured we could have one drink to celebrate your new job.”
Beau gives him an easy half-smile, taking one of the beers and dropping into the oversized leather chair. Emerson looks momentarily pleased with himself as he hands me my bottle, and it almost shatters my heart into pieces. Look at how happy he is. Beau is here and he’s actually smiling and they are about to repair their relationship. I can feel it.
How can I possibly take this away from him? And how can I be so selfish to expect Beau to just get over it? What is wrong with me?
With my eyes on Emerson sitting in the chair opposite his son, I drop slowly onto the last chair, and the minute my butt hits the seat, my eyes go wide.
The vibrator.
I completely forgot it was in there. And now I have to sit here with a remote-controlled dildo and no panties on while we pretend that everything is fine and we aren’t fucking behind Beau’s back. I can hardly hear a word they say over the chanting sound of shame echoing through my head—this is all my fault. Luckily, neither of them seem to notice.