Working Girl (27 page)

“I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever know,” he says before his eyes open. “You and I . . . we’re something special.”

My eyebrows furrow and I tilt my head in curiosity. “How so?”

“We’re us. Unique. Nobody else in this world will ever be able to be like us.”

“Is that a good thing?” It seems like a foolish question but I want to understand what he’s trying to tell me.

He nods. “Trust me, we don’t want to be like them.”

“We don’t?”

“Nah, fuck them. Their lives are boring.” He smiles briefly before he cups my face with his hands, using my eyes as windows to gaze deep into my soul. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. We’re going to have to fight like hell, but we’re worth it.”

Having him here night after night fighting shows me that he’s serious. And his words are the icing on the cake. My feelings for Emerson finally bubble up from the pit I was trying to push them into and overtake my body. The corners of my mouth turn up and I nod in agreement. “We are.”

With those two words, Emerson crashes his mouth onto mine, our tongues immediately seeking each other out and begin to move together. Finding familiarity is easy, and I allow all the tension from the past few months to fall away as his hands greedily explore my body and I moan against his mouth. My body flushes with heat and excitement as I crawl into his lap. I press down onto him and feel that he definitely shares in my excitement. Emerson pulls back from me and rests his forehead against mine, both of our chests heaving.

“Let me drive you home tonight,” he pleads.

It’s the worst thing he could have said. Panic rises quickly and I start to scramble to get off of his lap, but his hands land firmly on my hips, pulling me back into place. Fear twists my stomach into knots and I know that my face is surely selling me out. I quickly look away, focusing on the wall on the opposite side of the room.

I hear him sigh before speaking again. “Presley, you don’t have to hide anything anymore.” He forces me to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

My eyes shift nervously as my thoughts run wild. I’m not ready. I’m stubborn. I’m not willing to share that side of my life. But mostly I’m scared. I’m petrified that he’ll see where I live, see the life I’ve been brought up in, and run as fast as he can in the other direction. I’ve just got him back—I can’t lose him again.

“Presley, if all of this”—he gestures to the room—“if all of this hasn’t ripped us apart, trust me, there is nothing that will be able to come between us. I won’t allow it.”

He’s so sure of himself. Of us. And I want to believe him, but it seems too good to be true. I can’t help but feel like I’m still waiting for that other shoe to come and kick me in the ass again. It can’t be this easy. Despite the way I feel, I take a deep breath and push all my anxieties to the side. “Okay,” I whisper.

In a flash, Emerson scoops me up and spins me in the center of the room and it takes me a minute to register what he’s doing. Then I realize: he’s happy. He’s celebrating.

And I’m going to let myself do the same.

WITH MY STOMACH ROLLING
I wipe the sweat from my palms onto my jeans for the hundredth time. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous—dancing on stage for the first time included. I watch the lights of Vegas flash, blink, and pass me by and I know I need to focus on something besides the drive. To try and distract myself I look out at the people walking the streets and imagine their stories, writing them out in my head in attempt to keep calm.

That one, I think as I spy a woman in a flamboyant white dress, her head thrown back in laughter, just got married. The man in the business suit on the corner is going home after a long business trip. He’s excited to see his kids again. The lady coming out from the casino just won one of the jackpots; she’s going to be able to buy her mom a new car. It makes her feel good to be able to give her mother something special.

All my pretend stories have one thing in common: happy endings. Because life is full of stories with anything but happy endings. The stories in my head don’t need any sadness. There’s already enough of that in my life.

I flinch when I feel Emerson’s hand slide into mine. “You need to relax. You’re starting to freak me out.”

“You should be.”

“I doubt it.” He lifts my hand and presses his lips to my skin before letting go. “You’ve made such a big deal out of me not seeing where you live that I’ve come to expect the worse. In fact, I’m imagining you living in a sewer right now.”

I playfully reach across the center console and slap his arm.

Placing both of his hands on the wheel, he shrugs. “I’m just saying, I don’t care where you live, Presley. You could live in a cardboard box and wear a trash bag everyday and I think I’d still love you.”

The words leave his mouth and I gasp for air—literally, gasp. The car fills with uncomfortable silence and Emerson focuses his attention back on the road, rubbing the back of his neck nervously while I chew on my bottom lip.

My mind is whirling with details and I can’t even begin to comprehend what’s going on. Holding my breath I watch as Emerson pulls off to the side of the road. He puts the car in park and turns his body toward me. “That wasn’t really how I wanted that to come out.”

My heart deflates like a balloon.

“And neither did that.” He hits his forehead with the palm of his hand. “What I’m trying to say is that is I’m crazy about you. I may not know much about love, but I know that seeing you brought something in me back to life. After Sebastian died, my world kind of lost all meaning. I never really thought about love and just shut myself off from the world . . . until you. You brought feelings back to life that I never thought I’d have again. So while I may be an idiot when it comes to relationships and the idea of love, I know I need you. And to me, that’s love.”

I stare at him in disbelief. This can’t actually be happening to me. I’ve done nothing to deserve such words to be spoken about me, and to have them spoken by this amazing boy is beyond my wildest dreams. My thoughts run wild and I have a hard time connecting the words that are flying through my head. “I . . . I . . .”

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he cuts in. “But I figured since it was out there I should probably explain.” He reaches down and goes to put the car in gear again, but I place my hand on top of his stopping him from moving. He looks up at me, his eyes full of hope . . . and love. Without a doubt, what I see is love.

“If needing someone is love, then I love you too, Emerson. I love you every second of every day. Loving you is the only thing that keeps me going.”

A slow smiles creeps across his lips before he leans down and gently kisses me. “We’re going to be okay, Presley. You watch. Everything is going to be just fine.” He puts the car in gear and continues driving and with the perfection of his words still running through my head, I’m able to forget what I was panicking about in the first place. That is, until he asks me a question. “So once I get to the grocery store, where do I go from there?”

Menses Mansion. Emerson is taking me to the only home I’ve ever known. My heart races and I swallow hard. “You’re going to take a left at the intersection and drive for about a mile. It’s going to be on the right, directly across from the brothel. You really can’t miss it.”

He nods as we pass the grocery store and stop at the light, the blinker taunting me as it tick tocks like a clock and as the light turns green and the car surges forward, I become increasingly anxious. This is a huge step for me. Emerson will be one of the few people to have actually seen where I live. I see the brothel approaching in the distance and my anxiety increases as we grow closer. Emerson doesn’t speak and my mind goes crazy wondering what he might be thinking; if he’s silently judging me, or if he’s thinking about how sad and pathetic my life is. Maybe he’s thinking that this is the last straw and that he can’t possibly continue a relationship with me now that he’s seen where I lay my head at night.

Emerson slows and turns into the parking lot in front of the run down building that has been my home for my entire life. As the car idles outside, I hang my head in shame and sigh, reaching for the door. “Well, thanks for the ride.”

Emerson leans across the middle of the car, pressing my body back into the seat, and rests his hand on top of mine, preventing me from escaping. “You’ve got to start having a little faith, Presley. I can see in your eyes you think I’m disgusted, but I’m not. Stop driving yourself crazy. Starting now, I need you to believe.”

Lifting my head up, I look at him curiously. “Believe in what?”

“Believe in us,” he responds without hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere. Remember that.”

I nod and Emerson kisses me on the cheek before sitting back in the driver’s seat. “I’ll always be here, Presley. Don’t doubt my need for you.” He winks, which causes me to grin stupidly. Somehow, he’s managed to completely change my mood and put me at ease. Jumping out of the car, I don’t speak, but I start to think that this might not be too good to be true. That this is not a dream. That all of this might actually be my future.

My reality.

WITH ALL MY SKELETONS OUT
of the closet, Emerson and I went back to how things were before I started ignoring him, but now they’re even better. One of the benefits of being completely honest and open is that I don’t have to hide anymore, which means we spend even more time together. When he isn’t in class, we’re together during the day. Really, I should be sleeping, but I can’t spend another minute away from him so regardless of how tired I am, I always drag myself to his dorm. Emerson and I need each other on a level that I can’t even begin to explain. How can I, when I don’t even understand it myself?

Emerson’s lies with his head on my stomach, his eyes on a textbook, my fingers running mindlessly through his hair as I read the words over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you come back to school?”

The question comes from nowhere and I’m taken aback. We haven’t discussed school at all since he managed to edge his way back into my world. “Um,” I stutter, “I can’t.”

Emerson slams his book shut and spins over. He places his arms on my stomach, propping his head up so that he’s looking at me. “Yes, you can.”

“You don’t understand, Emerson.”

“So explain it to me.”

I take a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t want to, because I do—trust me, I do. I don’t want to be stuck at the brothel or the club forever. But for right now, until I figure out how I’m going to get on my feet, I can’t go to school.”

“Is it about money?” he asks, his voice dripping with sadness.

“Partly, yes. I could probably manage to make payments, but the life would kill me. Daytime classes, nighttime dancing, hiding while Chrissy turns tricks. I would never be able to study, and I’d be paying to fail at something. There’s no way I can deal with that much stress.”

He nods and I know he understands because he doesn’t press any further. Instead, he just looks up at me with complete adoration. The attention makes me slightly uncomfortable and I shift nervously on the bed. “What?” I ask.

“You’re beautiful.” My cheeks flush and my eyes shift away from him, but within moments I feel his fingers on my face as he gently lifts my chin up. “Don’t look away from me.”

“I’m not good at taking compliments. I’ve never gotten very many of them so they make me feel . . . weird.”

Shaking his head, he drags his body up the length of mine so that he’s on top of me, pressing me down into the mattress. “You have no idea how angry that makes me. And I’m gonna fix it. Right now,” he states before kissing the tip of my nose. Lifting his hands he grasps the sides of my face with his hands. “Look at me, Presley,” he commands. My heart races but I do as I’m told. “You’re beautiful.”