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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EMERSON
I roll over in my old bed when there’s a soft knock on the closed door.
“Are you up?” Suki asks softly, cracking it open.
“I’m awake,” I reassure her.
She opens it wider and steps across the threshold, carrying two cups of coffee. She hands me one as I sit with my back against the headboard. The mattress dips when she sits on the edge of it.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip of the sweet caffeine. “I missed this creamer.”
“They have stores where you’re living downtown, you know. You can buy some of your own.”
“I know,” I say, taking another drink. “But it just tastes better when you make it for me.”
She smirks. “It’s really hard to pour it into the cup, Em. And stop trying to butter me up. You already got your coffee.” Suki runs her fingers through her straight black hair. “Not that I don’t love waking up to you in my place, but what are you doing here?”
I came to Suki’s last night. She took me in, no questions asked, but it was late, so we didn’t really talk about why I was here.
I shrug. “I needed a break.”
“From babysitting the hockey star?”
“From babysitting, from living in a place that’s not really mine … I don’t know. All of it, I guess.” I playfully push her shoulder. “And I missed my best friend.”
“I miss you too.” She smiles, then bites her lower lip as she studies me. We’ve talked on the phone almost daily, but it isn’t the same as cohabitating in the same space. “Did something happen?”
“I don’t know.” I pause, unsure of where to start. Then, I launch into a description of what happened last night. The painting, the chef, the dinner. Sam’s bad mood. Our pointless fight.
“Well, he sounds like the same asshole he always was,” Suki replies.
“That’s the thing … he’s not a lot of the time. Something was off with him last night.”
“Maybe,” she hums, raising a plucked eyebrow. Her gaze is stuck on the wall beside the bed. “Or maybe he was jealous.”
“Jealous? Jealous of what?” I scoff.
Her dark eyes find mine and pin me in place. “It sounds like he didn’t appreciate the attention you were paying to the chef. What was his name … Michael?”
“Milo,” I correct. “And you’re crazy. I wasn’t paying attention to Milo. He was cooking across the room from me. Was I supposed to ignore him? I was being polite and nice. Plus, I have a boyfriend.”
“You and I both know Eliott is not a factor here.” She gives me a sharp look. Suki is aware of exactly how I feel about my relationship lately. Or don’t feel. “Well, whatever you were doing, it doesn’t sound like Sam liked it. And I’m guessing it had everything to do with your attention on another man.”
I roll my eyes. “I love you, Suki, but you’re crazy. Sam has never looked twice at me. He couldn’t care less who I pay attention to.”
“And I’m telling you, my friend … I think you’re wrong.”
“Sam likes women like my sister. All big boobs and makeup and teased hair. That’s not me. It’ll never be me.” I glance down at my simple, ordinary, oversize T-shirt. I know who I am, and I’m good with that. But I’m far from Sam’s type.
“You have boobs.” She looks longingly at my C-cups and then glances at her much smaller breasts.
“Natural boobs. They don’t sit like the fake ones.”
“I hate to break it to you, but nothing natural sits like the fake ones. That’s not a bad thing.”
“You know what I mean,” I say.
