Stolen Course(24)

Let’s be honest here. It’s not like my life is over without Emma or anything. I get along just fine during the days. But it never fails. Every night since I dropped her off, I sit on my couch, staring at my phone. Hell, I haven’t even been out looking for the distracting orgasm, and that says a lot more than I’m even willing to admit at this point. It used to be a nightly occurrence, but even the random encounters don’t fill the void anymore.

I just miss Emma. I miss our time spent talking about anything and everything. We used to laugh for hours. God, it felt so good to laugh again. Worst of all, now she is just a few minutes away but I still can’t see her. It’s pure torture, and judging by the text that just popped up on my phone, I’m not the only one who feels that way.

Emma: Editing pictures and thinking of you.

Attached is a picture of one of the parks downtown. She turned the entire image black, white—and brown. The leaves on the trees are grey, but the trunks remain their natural color. The older woman in the image has been changed to black and white, but the jacket and shoes she is wearing and the bench she sits on are all various shades of brown. It’s an amazing picture alone, but what she did with the color is stunning.

Me: Wow. That’s beautiful.

Emma: I know! Brown is starting to grow on me.

Me: See? I told you.

Emma: I still stand by orange though.

Her response makes me laugh, but that only makes me miss her all the more. I don’t text anything else, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I devise a plan.

The next evening, after a few stops, I drop a gift bag off on Emma’s front porch. She’s staying at Sarah’s, and I’ll admit that it makes my skin crawl to go there, but I’m too excited to leave this for Emma to give it much thought. See, I spent the last few hours putting together an orange feast. I started with a bouquet of orange tulips. Those were the easy part. Then I went to three different restaurants to piece together the rest of my surprise. I ended up with smoked salmon, steamed carrots, and a sweet potato with butter and cinnamon. I even found a restaurant that had orange citrus cake on the menu for dessert. I topped it all off with a bottle of citrus vodka and a gallon of orange juice.

After dropping the bag off on her porch, I went back to my truck and sent her a text.

Me: I just remembered that I still owe you that dinner. Check your front porch. Enjoy.

Me: By the way, orange is starting to grow on me too.

I drive home, not even sure if she got the message. But just as I pull into my driveway, the phone chirps on my lap.

Emma: One, this might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.

Emma: Two, I can’t believe you just dropped this off without saying hi or anything.

Emma: Three, Thank you.

I begin to text her back when it chirps again.

Emma: Four, I just finished an amazing (and a random) dinner and suddenly, I’m in the mood for a drink. Want to join me?

I stare at my phone for a minute. Of course I want to grab a drink, but I know I shouldn’t. There is no changing the fact that Emma’s last name is Erickson. I don’t blame her for anything, including wanting to finally step up and take care of her sister. However, that doesn’t mean that I should be hanging out with her. I never should have started things with her to begin with. Maybe this is just the way out. One day, I’m going to prove that Sarah was drunk and driving the car that night. It’s probably best for everyone involved that I’m not dating her sister when I do it. But damn it to fucking hell, the idea of hanging out with Emma excites me. Whatever. I’ve made far shittier choices than this, and the truth is, I can’t stop my fingers from typing.

Me: Absolutely.





EMMA AND I decided to meet at a bar in downtown Chicago. I only thought I had fun with Emma on our nightly phone calls. In person, she is even more entertaining. I swear my face hurts from laughing nonstop since we met up about three hours ago. Emma is a people watcher, and holy shit, her commentary is fucking hilarious. She’s not mean about it, but she was very quick to point out the juiced-up bodybuilder who was sporting a fanny pack and the emo guy who paid the bartender with cash from his Care Bears wallet.

I learned that she also has a bleeding heart. When we left the first bar and headed to the second, she gave money to every single homeless man we saw. At one point, she chased a man down the street, only to find out he wasn’t homeless after all. I almost collapsed in hysterics at her face when he refused her money.

Emma and I played pool—or more accurately, she played pool while I stared at her ass while she was leaning over the table. She’s only wearing jeans and a little T-shirt, and her hair is in a ponytail, but I’ve never seen a sexier woman. Yeah, this was a horrible idea coming here tonight. There is no question in my mind that I’m going to end the night inside her. And even though it’s fucked up, I’m going to do my damnedest to get her on the same page. She’s been more than flirty all night. She held my arm as we walked around the city and even squeezed in tight against my back as we weaved through one of the more crowded bars. I don’t exactly think it’s going to be a hard sell.