A Bad Bit Nice (9 page)

“So, pretty soon then.”

Mick nodded.

“Better you than me, boyo. Better you than me.”

*****

Rory smirked at Em as she stirred her coffee. “It looks like you ladies had fun this weekend,” he said.

“Oof. I don’t know what’s kicking my ass the most, Rory: the time change or the hangover,” Em said with a huge yawn. “Good god a’mighty! I am definitely not 25 anymore.”

Rory laughed at the small woman. She didn’t look as fierce as she normally did, that’s for sure. “When you finish doctoring up your coffee, Em, come into my office. I have a special project.”

Em grunted at him and continued to stare dazedly at the coffee maker. Rory just shook his head and laughed.

When Em wandered back into his office, she looked a hundred percent better and was ready to get to work.

“First things first, Em,” Rory said. “What did you two get up to?”

“The usual: drag show, booze, gambling, booze, live band karaoke, booze, and an MMA match.”

“You two went to an MMA match?” Rory said in disbelief. “That doesn’t seem really like either of you.”

“We didn’t only go to a match, we went to the weigh-in and a meet and greet as well. I tried to convince Ashley to let me get tickets to the after-party, but she wouldn’t let me.” Em shrugged.

“Huh. Well, on to work now. I want you to search for someone. I don’t have a lot of information, but what I do have is in this folder. This isn’t a priority, but it’s not
not
a priority, if you get my meaning. When you have some downtime, I need to you look into it.”

“Who’s the client?” she asked, looking through the dossier. “Rory, this information’s from the mid- to late-80s. What’s going on?”

“I’m not going to tell you who the client is right now. Just...work your magic, okay?”

“Okay, Rory. This is going to be a challenge,” she said. “I’m totally excited!”

Em buzzed out of the office, a smile on her face, ready to get to work.

Em hurried through the airport terminal, her cell phone in one hand and her suitcase in the other. “Everything seems to be in order,” she said to Rory on the other end. “All the equipment is in or scheduled for delivery and we actually seem to be at or under budget. I’m trying not to say too many good things because I’m afraid I’ll jinx the project. Are you in the office next week?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there for the first half, but then I’m headed to the new project site in Boston.”

“Home to Boston, huh?”

“I see you’ve gotten some info on me from Mick,” Rory said with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m staying over the weekend to visit with me parents, but I should be back on Tuesday.”

“Sounds good, Rory.”

“Em, I don’t say it enough, but you’re a life-saver. I could never have achieved what I have in the past nine months without you.”

“Thanks for the opportunity, Rory. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“And on a more personal note, I’m glad that you’ve connected with Mick. I was very pleasantly surprised to see you at the center again on Sunday. You’re really teaching the boys how to cook, yeah?”

“Yes, and meal planning and all the stuff that goes along with it. It was very humbling to see what you guys do for the center. I’m planning on doing the box lunches when I’m in town and Mick’s out.”

“Mick will be thrilled if you do that. He really identifies with those kids.”

“We talked some about that. He didn’t say a whole lot, but it sounds like he had a rough time of it when he was younger.”

Rory barked out a bitter laugh. “Oh, that’s an understatement. Next time we’re in the office together, Em, I want to talk to you about Mick.”

Em frowned. This didn’t sound good.

“I can hear you frowning over the phone, Em. It’s not anything bad and I suppose it’s not really my place, but I still want to talk to you.”

“Hm, okay, Rory. But I’ll just say two things to you. One, I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself. And two, if you’re not sure that it’s your place to say something, it probably isn’t and you probably shouldn’t. I’m just sayin’.”

“Ha, you’re probably right again, Em. Okay, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“See you, Rory.” Em signed off and trudged through the airport.

Another project finished, another five thousand travel miles. At least I’ll be able to take a decent vacation..sometime.

Em was very much looking forward to seeing Mick again. They had gotten together whenever they were both in town at the same time, which, as far as Em was concerned, was definitely not enough.

She smiled to herself, thinking about the difference between her relationship with Mick and that with Tripp. Mick seemed to actually enjoy her company, whereas Tripp, if she was being honest with herself, always seemed to regard spending time with her as a chore, something that he had to do to qualify for sex. She rolled her eyes at the memory.

Em was so deep in thought as she stood on the moving sidewalk that she didn’t hear her name being called.

“Em? Em! Em Davidson!”

She stepped off of the moving sidewalk and turned around, getting out of the way of the disembarking traffic.
Speak of the devil
.

She took a deep breath. “Hello, Tripp.”

“Hello, Em. You look really good. I mean, really good.” Tripp looked at her approvingly. “Have you lost some weight?”

Good grief, Tripp, you’re such a clod. You don’t ask if someone’s lost weight
.

She considered calling him on his rudeness, but instead said “Thank you, Tripp. You’re looking well.”

They walked toward the baggage claim in awkward silence. Em prayed that their claim turnstiles would be far apart and she could just walk away, but their bags were coming in on the same carousel.
Of course.

As she stood next to the carousel, she used the search for her bag as a cover to closely examine Tripp. While not necessarily a short man, Tripp was a good six inches shorter than Mick, and soft. During The Kiss, Em had confirmed that Mick was hard and muscular.

She really couldn’t believe she had found Tripp attractive at one time. True, he was never really her type, but his slick metrosexual persona was a needed change from her usual rough-around-the-edges type, men like her neighbor. She had only found him attractive because she didn’t really know him. He was whiny, entitled, and selfish, both in and out of bed. Not attractive traits at all.

“There’s your bag, Em,” Tripp said, interrupting her comparison. Of course, he didn’t actually retrieve the bag.
Figures
. And really, that completely epitomized her relationship with Tripp.

Em hauled the bag from the carousel and was walking away when she saw Bailey approach Tripp in the baggage claim area. When Em noticed the loose smock Bailey wore, her stomach knotted. Bailey’s bright smile faltered when she saw Em, but she recovered quickly, greeting Em with an embarrassed wave.

“Oh Bailey, you look great. Congratulations, you two,” Em said, truthfully. Em thought that Bailey did look good, really good, dammit. The fact that Em couldn’t have children had been a sore spot in her and Tripp’s relationship, and the fact that Bailey was pregnant actually made Em feel better. Biological children were the one thing that she could absolutely not give Tripp.

Em made it all the way home and into her living room before she fell apart.

Mick threw his bags on the couch and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He could hear Em walking around upstairs. He wasn’t supposed to be back for a few days, but the project was running smoothly and he really couldn’t take any more of his client’s ego.
Musical genius, my ass
. He had been thinking about Em all week.

After he finished brushing his teeth, he peered at himself in the mirror. He saw a man with wrinkles around eyes that were red from lack of sleep, silver in his almost-too-long beard, and grey in his definitely-too-long hair. He hadn’t talked with Rory about The Kiss, knowing that the Irishman would break into his apartment and strategically place condoms everywhere, then do everything in his power to arrange a physical meeting between Em and Mick. Mick wasn’t sure he was ready for anything of the sort.

One thing he
was
sure about was the fact that he really did enjoy kissing Em, and he thought he might like to do it again.

He remembered Em’s small, soft hands on his face and around his neck and that luscious sent of oranges when he ran his nose behind her ear. The way she grasped his shirt. The little sighs she made as their tongues wrestled. Those thoughts made his balls heavy and his cock stiffen.

What was he, 16? He hadn’t had a hard-on for anyone other than Grace, or dreams of Grace, in 20 years. But all last week, in his dreams, Em’s soft, lush curves and the dark brown waves of her hair had replaced Grace’s taut, athletic body and outrageous red curls.

He gripped the bathroom counter. What the hell was he doing? He splashed cold water on his face, hoping to clear his head. Was he ready for this? For anything? He knew that he wanted to see Em. He had enjoyed her company immensely, more than anyone’s company in a long, long time. He had friends, and had even dated a bit since Grace died, but he hadn’t felt anything that warranted a second date with anyone, much less a feeling that he would do just about anything to kiss her again.

Mick took a deep breath and then exhaled. He did it again. He looked in the mirror one last time. He looked down at his crotch.

“You, Willy, need to mind your manners. No barging out uninvited,” he lectured sternly. He clapped his hands and with a thumbs up to his reflection, left the safety of his bathroom and went upstairs to Em’s.

*****

Em had been home for hours, but she hadn’t done more than pour herself a stiff drink, open the carton of ice cream, and turn on a movie. God, she was a cliché. At least she wasn’t drinking Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay out of a screw-top bottle, or heaven forbid, a cardboard box.

She clinked her spoon against the lowball glass and took a swallow of Scotch. If she were Bailey, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy this Scotch because she was knocked up, which was the direct result of sex with Tripp. That was a definite plus.

Em contemplated sex as she rolled a heaping spoonful of ice cream over her tongue. It had been a long time since she had sex with another person. As many times as Big Blue made her come, it couldn’t compare with sex with a real, live man.

Well, not particularly sex with Tripp. That was
eh
bordering on
ewwww
. He was always selfish, hardly ever bringing her orgasm and then getting insulted when she tried to enhance the experience herself. And that was even before The Surgery.

After The Surgery, Tripp seemed to lose all interest. It was like if he couldn’t get a child out of the act, he didn’t even want to do it.

Em knew her body had changed after. Her trim stomach wasn’t flat anymore and she had one wicked scar running down the length of it. The scar had faded a bit now, but you could still see it. She had gotten the tattoos around her hips to disguise it at the beginning, but then, she’d added to the initial design because she liked the idea of turning something life-changing and potentially ugly into something beautiful.

Of course, Tripp thought the tattoos that ran around her hips and waist were trashy, unlike the stupid Greek letters of his frat that he had on his foot. What a waste of ink. Em secretly thought that he hated her tattoos because he was jealous that he couldn’t handle the pain of getting a large piece.

He truly seemed embarrassed by the tattoos. No one other than someone she was intimate with would see the ones on her hips, which, in Em’s opinion, was sexy. Tripp had even shamed her enough that she stopped wearing skirts. She’d had the tattoo on her calf since she was 25, getting the colors and lines touched up every few years.
It’s not like Tripp didn’t know about that one.

Hmph. Good grief, she was getting herself riled up into a righteous fury over a man that she hadn’t seen or heard from in almost a year.

Em finished her glass of Scotch and chased it with a spoonful of ice cream. She poured more Scotch and got a bigger spoon.

She sat on the couch, watching a movie about Tokyo car racing and petting Beauregard. She liked how the actor didn’t have to soften his natural Southern accent in the film.

That was another thing about stupid assclown Tripp. He was always getting on her about her accent, wanting her to talk elocution lessons. Elocution lessons! That made her so mad she could spit.

Em always made sure she toned down her accent and curtailed her cursing and idioms when she was dealing with outsiders or partners. Except for Ed, Tripp’s father. Ed seemed to appreciate Em exactly how she was, hick accent and all, even if he was a wealthy Brahmin from Boston. In fact, Ed used Em’s naturally warm, welcoming personality to woo suspicious Southern clients by making them feel like the Holbrook Firm was one of them and not some Yankee interloper. Tripp couldn’t understand it.

“Tripp is a jackass, Beauregard. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you told me that he was no good.” She kissed the pudgy cat’s head and was rewarded with a soft “Mewp!” and a nuzzle. “But you like Mick, don’t you, Beau? You were rolling all over him, showing off, purring. You’re a good judge of character.”

Mick said her accent was cute, and not in a “oh, look at the slow, slack-jawed hillbilly” condescending way, but in an “I sincerely think the way you speak is cute” way. That was another plus in the Pro-Mick column.

Em took another swallow of Scotch and another spoonful of ice cream. She liked listening to Mick, too. A few times during their outings together, he’d whipped out some sort of Newfoundland colloquialism that charmed her. Now
that
was cute.

As she licked the spoon, her thoughts continued to Mick. Licking Mick. Doing other things to him. Sex with Mick. A man who could kiss that like? Yum with a side of Hell Fuckin’ Yeah. She bet Mick wasn’t selfish in bed. He’d been very attentive every time they were together—changing the subject if he sensed she wasn’t comfortable talking about something, remembering things that she had mentioned previously, opening doors for her, and entering buildings behind her. No, there was no way that man was a pleasure hog. She bet he even enjoyed going down on a woman.

She felt a twinge in her sex and knew she was getting wet. The silly romance books she read to clear her mind from the numbness of statistical analysis often described sexual anticipation as a “stirring of the womb.” She didn’t have a womb, but she had other stuff, and that other stuff was twanging away.

She heard knock on her door. Em squinted at the clock. Dear God, it was only 7:30. Or maybe it was 5:40? Stupid analog clock. Whoever was at the door knocked again. Em sighed and hauled herself off the couch, grabbing the remote to turn the television down. There was a third knock by the time she reached the door.

“Jesus Christ, what?!” Em growled as she flung open the door. Mick stood there, open mouthed, his fist poised to knock again.

“Um, is this a bad time?” he said in a quiet voice. He looked her over. She was adorably rumpled in another ska band t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. Her hair was in two pigtails, her glasses perched on her nose, and she had a very large spoon in her hand. Mick’s eyes drifted down Em’s body, finally resting on the large tattoo that covered her whole calf. His face split into a wide grin, all white teeth in the dark hair of his beard. “Woman, I knew I liked you. May I come in?”

Em nodded silently. Mick stepped into the house, seeming to fill up the entire room with his big body. Man, he was tall. Now that she was barefoot, she felt very small. She gazed straight up at him.

“What’s going on, Em? You look kind of funny. Not like ‘funny ha-ha’ funny but ‘funny I am having a breakdown’ funny.”

Em took one look at the concern clouding Mick’s handsome face and burst into noisy tears. He pulled her against his chest and cupped her head in his big hand, murmuring quiet, soothing syllables against her hair. He picked her up, cradling her against his chest, while she knotted his shirt in her fists and continued sobbing. With Em still nestled in his arms, he sat down on the couch and rocked her gently.

“Em, love, what on Earth happened? Can you talk about it? Did someone hurt you? Breathe, love, just breathe.”

Em’s tears slowed and she managed a few shaky breaths. Mick rested his cheek on her head, rubbing her back while surveying the remnants of her one-woman pity party.
Oh boy, this had all the markings of an encounter with an ex.
Rory had told him that she’d had a really ugly break-up in her recent past, and by the looks of the booze and ice cream buffet and her semi-hysterical state, it must have been a doozy.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the couch with her, rubbing her back and pressing his mouth to her hair. Mick deeply inhaled her scent of vanilla and oranges, hoping that she would take it as a prompt to breathe and not as a sign that he was some sort of head-sniffing deviant. Em took a deep breath and moved her face to look at him, smiling weakly. Mick cupped her face in his hand and she slowly closed her eyes, relaxing into his big hand.

When she opened her eyes, she said, “And how was your week, dear?”

Mick chuckled and replied, “Obviously better than yours was. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really, but I probably need to. Wanna drink? Some ice cream soup?” Em frowned. Was she slurring?

Mick moved Em off his lap, kissing her forehead before scooping up the ice cream container and returning it to the freezer. He got a lowball glass from the bar and made his way back to the couch. He poured two fingers of amber liquid into each glass and held his aloft. Em picked up her glass, clinked it against Mick’s, and drank the contents in one swallow.

“Now you’re not drinking alone. Now, tell me what’s gotten you so upset.” Mick smoothed her hair back from her face.

Em took a deep breath and began.

*****

Nine months ago

“Are you really sure you want to go to this party?” Ashley said. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Em, no matter how much you and Tripp have been talking these past few weeks.”

“It’ll be fine, Ashley. We’re starting over, taking things slow.”

“Uh-huh. Have you seen him since you walked out?”

“Well, no. But like I said, we’ve talked a lot.”

“How many times have you had phone sex?”

“Just that once, Ashley. Jeez.”
And it actually wasn’t that different than face-to-face sex with Tripp, unfortunately, but I sure as hell am not going to admit that.

“Mm hmm. I hope you’re not setting yourself up for heartache, Em.”

“It’ll be fine, Ashley. Stop being such a worrywart.”

Truthfully, Em was very nervous about the party. Yes, she was excited to see a few coworkers, mostly Tom and Bailey, but she was most excited about seeing Tripp. He had been so sweet and attentive, actually commenting on the documentation and asking thoughtful questions about procedures and protocol. Sure, he should already be completely familiar with the protocols and procedures, but Em felt sure he was just being very conscientious, like he needed to be in light of the Williams near fiasco.

After 20 minutes of socializing, Em started to wonder where Tripp was. Surely he would be at the party, right? He never missed a chance to partake of an open bar, and what’s more, he had assured her that he was looking forward to seeing her again. He was actually so dogged in his insistence about her being at the gathering that it began to annoy her.

Enough, Em. You know he’s always, always late.

A clinking of spoons against glasses brought Em’s attention back to the party. Edmund Holbrook Jr., Tripp’s father and founder of the Holbrook Firm, made his customary brief speech and handed out various company awards. Em clapped politely, but couldn’t help looking at her watch, wondering where Tripp could possibly be.

After another hour, Em gave up and began to make her way to the coat check. She was ready to get away from this party and out of this outfit. When she was almost out the door, she heard Tripp’s amplified voice calling for attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement. Tonight, I would like to announce to the world that I am going to marry the love of my life. Darling, come here.”

Em stood paralyzed with shock as her co-workers smiled and nodded and urged her toward the front of the room.
What the actual fuck is going on?
Suddenly, a sweet, familiar voice tittered over the speaker. Em’s head shot up. Tripp had his arm resting around the waist of Bailey, the 28-year-old administrative assistant and Em’s supposed friend, who was looking at him like she wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Whispers and hushed, nervous chuckles could be heard throughout the ballroom. A few people looked at Em with pity, some with shock, but most made a point not to acknowledge at her at all.