And promise me you’ll be especially careful if it is some other guy wearing a tool belt.
Good night (or good morning?), Emma.
David
Jesus. I read it again because I can’t believe his words. For whatever reason—or maybe a bunch of them—I am wearing a shit-eating grin when I finish. He isn’t completely freaked out about the Michael thing. And, I’m pretty damned sure that this is flirting and not mocking. Was that what he was doing this whole time, and I was just too busy being angry to see it? God, I hope he is kidding about seeing my panties.
I sit down and set to work on the pizza. It is cold but delicious. Rather than open a bottle of water, I get up and hunt in one of the kitchen boxes for a bottle of wine and the corkscrew. After a brief search, I find both. I fetch David’s coffee mug and pour out the dregs, rinsing it out in the bathroom sink and smiling at myself in the mirror.
Back at the table, I pour myself a hearty mug of wine and pick up my phone. I press the text messaging icon and type in David’s cell phone number.
Emma here. Thx for the pizza...and the rescue.
I press Send and go back to my wine and pizza. Before I can even take another sip, my phone buzzes.
U r welcome. U ok?
Yes. U?
Of course. That bastard is your stepdad?
Sadly, yes.
I wanted to beat the fuck out of him.
I wanted you to beat the fuck out of him.
Next time.
Please.
R u eating?
Yes. And drinking.
What?
Wine. In your mug.
Excellent.
What r u doing?
Hanging with friends.
Where?
Upstairs.
Have fun.
Lemme know if you need anything, anytime Emma. I mean it.
Ok.
I’ll call u tomorrow about Monday.
Me and my panties will b waiting.
I cannot believe what I just typed. Several seconds go by before my phone buzzes again.
I hope they r the light blue ones with the black lace...
Shit. I think maybe he did see my panties. I run back to my bedroom and open my underwear drawer. I can’t tell if they have been disturbed or not, but on top of the pile are a pair of light blue panties with black lace trim. This should piss me off. This should make my skin burn. This should make me want to punch him in the face. But it doesn’t.
Next thing I know, I am standing by my dresser quickly taking off all my clothes. I pull the light blue panties out of the drawer and slide them up my legs. Then I put on the matching bra and plump my breasts into the cups. I go to my closet to find my favorite dark green dress and drop it down over my head, smoothing it over my hips. I am not going to wear shoes. Then I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth and hair. I hastily put on eyeliner and mascara and more ChapStick. I raise my eyebrows at my reflection and wonder what the hell I am doing.
Before I can think any more about it, I am going upstairs in my bare feet. Two floors up. Right above mine. When I get to his door, I stop. Seriously, Emma. What the fuck are you doing? You’re nuts.
And then I hear the music coming out of his apartment. It is pounding and warped, and it sounds far more like “David music” than what I heard earlier. I don’t hear any voices, though, but maybe that’s because of the music. I take a deep breath and knock on the door. I wait, but no one answers, so I knock again, a little louder this time. Still, no answer.
He came into my apartment this morning without my permission, so I decide to do the same to him. I put my hand on the knob and twist.
The door opens. I look inside, but there is no one there. He’s got two brown sofas, a coffee table, and a flat-screen TV. There is a lamp on a table in the corner, but other than that, the room is dark. The music is coming from down the hall, and it isn’t as loud as I thought. I close the door behind me and walk in. As I head down the hallway, I can hear people talking. They are in the bedroom, and the door is open. I can only hear male voices...maybe a half dozen or so, and one of them is definitely David’s. I can’t understand what they are saying, but it is clear that they are having a good time. I stand just outside his open door. It’s dark in the hallway, and there is only a bedside lamp on in his room. The five of them are sitting around the room, one on the bed and the rest on various chairs, and all but the one on the bed has his back to me. David is sitting in a wooden chair with his feet up on the end of the bed. I lean against the doorjamb and cross my arms over my chest. The music is loud but not so loud that they can’t hear each other talking. It takes a moment for the one on the bed to see me there, but once he does, he doesn’t look away.
“David,” he says, raising his chin in my direction, “you’ve got a guest.”
They all turn to look at me. I am looking right at David, and I can see that he is shocked as hell. His feet drop off the bed