“I could name a dozen. You never know, Em, there’s probably that one guy out there completely obsessed with you. Would do anything to make you his.”
“Tell him I said hello when you find him,” I say, deadpan.
“Funny. Now shut up. You’ve wasted enough time. Get your ass out of this car and in our bed so I can fuck you till my flight leaves.”
I let out a giggle, ignoring our fight as we both laugh and race up the stairs to our apartment. He throws me over his shoulder, opening the door with a youthful laugh until he stops and yells, “Fuck!”
Dropping me to the ground, I turn around swiftly and see only one thing: George.
With a mouthful of Wes’s expensive shoes.
Without saying a single word, Wes’s face foretells our future.
No one is getting laid tonight.
“Home is where the heart is.
And memories you forgot existed.”
~ Emerson Chase
There’s nothing more satisfying than walking through the airport doors and smelling fresh air. Especially when that air is home.
Even with my shades on, fans had seen me and begged me for autographs and selfies. It didn’t bother me since it only took a few minutes and they weren’t as ruthless as the paparazzi. I smiled—happy to oblige—then wormed my way out of the small circle that began to grow and draw attention.
Dad had met me at the terminal, parked outside in his fancy Mercedes. The one mom called a mid-life crisis. It was a nice car—sleek, black, and shiny. For someone in his mid-fifties, Dad scrubbed up well too. He hadn’t aged much over the years, still styling his silver-grey hair to the side with a thin beard to match. His piercing blue eyes mirrored mine and my brother’s, though his were surrounded with slight wrinkles when he smiled.
“I missed you Emmy.” He smiles, placing his arm around me after he loads my suitcase into the trunk.
“Miss you too Daddy-O. Bet you miss Ash more.”
He releases a short grunt, quick to voice his opinion. “I don’t know what your brother is up to by coming home but it doesn’t sound good. Especially when they have an important game next week.”
“C’mon Dad, it’s not like he’s going to quit soccer. He lives and breathes that shit.”
We both hop into the car, mindful of the parking attendant yelling at everyone delaying the traffic. In a quick second, Dad speeds off and we’re on the freeway home.
“So, how’s Wesley?”
I shrug. “The same, I guess.”
“Taking care of you?”
“Dad, I’m twenty-six. I can take care of myself.”
“I know that,” he states with a half-smile.
“You’ve always been independent just like your mother. I meant, is he treating you well?”
“Yes, Dad. I wouldn’t marry someone who is not treating me well.”
Just like I had predicted, George eating Wes’s shoes had left Wes in a foul mood. To top the night off, we got into another fight as the car service pulled up to the apartment. Wes was stepping out of the door while informing me of a party he was scheduled to make an appearance at. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded, but then he told me who would be attending and I was quick to voice my concerns. Those group of actors were nothing but trouble dragging everyone’s name in the mud along with them. We left off shouting nasty words to each other and haven’t spoken since.
Poor George—he witnessed the whole thing.
“And the wedding. Have they set a date yet?” Dad asks, veering right as he exits off the freeway.
“Not yet. They want to make sure it falls at the right time. The largest viewing is during winter when people are stuck at home so maybe a winter wedding. Personally, I like the summertime.”