A/N: Big thank you to maniacalmuse. She makes my words better, but I like to mess around after she's done. All mistakes are mine :)
Lauren and Ella preread; Thanks babes!
6."How the fuck have you been single for so long?" I wonder, chugging down the last of my bottle of beer. "I'm sure you can't be having too many problems finding someone to have sex with," I remark, betraying myself. The hunger inside that woke up from its slumber.
"Oh, really?" he asks, turning his torso my way. He's arching a brow, licking his lips. I purposefully don't pull up the collar of my sweater even though I know the neckline slid down a while ago. I know he's watching, looking at my cleavage, as his eyes flutter from my face to my tits and back again as we speak. And I don't care. I love it. I don't give a damn, for the first time since Royce happened. I want him to look. So desperately. It feels wrong, and I know it is, but it's just flirting, he won't touch me. And I know I won't touch him. No way.
"You're a good-looking guy, plus you have a nice car," I state, clearly downplaying my opinion of him. I feel like a teenager caught up in her first crush.
"Wow. Compliments from the lesbian over here," he chuckles.
"I'm bisexual," I say it before I want to say it. I never say that. I never think about guys, watch heterosexual porn, want to watch it or miss it. In fact, I can barely remember it. I never wanted to remember ever since I met Irina — ever since that night.
Emmett bites back a smile.
"How does that work, exactly?" He wants to know. He seems genuine, too. "I mean, since you're obviously dating a woman."
"I don't have sex with men. Not since wh— a while ago. Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good-looking guy. I've dated guys and now I'm dating a girl, so that's about it."
"But? You guys do like threesomes and stuff?" I laugh at his blunt remark, but I don't blame him. Whenever I'm out with my girl, we keep getting offered to let strangers be the middle of a blond-girl-sandwich.
The front door suddenly swings open, banging against the wall. Irina waltzes in, a pile of folders in her hands. She closes the door with her leg.
"Malishka?" I stand up from the couch, Emmett's eyes on me. I don't want to admit I'm a little sad our time together is over.
"Hey, baby." I kiss Irina softly, but she doesn't let go. Instead, she drops the folders on the table by the front door and pushes me against the opposite wall. Her kiss is passionate, a little desperate. She's pressing her body against mine, hands roaming my back, trailing down low until she grabs my ass, her other hand dangerously close to slipping inside the waistband of my jeans. Irina seems starved after being away from me all day. That's odd. She never does this.
"We have company, Irina," I whisper, looking over to Emmett, whose face is deliciously flushed. He clears his throat as Irina's eyes widen.
"Oh my God." Irina chuckles, mortified. She doesn't often let go like that, especially in the company of others.
"Don't let me stop you. By all means." He is only half-joking, I can tell by his slightly narrowed eyes, the smirk that makes his dimples pop.
"Pizza-bearing colleague?" Irina asks. I nod and sit back down on the couch.
"Irina. Nice to meet you. I hope she's not giving you too much of a hard time at work?" Irina asks, stepping out of her heels and sitting down on the floor in between my legs. She's not friendly and she's being sarcastic. Her smile is fake and it doesn't reach her eyes.
"God, no. She's amazing! I'm glad Garrett makes her put up with me. It's been a while since I used my mechanic's degree, and to be fair, Spice's a great teacher," he says. Irina smiles up at him as she nuzzles her cheek against my denim-clad thigh.
"I figured you'd have left. I'm sorry for the show," she says. There's an edge to her voice that I haven't heard before. She's acting all sorts of crazy, as if she might start pissing my leg soon to mark her territory.
"Yeah, I didn't plan on staying this long, but you have a very amusing girlfriend, Irina." Emmett's trying to be nice, but she doesn't seem to appreciate it. Instead she chuckles.
"You have no idea just how amusing she can be." I feel sick to my stomach. Why is she being this way? Irina hates it when people act all cocky—share too much; she detests PDA. She barely even holds my hand in public, won't even kiss me in a room full of people when she's sober.
Emmett stays a little while longer until he finishes his beer. I can tell he's feeling uncomfortable and I hate that Irina's making him feel awkward. She sits next to me now, her legs touching mine, one hand on my thigh, tracing pattern on my jeans.
"Well, thanks for the hospitality, Spice. I guess I'll be on my way. We have work in the morning, after all." He stands and kicks his shoelace from under his sole.
"How much for the pizza?" It's the least I can do after he brought me food.
"Not a thing. We're friends, right? You buy next time." He smiles. I walk him out and watch him as he shrugs on his jacket.
"See you tomorrow, Spice." His dimples disarm me — again, make me lean in for a one-armed hug. He holds me tight, his hard body pushing me into him before letting go.
"Bye, Irina! It was nice meeting you."
I lock the door after he leaves, try to wipe the smile off my face before I turn around.
"Friends, right," Irina huffs. She leans back against the couch, arms crossed in front of her chest.
"What's wrong?" I wonder, clearing the coffee table.
"He's practically undressing you with his eyes. Right in front of me, Rose." She uses my name. She never uses my name. My eyes widen and my voice trembles. "He was basically dry-humping you. A fucking hug? What the fuck is wrong with you? Since when can you hug a dude without breaking into a panic-fueled fit, huh?"
"Why are you mad at me?"
"Because I have never seen you look at me like that. And I'm supposed to be your fucking girlfriend!"
"What the fuck are you talking about? We're friends, he's a coworker for God's sake."
"I don't see you all buddied up with Garrett, wearing your skin-tight jeans and a push-up bra, Rosalie."
I gasp.
"Stop making such a big deal! I just showered and put on fresh clothes. It was the first thing I grabbed," I lie. I know it's wrong but she's being overly dramatic now. "Besides, you barely pay attention to me lately! What was all that overly-attached-girlfriend shit about, anyway? You might as well have just fucked me right in front of him."
"Right," Irina huffs. I walk closer to her, but she gets up and faces the window. "When's the last time you made an effort for me, huh?"
"When's the last fucking time you got in at a decent time?" I mirror her stance, it's cold and uninviting. She looks at me and runs off, taking her keys.
"What're you doing?" I panic.
"I'm staying at Natascha's tonight."
Natascha? What the fuck?
"What? What the actual fuck, Irina? Natascha? Are you fucking kidding me?" I fume.
"Relax, she's just a friend. You understand, right?" Irina's bitter toxicity makes me cringe. I take the first thing I see and throw it to the floor.
"Don't be this way! What's your fucking problem?" Fights aren't my forte, but I'll be damned if I let her walk away with this one.
"I don't have a fucking problem, Spice. I'm not the one shooting glances at a fucking guy."
"No, you're just going to go over to some random girl's house? What are you going to do in there, huh? Stick your tongue down her pussy?" I'm so angry I see red. I want to punch a fucking hole in the wall. I want to tell her everything that's been bothering me over the past few months. I just know Natascha isn't random. She's not just a girl; she's Irina's client — the one she's been spending all her time with instead of me.
She walks off just like that, not saying another word, never answering my question. leaving the pile of paper that fell off the table exactly where it is. Irina unlocks the door, keys rattling against white-painted wood. I stare at it until she shuts it hard, like a preteen who's grounded.
I take another bottle of beer from the fridge and crawl onto the couch. I feel tears leak from my eyes, spill onto my chin and run over my lips. Why do I always have to cry when I'm seething with anger?
As I finish two more beers, I start feeling the effects. I'm a little tipsy and my anger turns into desperation. It's eleven at night and I haven't turned on any lights. Only the television screen illuminates the apartment, the pictures of Irina and me, the ridiculously expensive vase she bought to put some equally ridiculous dried flowers in.
I huff and take my phone from the coffee table.
No messages.
No social media updates.
Two pictures with Natascha tagged into them.
Her fucking friend, or maybe the friend she's fucking?
My Facebook wall is littered with cats and cars, and I notice the friend request icon is red.
Emmett McCarty wants to add you on Facebook.
I click accept and notice he's been added to our group chat with the guys from work.
His pictures are generic. It's mostly him with cars, him without a shirt, him with two cats, and then I see pictures from a few months ago: Emmett McCarty in camo print, in army green. In the fucking army. My mouth waters at the sight of him.
My slightly drunk fingers type up a message to him I'll surely regret in the morning.
Army, huh?
His response is almost immediate.
Emmett: Someone's been stalking…
I chuckle out loud.
You added me, soldier.
Emmett: Touché.
Three dots appear and disappear, twice, until he presses send on the third time.
Emmett: Shouldn't you be getting some beauty sleep?
I bite my lip as I keep typing. I can't fucking stop myself, I need help.
Well, if you think I need some…
Emmett: Like hell you do. You know, I thought I had a date tonight.
Oh really?
Emmett: Yeah.
Poor thing.
My fingers hovering over the keypad as I think about my reply. The cursor blinks slower than my heart beats right now.
Did you really think it was a date?
Anxiously waiting for his reply, I wait. I want to hate this feeling but I don't.
Emmett: I hoped it was. But now I think I made it weird.
You didn't.
Emmett: See you tomorrow, Spice xo.
Sweet dreams.
I watch more television, unable to sleep, unable to go to bed, our bed.