The phone woke him up at half past nine. His bladder was about to explode. He ignored the ringing and ran to the bathroom before he pissed himself. Whoever was shouting at his answering machine, Hopper blocked out the voice. He groaned as the stinging went away, several more spurts before he was empty. And then he wandered into the kitchen, naked, to fix some coffee.
What was he going to do today? The business was pretty much shut down. He couldn’t stomach another missing girl or divorce case. If he called a few attorneys, maybe they’d have some research for him to chase down. Boring as hell. Not how he wanted to spend his life. The Alaska idea was gaining speed. First he wanted to see Divinity, try to win her back and let her know he’d be by her side for any counseling or doctor’s visits. After that, if it worked, might as well deposit the check from Yasmin’s parents. As for his sister—and he was pretty sure at least half the calls on his machine would be from her—better to let that cool out a few days. Something he should have figured out earlier finally made its way to the front of his brain:
Hey, you’re a detective. If you want to know if Sister is pregnant, follow the paper trail. Follow her, see where she goes during the day. Tap her phone.
Good, a plan was falling into place. The rich coffee aroma filled the room, Hopper waiting at the table with his huge mug waiting for the gurgling noises to stop. Maybe he’d microwave a breakfast burrito or fry some sausage.
He barely heard the timid knock at his door. The first time, Hopper thought maybe it was some Christian working his way door to door, or a salesman, or someone doing a political survey. When the second knock came, only slightly harder, he decided to check it out. Morons couldn’t wait until a decent hour, had to bother people before they had any coffee in them. He was inches from the door when he remembered he was naked. A stutter-step, started to turn for his bedroom, then figured
Fuck it. This will scare them off fast enough
.
With his clothes and glasses on, Hopper looked like a big uncomfortable dork. Naked, he was someone you didn’t want to mess with—sculpted, tight, pulsing, and hung like a radioactive horse.
He pulled the door open wide for the shock value and said, “What do you want?”
It was Emily, D’s roommate, clutching a laptop to her chest and going wide-eyed and wide-mouthed and gasping, “Ohmygodohmygod, I’m
so
sorry.”
Hopper flung the door closed and made his bedroom in three running steps, grabbing the first pants he could find, the first T-shirt. He was zipping up with one hand while poking for his other sleeve with the other as he made it back to the door and opened it again. Emily was walking away, stiff and stunned.
“No, wait, I’m sorry. Come on in, please.”
She cautiously looked over her shoulder, stopped walking when she saw Hopper mostly-clothed. “I didn’t mean to. God, I’m so embarrassed.”
“You don’t have any reason to be. It’s my bad. Please, come in. I was making some coffee. Want some?”
She started back towards him, laptop still pressed to her chest like she was a schoolgirl from the Fifties. A little make-up on her cheeks and lips and eyes. It didn’t do her any favors because Hopper had been more impressed with the wallflower look, which was still apparent in her clothes—the beige knee-length skirt, white Oxford shirt, brown loafers. She kept her eyes on him even as she passed the threshold to his apartment. He guided her with his arms held wide towards the kitchen, slowly, carefully, finally relaxing as she sat at the table.
“You like sugar, cream?”
“Both, yes, please.”
He fixed two mugs and brought them over. Emily had set the laptop on the table, and he saw it was his. Or Divinity’s. Or the company’s.
She caught him staring at it and said, “She knew you’d need it, for the business, and asked me to return it to you.”
He nodded. “You mean until she’s ready to come back, right? A few weeks?”
“I don’t know, I’m sorry. I don’t want to lead you the wrong way.”
“She’s okay, right? She’s up and talking, that’s good. I should follow you back over and see her—”
“No, really, don’t.” The girl had found some strength. “She said to let you know that she needs space. A lot of space. Don’t call, don’t visit, nothing. She said to
beg
you if necessary.”
Hopper lifted the mug to his lips. His fingers were trembling. The sweet coffee burned his mouth. He didn’t care. “Did she also tell you I probably wouldn’t listen?”
A deep breath. “She’s leaving for a while. Won’t tell me where, because she didn’t want it to slip. Said you could persuade me to, like, confess.”
Hopper drummed his fingers on the table. Getting angry, antsy, wishing this was Divinity and not her proxy.
“I’m a private eye. I can find out anyway.”
“She knows that. She’s covering her tracks.”
Emily hadn’t touched her coffee.
“I get it. She hates me. Let me talk to her.”
Emily covered Hopper’s drumming fingers with her tiny hand. It was cool and soft. She said, “Hey, no, it’s not hate. I understand how much you two mean to each other. Believe me, I see her when you’re not around, and there’s something powerful here. But the way things are right now, she needs time to think.”
Hopper didn’t pull his hand away. The coolness of her palm turned warm and he wanted to lace his fingers between hers. He liked the flesh-on-flesh contact. He wished he didn’t. Talking about Divinity, needing to hold her, and then needing to hold anyone to help him mourn losing her. Anyone other than Violet.
“She told you? What happened, I mean.”
Emily gave a weak nod, stared at the table. She said, “I feel really bad for what they did to you. To both of you. She said to tell you, though, that none of it is your fault. Don’t keep thinking like that.”
Quiet. Minutes stretching. Hopper couldn’t help himself. He inched his fingers between hers, felt her respond, and squeezed.
Emily’s words were as quiet as a thought. “She’s my friend, too, you know.”
He slid his chair back and stood, walked into the living room and froze, not knowing why he did it or where to go or what to say. If Divinity needed space, why not give it to her?
Because she’ll justify reasons to leave you. Without your side of the story—
Then why fight it? Why fight so hard for someone who wants to get away?
That’s love. It’s a disease.
“I didn’t ask for this, but I can’t shake it now.”
“Excuse me?” Emily was standing behind him.
Hopper sagged onto the couch, head in his hands, and scraped through his hair. Emily seemed paralyzed. Standing, staring, rubbing her palms together. The coffee smell turned stale, mixing with his sweat and the heat of the apartment, the windows closed and the air conditioner off. Emily wiped sweat off her neck, then sat beside Hopper. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Snaked her other arm around his chest. Cheek pressing against him.
“I’m here for you,” she said. “Let it all out. I’ll be here.”
He reached for her. It became a hug, and he bawled on her shoulder. She patted his back, whispered comfort in his ear.
It turned into a kiss. She moved first, her lips on his ear, her tongue flicking. He searched for the skin under her collar, ran his lips along it. She shivered.
Cheeks, then lips. Moist, slow, then faster. Sneaking breaths in-between. She was rubbing his thighs. His hands slid up and down her back, then brushed under her breasts. Small. Hard nipples, he felt through the shirt. Hopper wanted to rip it off.
She broke away and arched her back, held her chin up, and he was all over her neck, living and dying with the little sounds escaping through her shaky breaths. She took her glasses off, then his, then kissed his lips and bit and pulled. She pressed hard, nails scratching his back. She toed off her loafers, swung her legs up on the couch, one on each side of Hopper, and scooted towards his lap, the skirt bunching uncomfortably around her waist.
Hopper wanted to fuck the little wallflower, wanted to give her what she’d never had. All of her sexual experience, he guessed, was the soft and romantic, the drunken and forgotten freshman hook-up, the serious lovemaking with a steady boyfriend. Never a wet fuck that stretched all her muscles and bruised her skin and left her exhausted. The harder she pressed, the more Hopper wanted to be that wild man on her list. He even wondered, a brief second,
I wonder if she needs a job.
The thought threw a switch in his head. Not just about Divinity, but about what he was doing with Emily. It felt…
What’s the word? Can’t put my finger—
Routine. That was it. Not on Emily’s part. She was throwing herself into the foreplay, no formula or pattern. Giving in to the lust. The routine was down to Hopper, recognizing how he pretty much let his dick take over, fell right into Emily’s arms and sidestepped how goddamned selfish it was by hearing the mantra repeat endlessly:
Please her, please her, please her, please her…
Got any willpower? How about stopping. Don’t go any further. Stop.
She was unbuttoning his shirt. He did the same to hers. On the last one, he reached behind for her bra clasp. A little
ungh mmmm
from her cheering him on.
Don’t do it. Take a stand and don’t worry about the road not taken. Be a good guy
.
He fumbled. Emily reached behind her back and undid the clasp with two fingers. She threw the bra to the floor and grabbed Hopper’s hand, pressed it against her left breast. Stop this? Stop
this
?
He licked his fingers and rubbed them on her nipple. Her breath was harder, louder, more passionate. Her eyes were closed. She was all arch and titillation.
Stop.
No.
Stop, for God’s sake.
“Wait,” Emily said. “Hold up.”
A bit of relief and disappointment in one tight throbbing ball. Still, Hopper was glad the decision was made for him.
“I can’t stand this anymore.” She stood, reached behind her and unzipped the skirt, kicked it off. Slid her pink cotton panties down and off, then the shirt, and she climbed back on the couch, roughly grabbing Hopper’s pants and unbuttoning, unzipping, yanking hard. He was a little stunned, didn’t do much to help her.
“Come on, come on, come on…” She gave up trying, circled her hand around his stone-hard penis, then guided his own hand to her wet pussy, hairy and hot and ready for him. She brushed his thick middle finger against her clit. He slipped it inside and Emily sucked in a breath and exhaled, “
YesYESyesYESgodiwantyoutofuckme, please, fuck me.”
For a detective, Hopper thought suddenly,
You are the stupidist PI ever.
He pulled his finger out and pushed her away, buttoned up and stood, glaring down at Emily, suddenly reverting to the shy girl realizing she was naked and being seen. She covered herself with his couch pillows and her own forearms.
She said, “What did I do? What’s wrong? What happened?”
He wagged his finger at her. “I’m onto you now. That’s what. Good try. I’m not giving up that easily.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This is a test. She put you up to it, because she knew you liked me. Is that it? She said, ‘I want to know if he’ll forget about me and plow you.’ Right? Wanted to see how concerned I was by sending you here as bait.”
Emily’s face was blank. “What are you talking about? Why would I do something like that?”
“Because it’s what she would do. She’s learned a lot about being a detective. Probably smarter and more clear-headed than me anyway. Yeah, here’s what happened. She said, ‘You know Hopper and I have an open relationship, right? If you’re interested, go ahead.’ And you said, ‘I couldn’t do that.’ And she said, ‘I need to know, though. If he falls for you, he’s yours. I wash my hands of him. If he holds off, then I’ve got some real thinking to do. Either way, take your best shot.’ Then you’re at my door returning my laptop.”
Emily stopped looking into his eyes halfway through his reenactment, tears coming soon after. “Oh God, I’m so embarrassed. Why did I ever want you?”
“Don’t waste our time. I think you’re great, and everything here was great, but like you said, there’s something between Divinity and me that goes beyond that. Now, did it happen like I said it did?”
She mumbled, “This was a mistake. I need to leave.”
A tear trailed down the side of her nose, her lips. Hopper hadn’t meant to humiliate her. God, he wished it hadn’t gone this way. But he
had
to stop.
“I can’t believe I almost let you have sex with me,” she said.
He
tsk
ed and shook his head. “Get your clothes on. Tell her I stopped.”
“Sure,
after
I got naked and you fingered me.”
“As far as she’s concerned, that’s virginal. She’ll think I’m a monk.”