Page 42 of Blitzing Emily

“You know, sugar, we talked about this yesterday. I’ve done stuff I’m not especially proud of in the past, but I’m normal. In my line of work, there are women who want to brag to their friends that they nailed a pro athlete. At times, I’ve been happy to oblige them.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a real humanitarian, aren’t you? I’m amazed nobody’s contacted the Nobel committee on your behalf.”

That was a low blow, and unfair to him as well. He passed “pissed,” and went straight into “fury.” This was a sore subject to begin with, and he felt like she was poking him in the gut with a sharp stick. He’d just discovered one of Emily’s faults: She didn’t know when to back off. “That was pretty harsh.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” she said. “How can you believe the stuff you say?”

He dropped her hand, and flipped on his side away from her. It was threeAM. The best thing he could do was calm down. If he got in the car now he would get a ticket at best, because he shouldn’t be behind the wheel. He also wondered what he did to bring this on.

After a few deep breaths, he spoke. “Whatever I have or have not done, I want you to understand this. I have never cheated on anyone I was with. I’ve always taken precautions against disease and pregnancy. I don’t get involved with women who are involved with other men. I wasn’t kidding about the fact my priorities have shifted recently. I’m done running around. I’d like to find a woman I could fall in love with and be faithful to for the rest of my life. If you’re under the impression that I’m some kind of man-whore, that’s your problem.”

An uncomfortable silence fell.

Brandon considered his options one more time. He could get up and go in the other room. He could stay here. He could get in the car, go home, and never see her again. Door number three was sounding increasingly attractive, but mostly he wished he knew why women did the things they did. She’d shoved herself into a six-inch space at the opposite side of her bed.

He had said some stuff he now wished he hadn’t. She had said some stuff that hit every hot button he had. Maybe the best thing to do was simmer down, get some sleep, and try to get to the bottom of it in the morning.

He flipped onto his back. A little while later, Emily also rolled onto her back.

He felt her hand slide inside of his. He laced his fingers through hers again and squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back.

EMILY AWOKE THEnext morning alone in her bed. The house was quiet. She could hear Brandon’s voice as she wandered into the kitchen to find a fresh pot of coffee. He ended the call, and glanced over at her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she responded. She heaved a sigh, and sat down at the table.

“Did you sleep well?”

He took a sip of coffee. Of course, he looked completely unruffled. She had a bellyful of butterflies. She couldn’t believe he was still here. Despite the early-morning cobwebs, she realized she’d started an argument with him last night because he was less than a foot away, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and she couldn’t seem to uncurl her toes when he was around. She was pretty sure he’d heard the words “I think you’re gorgeous and I want to body-slam you” more than once in his life, but she’d prefer to keep a shred of her dignity.

How hypocritical was she, inquiring about the women he’d been with previously while wondering what she’d have to do to achieve the same thing? She owed him an apology, and she’d better make it good. He’d spent the past two days taking care of her. She rewarded that kindness by acting like a piranha with hemorrhoids.

“Brandon, I’m sorry. I said a lot of things to you last night that—” She couldn’t even look at him. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said the stuff I did. Again, I’m sorry.” She fidgeted as she made herself shut up.

He was still for a moment. He rose from the table, grabbed the coffee pot and another mug for her, and sat down again. He poured them both a cup of coffee. “I’m sorry too, sugar. My temper ran away with me.” He lifted his mug. “Friends?”

Emily touched the rim of her mug to his. “Friends.” She saw the corners of his lips move into a smile. “How do you feel about a bagel and some cream cheese?”

“Great.” Before she could get up from the table, he reached out and put one hand over hers. “Listen. I’d like to talk with you some more, but I have an appointment downtown in less than an hour. How about meeting up later?”

Emily nodded. “I’m having dinner with my parents, so I might not be here till after seven or so.”

“We can grab dessert or something then.”

He got up from the table. Emily quickly smeared cream cheese on a bagel, wrapped a napkin around it, and handed it to him.

“Breakfast to go. Hope it goes well. Bye.”

“Thanks. It will.”

He bent to kiss her cheek, picked up the bag he’d left in the hallway, and hurried out of the house.

A few minutes later, Emily heard a booming knock at the front door. He must have forgotten something. She was so sure it was Brandon, she didn’t even look through the peephole.

IT WASN’TBRANDON.She opened the door to a tall, strikingly beautiful, rail-thin woman she recognized immediately from magazine ads through the years.

According to Amy, Anastasia Lee followed Brandon to Seattle two years ago, after they’d met at a Victoria’s Secret runway show in New York. She’d probably been wearing a push-up bra and stiletto heels at the time. She jammed one of those stilettos through his heart by announcing she was dumping him during a live interview withEntertainment Tonightabout a month ago, also according to Amy. “Brutal” was the word Emily’s sister had used. Anastasia also managed to impugn his manhood, his family, and his bank account in less than sixty seconds. Brandon responded with silence.

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