Page 63 of Things I Overshared
Sadie: Oh, he qualifies as a man, all right. A man who jumped in to save her life.
What Susan said.
No future children. No men, snow or otherwise!
Can you all pretend to be concerned about me almost dying now?
Susan: I was concerned! I’m so glad you’re okay.
Sadie: What would we do without you!
Skye: OMG Sam you could’ve died!
Sally: Our favorite sister!
Me: [Middle finger emoji] [Dead Emoji]
I smile and shake my head and go back to straightening my hair, but right after I put my phone down, it pings again.
Trina: Headed your way!
Me: Great, text me when you’re in the lobby.
I send Charlie a twenty-minute warning and put the finishing touches on my hair. I flip through my clothes in the closet, settling for a tank top and jeans with heels. I hadn’t really brought any clubbing attire, of course, socasual but also super tight from head-to-toewould have to suffice.
When I head to the kitchen to grab a bottled water for the ride over, Emerson is locked away in his room. I decide not to say anything. If there’s one thing I can still be sure of in this strange situation, it’s that Emerson Clark does not want to go clubbing.
The afternoon at the hospital was heavy and tense. Well, Emerson was heavy and tense. I tried to keep things light, but he was extra serious, even for him, and my casual attitude seemed to irritate him more than usual. It was as if he wasn’t just angry about what had happened but rather angryat me.
I didn’t ask him about it, though, because I wasn’t in the mood for one of his brutal answers about how I should’ve been paying attention, or maybe that I’d ruined a very important day for us.
So, we had a strained, quiet doctor visit and ride home. When we entered our suite, Emerson had stalked to his room and I’d called out to stop him.
“Thank you for jumping in after me,” I’d said. He had simply nodded and gone into his room. He seemed more exhausted than me, even though I was the one with the bruised ribs. I shrugged it off, trying to give the guy a break. After all, it had been a super-weird day.
I’d showered and ate some leftovers out of the fridge for dinner while Trina ate at her place, since we figured the club wouldn’t have good food.
I take my water and head down to the lobby, feeling confident in my decision to leave Emerson alone for a while. I’m excited to let off all the pent-up steam I’m feeling from the day.
And from the feelings I’m tryingnotto feel.
How I savored how his eyes looked above the waves, wide and worried for me. The way my skin tingled along my forehead as his hand pushed my hair from my face. How amazing it felt when he forced open my towel and put his hands on my rib cage with no hesitation. And all this just added onto the new and improved Emerson sound bites I replayed in my mind:
You are impressive, Miss Canton.
Miss Canton never disappoints.
Angels do sing. I just don’t think you can hear them.
“Ready to get pissed and dance our asses off?” Trina bursts into the lobby with a wide smile.
“Soready!” I say. We squeal and head out to find Charlie.
_________
Trina promised a cool London club, and she delivered. While there are easily a thousand people in here, the low ceilings—complete with disco balls, fog machines, and various colored spotlights—give the club an underground feel.
Trina gets a martini at the bar, and I start a tab, but I ask for an unopened beer, just to be safe. We survey the crazy crowd from the bar while we down our first drink. I find myself worrying about Emerson back at the hotel, if he wonders where I am, if he’ll think to check my shared location, if he’ll be angry. Maybe I should’ve stayed and made him a thank-you dinner. I wonder if he’s working out, sweaty . . .
