Working It

19

Ben

I didn’t want Emmy to think I’d brought up the idea of a monogamous relationship between us to smooth over my past with Fiona. That wasn’t the case. Not at all. I should have told her about Fiona sooner, or not answered the door that morning. It was a shitty thing I’d done—shoving Emmy into the bathroom and closing the door. Like that would erase the problem.

I knew Fiona and I had a fucked up past. But honestly, it never bothered me. She was an attractive woman, and neither of us was looking for a relationship. We stayed in the same cities where we didn’t know anyone else, and we were both typically single. Sex was nothing but convenient—a purely physical release. But I understood why Emmy hated that Fiona had experienced the pleasures of my body. I considered Braydon a good friend, and I fucking hated that he’d seen Emmy’s gorgeous, plump breasts, that he’d tasted how sweet she was and heard the soft whimpering sounds she made when she came. That experience had opened my eyes. I didn’t ever want to share her again. She was mine, and selfishly I wanted her all to myself.

I’d never wanted a relationship before, but this hit me like a smack to the head. I wanted all that and more with Emmy. My sweet southern belle. The idea of calling myself her boyfriend put a stupid little grin on my face. And now, before we’d even started, I’d fucked it up already. It almost made me rethink what I was doing. Almost. But I knew I would fight for her. I just had no idea how. My texts over the last few days had gone unanswered and I wasn’t bold enough to show up at her door and risk getting sent away. I missed her. And once again, I wasn’t sleeping for shit.

I decided to call Braydon. He knew me and he’d gotten to know Emmy a little, too—too much, in my opinion. But maybe he’d have some advice. He was in London doing a small fashion show, and I had no clue what his schedule might be. I’d opted not to do the show. I had the luxury of being a bit more selective with the jobs I took. I sent him a text, unsure if he had time to talk.

Me: Hey . . . I need help with Emmy. Call me.

Braydon: I’m in. ; )

Me: No. Not for that, fucktard. Call me.

A few minutes later my phone rang. “Hey, man,” I greeted him.

“I was just thinking about you guys. Well, not you. But Emmy. Mmm . . .” He made a low humming sound in his throat.

“Well, stop thinking about her, asshole. That’s never happening again.”

“Whoa, getting a little possessive, aren’t we? That’s new for you.”

“Yeah, no shit. All this is new for me. I think I’m falling for her, man.”

“Wow. Big Ben’s growing up. That’s huge, man.”

Dick. “Well, she’s not talking to me right now.”

Braydon chuckled. “What’d you do? Lemme guess . . . she wants you to get an APA now and you won’t?”

“This isn’t about your dick or its stupid-ass jewelry, dude. And no, I’m never getting my junk pierced.” I stood from the bed and began pacing the room, suddenly restless. I explained Emmy’s already strained relationship with Fiona and the hurt in her eyes when I told her about our past. Braydon stayed quiet, listening to the whole thing. I blew out a heavy sigh. “I need to get her back. What do I do?”

“You need to show her what she means to you. Make her understand how special she is to you. Make her forget all about Fiona.”

That did make sense. “So how do I do that?”

“You have to think about the things she likes . . . if she’s into poetry, you write her a poem . . . or if her favorite food is sushi, you find the best Japanese restaurant to take her to. Shit like that.”

Okay . . . that was pretty good.

“Thanks, man.” Now I just needed to think about what to do to show her how I felt.

Christ. I wasn’t good with feelings. This should be interesting. . . .