Authors: Prescott Lane
“You looked good out there,” he said, flashing a cheesy smile and making himself comfortable. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No.” Emory looked past him -- he looked like a child -- searching for Wesley in the crowd.
“Why not?” he pressed. “I mean, you loo
k
ho
t
in here.” He dragged out the word, leaving no doubt what he meant.
Emory rolled her eyes, knowing Mason would squash this boy. “The guy I came with is getting me one.” She had little hope that would stop his intentions. She thought to leave the table and find Wesley, but was tired and her feet hurt. And she had grabbed the last table, and didn’t want to lose it -- certainly not to this idiot.
“The guy you were dancing with?”
“Yeah.” Emory fanned herself with a napkin.
“My buddies and I thought he was gay.” He turned and pointed to a group of guys sitting at a table across the club, laughing and drinking amongst each other and watching his pursuit.
Emory looked at them, disgusted, and turned her eyes back to him. “You and your friends were right. You all are really smart.”
Where the hell is Wesley
?
He turned to his friends, and with a loud chuckle, gave a thumbs-up that they got it right. Emory was in no mood for this bullshit. She’d promised Wesley a date and came out to celebrate with him, and she would be damned if some pretty boy and his loser friends were going to insult him and waste her time. He turned back to Emory in mid-chuckle, and she ambushed him. “But I still fuck him. I’ll probably fuck him tonight.”
The boy’s face dropped, his chuckle turning to nervous laughter. “Wait, what?”
She pointed in the direction of the bar. “He’s looking for a guy to bring back, too.” The boy was too shocked to speak, realizing he was in way over his head. “You surprised?” The boy moved his bangs out of his eyes. “You and your buddies are so fucking smart, I thought you would have figured it out.” He looked back to his friends for support and shrugged his shoulders, deeply confused and now sweating, the friends sensing something had gone very wrong. Emory was now in control. “We dance, and then we fuck. Sometimes with another guy he finds.”
The boy recoiled from the table, almost falling out of his chair. “Oh my God!”
“It’s a very mature relationship we have.” She pointed to his group and shooed him away. “Go back to your little friends.” The boy limped back to his table.
Emory renewed her search for Wesley but had no idea where he was, unable to spot him in the thick crowd. Growing concerned, she decided it was more important to find him than to keep the table. She weaved through the crowd, her tiny frame helping her squeeze her way to the bar. She spotted Wesley, with a drink in each hand, chatting up a dirty-blond haired man rubbing Wesley’s arm. She side-stepped a few more people, then saw the man run his fingers through Wesley’s hair.
He’s getting hit on, too
?
She reached the bar, and stood between Wesley and the dirty-blond flirt. “What’s taking so long?” she asked, kissing him on the cheek, then rubbed off her lip gloss with her thumb, as Wesley gave her a strange look. She took one of the drinks and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go dance.”
Wesley gave a sympathetic smile to the flirt and offered a quick apology, Emory moving him away into the noisy crowd. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Saving you from a terrible mistake.”
“How so?” he asked, raising his voice, as they dodged a couple making out in front of them, then veered around a group of young women toasting each other.
“Tomás.”
“Butt out,” he snapped, leading her past some preppy college students. After a few more twists and turns, they reached the edge of the crowd, near the bistro tables, and by that point, Wesley had calmed himself. He was never able to stay angry at his roommate for long. She was usually right, and just too cute. “That guy looked good though, didn’t he?”
“Yes. So does Tomás.”
“You ready to go?”
Emory nodded, then flashed him a devilish look. “But I’ve got to do one thing first. Follow me.” They walked across the club towards the table with the boy in the flannel shirt, chatting up his rowdy friends, holding a beer in each hand, having seemingly recovered from the education she provided. Emory and Wesley walked close to him, holding hands, and she caught his eye, winking at him while pointing at Wesley. “It’s just me and him tonight.” The boy’s eyes bulged from his head.
Wesley gave Emory a confused look after they’d passed the table. “Just keep moving,” she said. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Steven and Olivia sat in a local eatery in downtown Charlotte, sipping water at a table for four, waiting on Mason and Emory. Steven’s mind raced about the Panthers press conference tomorrow; this was a business trip for him, but for Olivia, it was a chance to meet Emory and offer support for Mason.
Olivia tried to stretch herself out, flexing her feet and arching her back, the small, narrow seats on the three hour flight from Texas to Charlotte having done a number on her body. “Honey,” she said, laying on her sweet Southern charm, “next time, first class please, OK?”
“What for?” Steven looked at the menu, then his watch; Mason, as usual, was late. “It’s so much more money.”
Olivia pouted, sticking out her lower lip. “We can afford it.” She twirled her long, wavy red hair and rubbed his hand. “Plus, it would be nice to do that with you.”
Steven kept his eyes fixed on the menu. “It just doesn’t make sense. For like hundreds of dollars more, you get a few extra inches and a few more snacks.”
“I’ll take the inches,” she replied, “and you can take the snacks. Deal?”
He looked up from his menu. “I don’t need the snacks.”
“Honey, please,” she said, batting her eyes.
“What is this about?” Steven asked, irritated.
“I need the inches!” she barked, her charms vanishing.
“But it’s so few . . . .”
“I’m fat, and will take whatever few inches I can get!”
Frightened by his wife, Steven turned back to his menu to escape, hiding behind it, then heard a familiar voice. “Oh my God, Steven, what happened to your hair?” He looked up, finding Emory and Mason walking towards the table. Mason motioned for Olivia to stay seated, and kissed her on the cheek. “Mason didn’t tell me you were going bald!” Emory teased, giving Steven a strong hug and messing with what was left of his hair. She walked around the table to Olivia, greeting her with a hug. “I got confused and thought we were picking you guys up at the airport,” Emory said, digging in her purse. “I know plane food is crap, so . . . .“
“I hear that’s true even in first class,” Steven interrupted.
Olivia narrowed her eyes at him, and Steven looked away, regretting he’d opened his mouth. “You must ignore my husband, Emory. He’s not a very bright man.”
“I second that,” Mason said with a laugh, Emory taking a seat next to him.
“Third,” Emory teased, “and now balding. You poor thing, Olivia.”
“It is true. I do not lead an easy life.”
“Oh, because I think first class is too expensive?” Steven looked around the table for agreement, but there was none, only silence and stares.
“If your lady wants first class, you do it,” Mason said.
“Absolutely!” Emory agreed. “She’s carrying your child, for goodness sake.”
Steven rolled his eyes, and Emory again dug in her purse. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by your husband, I thought we were getting you at the airport, so I brought a banana and water bottle for you -- and the baby.” Olivia’s face lit up, as Emory pulled them from her purse. “But now we are in a restaurant, so I feel a bit stupid giving you food and water.”
“I second that,” Steven chimed in, sucking on an ice cube.
“I love you already, Emory.” Olivia peeled the banana and savored a bite. “You better marry this girl, Mason.” Mason liked the sound of that, raising his eyebrows at Emory.
Steven choked on the ice cube. “That’s my Liv, never holds a thought back.”
Liv
.
Emory smiled slightly to herself that Steven shortened Olivia’s name, just as Mason did hers. Olivia polished off the banana, but was still hungry, motioning for a waiter to come to the table. The waiter poured water for Mason and Emory, then took all of their orders. Steven then launched into a discussion with Mason about the press conference, and the women talked pregnancy.
“I hear you are having a boy,” Emory said.
“Yes, God must think the world is ready for another Mason boy. I’m not so sure myself.”
“You should be concerned!” Emory laughed. “But what a thrill for you.”
“Yep, there’s nothing like it. At least that’s what everyone says.” Emory gave a polite smile, as the waiter brought their drinks. “And so far, they’re right. I’m fat. I pee on myself now and again. I feel disgusting.” Olivia rubbed her stomach and pulled her cheeks, but Emory shook her head in disagreement, assuring Olivia she looked great. It was her business to know. She worked with pregnant women and their children, and Olivia was one of the prettiest she’d ever seen. Olivia didn’t believe Emory at all, but appreciated hearing such nice lies from someone other than Steven.
“Will you take my boy’s pictures?”
“I’d love to. But what about yours?
“My pictures? No way.”
“You haven’t had maternity photos taken?”
“No. I’m not one of those glowing pregnant ladies who want to see themselves.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Olivia waved her hand in disbelief. “You are all belly. You look amazing. Trust me, I do this for a living. Let me take your photos.”
Emory finally convinced Olivia, and they decided that tomorrow, while their men were off with the Panthers, they would have their own fun, with photography and maybe a visit to a spa, too. The waiter brought their appetizers -- a tray of chicken wings, along with some chips and spinach dip, and refreshed their drinks. Emory reached for the wings, as Olivia dug into the dip.
“Steven, we better not wait, or there will be nothing left,” Mason said, playfully swatting Emory’s hand, as he took some wings for himself.
“Don’t worry, I’m on my toes here,” Steven said.
“I love a woman who likes to eat,” Olivia said, munching on some chips.
“I sure do,” Emory said, gnawing on a wing. “Always have.”
“Much better than that picky bitch, Alexis,” Olivia said to Mason.
“I’m glad you approve,” Mason replied, then glanced at his brother, who shrugged he had no control.
Shut the hell up, woman!
“I do,” Olivia said. “I’ve only known Emory for, what, thirty minutes, and I love her. I’m a good judge of character that way.” Emory smiled, having never met anyone like Olivia, who just said whatever she felt no matter the time or place. It seemed so liberating to Emory, but to Mason, it made Olivia dangerous. “I always hated Alexis,” Olivia continued, reaching for more chips, Mason bracing himself. “We had nothing in common. She was always so concerned with her image.”
“Not me,” Emory said, waving a wing in the air, “I live with a gay guy in an apartment above a dance studio. I’m perfectly happy that way.” The table busted out in laughter, Mason’s body somewhat relaxing.
“I’m so glad you two are happy,” Olivia said. “Alexis was such a drag. It just makes me sick she is challenging the prenup!”
Mason’s stomach clenched, and Steven’s eyes bulged, the words spewing out of her mouth before they could hush her.
You loudmouth!
“What?” Emory looked at Mason, her eyes wide open. “Didn’t think to tell me that either, huh?” She placed her napkin on the table and walked to the restroom, Mason cursing under his breath.
“Damn, Liv, that was a secret,” Steven said.
“Oops, but why didn’t you just tell her, Mason?”
Mason shrugged his shoulders
.
Unpleasant topic? Not Emory’s business? Protecting her
?
Mason didn’t want to argue with a pregnant woman, especially when she talked so much and seemed borderline crazy. He chose not to answer her, focusing instead on the wings before him.
Olivia turned her attention to Steven. “You think your dumb brother handled this the right way?”
“Why are you bringing me into this?” Steven asked, wishing he still had his menu to hide behind.
“Because you are handling his divorce. Because you two are joined at the hip.”
“I can’t control what Mason does.”
“If you two knew the first thing about women, you’d know it’s better to tell the truth and avoid all the drama.” Olivia hoisted herself up. “I’ll go fix this, boys. Save me some wings.” She waddled to the restroom, and found Emory at the mirror, Olivia placing her arm on Emory’s shoulder. “Men are idiots.” Emory nodded in agreement, causing her to sniffle, and Olivia handed her a tissue. “Steven told me. I just assumed you knew.”