My Best Friend's Ex(71)

"What's Racer's phone number? I want to send this picture to him."

Or we're not moving on . . .

"If you really think I'm going to give you his number, you're delusional."

She snakes her hand around my waist to my coat pocket and fishes around for my phone. I twist away from her and bump into a display of soybean candles, causing a slight clash of the jars against each other.

"Please no horsing around inside," the shop owner calls out, sounding like a grumpy old coot.

Emma, of course, blushes in embarrassment and apologizes while scurrying toward me, trying to hide her face. From behind, I wrap my arms around her and whisper in her ear, "Oooooo, you got in trouble."

Her boney little elbow flies into my stomach as she whispers, "You got in trouble too."

I laugh and grip her tighter, ceasing her little elbowing attempts. "Yeah, but whereas it matters to you when you get in trouble, I couldn't care less."

It's true. Emma has always been the goody two shoes, the compassionate and caring one. I've lived a hardened life and getting in trouble is nothing new to me. It's actually quite fucking endearing to see how someone like Emma cares so much when she's "scolded." Fuck, it makes me want to wrap my entire body around her and protect her, tell her the world isn't coming to an end just because she was lightly reprimanded.

I come to her side and put my arm around her shoulder as we continue to walk around the store. Her hand links with mine so she's holding my arm that's wrapped around her body. She's affectionate, really affectionate actually, and I like it. I've liked that she hasn't shied away when I've kissed her in public today, or that holding my hand has been a must for her while walking around. Stopping us in our tracks just to give me a hug comes so naturally to her, and I really like that.



       
         
       
        

Growing up, there was no affectionate mom in my life. Mine was neglectful. I would get hugs from friends' parents when I was young, friends, when I got older, but I've never truly experienced the affection Emma dishes out. It's sincere, wanted . . . needed.

"Oh my gosh, look," she gushes as she drags me over to the kitchen area. Retreating from my arms, she slips her hands into a pair of lobster claw-shaped oven mitts and holds them up for me to see. "You need these."

Attacking me with the oven mitts, she tries to pinch me but I dodge her while laughing. "Why the hell do I need those? So you can chase me around the house, playing demon lobster mistress?"

She pauses, holds the lobster claw mitt up to her chin and ponders for a second. "I never thought of that, but now you mention it, we are so getting these. I was just thinking you needed oven mitts since you don't have any. But now that you mention this little lobster pinching game, it's a slam-dunk buy for me."

"Slam-dunk buy, huh?"

"Absolutely." She jukes around, trying to pinch me but I'm too quick for her. When she reaches for my stomach, I yank on her arm and pull her into my chest where I trap her, arms at her side. No pinching is going to get her out of this little cage.

"What are you going to do now? Your little punk claws can't help you here."

"That's what you think." She wiggles in my arms but gets nowhere.

"All you're accomplishing right now is some great friction between us. Face it, Emma, you're trapped."

"That's what you think, but . . . with . . . just . . . urghhh, why are you so strong?"

"I work out every day and also do construction for a living. I've got muscles, babe."

She struggles some more and says in a strained voice, "Yeah, but do you have brains? Hi-ya!" Out of the blue, she stomps on my instep, which frees her from my grasp, sending her into a turning wheel of booklets. The display topples over, and in cute Emma fashion the lobster claw oven mitts go to her mouth in shock. She looks completely horrified.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry."

The shop owner marches toward us, the depths of hell in her eyes as she starts picking up the display Emma knocked over. "I told you not to horse around. I'm going to have to ask you to vacate the store."

"Oh gosh." Emma starts fumbling around, trying to help the shop owner with the display but is useless with her lobster hands. "Um, can I just get these items real quick before we leave?" Faster than I've ever seen her, Emma floats around the store and plucks random items from the shelves. She holds them to her chest as she walks over to the counter and plops them down. 

I stand aside and chuckle to myself. Guilt purchases. That's what she's doing. She's buying a bunch of shit because she feels guilty. I wouldn't expect anything less.