The Trouble with Love (Sex, Love & Stiletto 4)

Emma tried to squeeze one last glass into the dishwasher, then gave up, because the damned thing was stuffed to max capacity. She added detergent and started it, before reaching for another bowl to wash.

“No. Sit,” Grace said, batting her hand. “Put your skinny ass on that bar stool and drink your drink. We’ll clean.”

“Actually,” Emma said, wiping her hand on a towel. “Let’s all sit. The cleaning can wait until tomorrow.”

“You hear that, boys?” Julie called. “You can stop your mad dash to help with the dishes.”

The men didn’t pause in their debate over whether the whiskey had elements of leather in its flavor profile.

Emma picked up her glass of wine and started to follow the women into her tiny living room, and then paused, looking around and taking in the scene in front of her. It was a cheesy thought, but she actually felt her heart swelling.

Which didn’t make sense, because the tableau was a familiar one: couples playfully bickering, Riley eating too much, Sam’s wonderful whiskey, free-flowing wine, nonstop laughter . . .

Maybe tonight felt different because it was almost the holidays.

But in the back of her mind, Emma knew she was lying to herself. Something was different tonight, sure, but it wasn’t the proximity to Thanksgiving.

Her eyes sought and found Cassidy’s.

It was him. No, them.

They’d been at the same dinner party before, but never like this. Never as a couple.

Were they a couple?

It didn’t seem like it. It was so different from how things had been with her previous boyfriends. Heck, for that matter, it was different than it had been with Cassidy all those years ago.

It was startlingly comfortable. There was no trying the other person on for size, no trying to adjust to their quirks and habits. No trying not to get annoyed at the other person’s chewing, no painful getting-to-know-you chats in which you scrambled to remember whether Jackson referred to his second-grade best friend or his childhood dog.

They simply were. They simply fit.

He lifted an eyebrow, as though to ask if she was okay, and she smiled and gave a little shake of her head.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Because talking about it might jinx it.

And therein lay the real problem . . . the downside of everything feeling so perfect.

It couldn’t last. It never lasted.

“Yo, Emma. Grab that bottle and get over here,” Riley said.

She complied, topping off everyone’s glasses as she sett

led onto her new gray love seat next to Julie.

Julie poked her arm the second she sat down. “Okay, I swear this is the last time I’ll bug you about this, but I need to ask just one more time to clear my conscience. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Connecticut with us on Thursday? Mitchell’s mom makes a mean turkey.”

“Or Brooklyn with us,” Riley added.

“Or Wisconsin with us, although our flight leaves tomorrow, so you’d better make that decision, like, yesterday,” Grace chimed in.

Emma glanced down at her wine, feeling a bittersweet pang as she realized that every one of them had just used the word us. Come with us to Connecticut. Come with us to Brooklyn. With us to Wisconsin.

Emma wasn’t part of an us.

Because no matter how good things were between her and Cassidy in bed, no matter how compatible they were outside of it, there were some things they couldn’t overcome. It was like their sexual chemistry had set off some sort of adrenaline kick that prevented them from feeling the pain.