Page 34 of Worth the Fall

EMERSON

“You really need to clean this place, Em.”

I glance around the loft and shrug. I have a stack of clothes piled on a chair in the corner that I need to wash, there is a mess on the counter of the kitchenette—if I can call it that—and my bed’s unmade, which is usual.

“You’re the only one who visits, and since you already like me, it isn’t like I need to impress you,” I say to Desi as I pour some wine into her plastic glass.

“That’s highly debatable,” she says with a shake of her head and then begins to stack the paperwork on the card table, er, kitchen table—in some sort of order. “This place isn’t exactly spacious. I’m sure it would look bigger if it were clean.”

“Yes, mother.” I lean back in one of my mismatched chairs and prop my feet on an opposing one. “Do you know how freaking exhausted I’ve been lately? Between Travis and Blue Skies and the loan, I feel like I don’t have time to breathe.”

“Then quit one of them.”

“Easy for you to say. Travis manages the airfield. The odd jobs I do for him give me this glamorous roof over my head and the car to use. My job at Blue Skies pays the other bills. And the loan is going to hopefully be approved for enough so I can buy Blue Skies.”

“And then what?”

“And then I can make it what I want it to be. Pull the rest of the money for the improvements out of my ass or something, but I have to have it first to be able to make it mine.” I can see it all so clearly in my mind, but reality makes it hard to believe it just might happen.

“I have faith that you’ll be able to.”

“In the meantime, I’ll deal with the exhaustion.”

“But not too exhausted for sex.”

“Huh?”

“Who’s the flavor of the month?”

I nearly choke on my wine. “Who said there’s a flavor of the month?” I laugh.

“Hmm . . . well the black pair of boxer-briefs over there in the corner tells me there was definitely a flavor—whether it be for the night or the week or the month is up for debate.”

“Where?” And sure enough, when I look to where she’s staring, there is a pair of Shawn’s underwear bunched in the far corner of the flat.

“Which hot stud do they belong to?” she asks, holding her hand up to jokingly go through the possible names by ticking them off her fingers.

“Those would be Shawn’s.”

“Shawn? As in three months ago, Shawn?”

“Apparently.” I bite my bottom lip and wonder how they got left there. “He hasn’t stepped foot in here since asking if I minded feeding him a bottle while he wore a diaper.”

“Shouldn’t those be a diaper instead of undies, then?” We both snicker at the thought.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fearful of what else you might find when you actually do clean this place.”

“It isn’t that bad—” The lift of her eyebrows stops my response. “Okay, it is.”

“Admission is half the battle.” She laughs, but it’s her eyes flashing and that mischievous smile sliding across her lips that gets my attention.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Cue her cat-ate-the-canary grin.

“What?”

“You saw Grant, didn’t you?”