He waved his hand dismissively. “Naw, she was last month. This one is dark-haired, exotic eyes. Mocha skin…definite candidate for the Paris trip—”
“And the Jordan Fawkes Mile High Club.”
He licked his lips. I shook my head. He was unbelievable.
A devilish look crossed his face. “Her roommate was in the latest SI swimsuit issue…”
“Then why aren’t you dating the roommate?”
“Adam, they’re both hot. I can set it up. A foursome—ha-ha, no, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said at the strange look that crossed my face. “A ‘double date’ if you want to use high school terms. Marta can help arrange things.”
I sipped at my beer, shoving the untouched portion of my dinner aside and shook my head. “I can’t believe you still need a wingman.”
“Bite me. I don’t need one. I’m doing you a favor. I’ve seen this girl. Red hair and she’s…” He curled his hands in front of him to indicate a large chest. God, he was such a pig.
“What are the odds they’re real?” I couldn’t resist. I had to mess with him. Him and his stupid obsession with models.
Jordan’s face grew serious. “C’mon, man. You owe it to yourself. She’s moved on. Don’t you think it’s time you did, too?”
That irked me, and a shot of heated irritation burned through me. I shifted in my chair and looked away. Anger at Emilia’s almost secretive departure stirred deep in my gut. But I couldn’t tell which I hated more—her decision to go or my utter inability to prevent it.
She wanted to move away? Fine. Time for her to see the consequences. We were, after all, broken up “for now.” I clenched my fist. “Fine. I’ll go.”
What the hell. Why not? At the very least it might end up being a pretty good lay. Sex had never meant much to me before. It was time to get back to normal. My time with Emilia had been the aberration from that norm. This fucked-up situation was more than proving that that aberration wasn’t for me. She wanted to move on? Then I would, too.
“Seriously?”
“This woman isn’t high-maintenance, is she? I don’t do high-maintenance.”
“They’re models. They’re all high-maintenance. But hey, nobody said you had to have a prolonged relationship with her. Maybe you’ll get lucky and end up with one of your fun little ‘arrangements.’”
I eyed him. I didn’t mind the thought of sex again. It had been over a month. That last week we were together, Emilia had been distracted and the few times we did anything, it was clear she wasn’t into it. And since then, there’d been no one. So yeah, sex again would be nice. I could go for that.
And maybe it would help me finally get her out of my mind. Or at least it could be the beginning of actively trying.
***
Two days after she returned from Baltimore, Emilia e-mailed me with the message that she would like to return to work until the end of January. I wondered if that meant she was going to move out there early in the spring. She gave me absolutely no details at all about her trip besides acknowledging the fact that she knew that Heath had told me that she’d gone.
It was an amicable, if brief, note. I read very little into the tone. I’d checked her social media while she’d been gone and she’d been on complete radio silence. Even the blog was sparse, with a few posts that I figured must have been written and scheduled before she’d left.
But I was sick of wracking my brains to figure out what was going on inside hers. And I was tired of obsessing over her. So, toward the end of that week I found myself almost looking forward to Jordan’s blind date.
On the Friday afternoon after she’d returned to work, we had a prolonged meeting about the convention. All the relevant personnel were there, filing into the meeting room—twenty or thirty at least. I couldn’t help but scan the crowd for Emilia. She was supposed to be there, but I didn’t see her.
We heard from the department heads and when Mac got up to do his report, he turned to the person sitting next to him and I leaned over to get a closer look. He turned to a willowy young woman with white-blond hair. I almost fell out of my chair when I realized it was Emilia. She’d changed her look. Radically. Now, I expected her to stand up and start summoning dragons to her because she looked exactly like Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones. Minus the skimpy costume.
I covered my shock by burying my chin in my hand, watching Mac drone on while he asked Emilia questions. Other than when she was answering him, she never spoke and rarely looked up. I checked my watch. The day was dragging on and this meeting was getting ridiculously long.